Long Time No See
ALISHA SULLIVAN
Iwanted to be just like my older sister when I was younger.
Then I realised she was going to be a professional athlete, and I’m not built for that life. So I pivoted and decided that I would help fuel the professional athlete and chronicle our life on the road. Words and food are my speciality, and that’s okay.
I got to live the life of an athlete without actually having to do any of the really hard work (I train with Wyatt and Naomi, though, and no one goes harder than those two in a gym session, so there is some hard work from me).
Different cities every week. Late-night finishes and early starts. A surprising amount of stress.
Just over a year ago, my brother and I were watching Naomi play tennis.
It was a day like any other. She was first on court, which is never fun for a trio of night owls.
We’d had a good breakfast while Naomi complained about her trap feeling tight because she’d slept on it weird.
Wyatt and Naomi went off for the warm-up, and I read some of my book in the early morning Madrid sunshine.
Naomi served first, and it was over in less than a minute. She broke her opponent in the following game in under two. Within half an hour, she was a set and a break up.
To put it lightly, she was on fire.
Wyatt and I were discussing our food options because she was going to be off court and done with press commitments by lunchtime.
Then it happened.
Wyatt and I didn’t actually see it. Like I said, we were talking about lunch.
No, we only heard it, and sometimes I think that’s worse.
An almighty scream echoed around Manola Santana.
When we looked, our sister was crumpled on the clay.
Her racquet was halfway up the court. She had one hand holding her shin and the other covering her face, because even in excruciating pain, she still had the foresight to minimise the number of photos taken of her ugly crying (yes, the vultures are always going to catch strays here, in case you forgot).
The injury was bad, but not career-ending. That was one of the first things the doctor told the family when she came out of surgery. Like the only thing that really mattered to her was her ability to play professionally.
It wasn’t, and in the aftermath, no one was allowed to even mention tennis.
A difficult feat when it’s one of the core pillars of the Sullivan family.
It was, however, one we succeeded at.
We cooked our way through the countless cookbooks in our family kitchen.
Wyatt and Naomi got really good at 1,000-piece puzzles.
We started a sister book club and finally read a bunch of books that we’d been meaning to get to for years.
Our dad took her to rehab while our mum helped get a herb garden set up because we were in one place long enough to actually take care of one.
We got a dog. A black German Shepherd named Logan. He loves long walks, chicken, and curling up into the smallest ball imaginable.
Naomi set up a business, putting that uni degree of hers to use.
And we’ve been good.
Stationary for the first time in years, but good.
Good enough that when I suggested a little trip to the Italian Open while on holiday in Rome, Naomi said yes.
Which, in a roundabout way, brings me to why I’m here.
If you’re up to date with your tennis gossip, then you’ll know that Naomi was spotted at the Italian Open, mostly because she was on the receiving end of a Sam Reed return that flew high and with sniper-like precision, knocked her coffee out of her hand and all over her clothes.
Her appearance in the crowd there sent rumours flying about how she was about to make her triumphant return to tennis at the French Open.
The draw for Roland Garros is out, and she is obviously not on that list. She was never going to be because, let’s be real, her comeback was never going to be on clay.
And up until this week, I would’ve told you that her comeback was unlikely to happen anywhere.
But I’m here because, as of today, Naomi is back. Just in time for grass court season. Which is the most fitting of returns, because grass is her turf.
Just like that, the gang is back on the road and already getting into heated discussions about places to stay and other far less fun logistics that I won’t bore you with here.
We’re not quite on the road again yet. The timing of this return couldn’t be more perfect because it’s a home run of Queen’s, Eastbourne (okay, fine, this isn’t technically home, but it’s not far), and Wimbledon.
Oh, and rumour has it, Naomi might be pairing up with a certain Sam Reed for the mixed doubles in SW19.
I guess he has to make up for the ruined outfit somehow…
Until next time, from my kitchen table in London, while I watch Wyatt make the biggest sandwich I’ve ever seen.