What Was The Theme?
ALISHA SULLIVAN
I’m going to open today by saying that this title is very niche. But also relevant. And if you’re a rom-com connoisseur, then it will make sense if you keep reading, and if you’re not, well, sometimes these titles are just for me (or for the sake of an in-joke).
My brother used to have a recurring nightmare when he first started coaching Naomi that he’d have to sub in for her in the middle of a match, and it would result in a humiliating defeat and expose him as a fraud.
It made no sense on a lot of levels, the main one being that he can play tennis.
Wyatt was Naomi’s shadow for years, and because she was on the court, he was on the court.
He learned how to play. At one time, Mum had visions of the two of them being like the Quinn twins and taking on the tennis world together, but Wyatt didn’t want that.
The only tennis great in our family was destined to be Naomi, and he was going to cheer her on every step of the way.
He found his way back to the sport under a different guise. (He practically begged to be Naomi’s coach.)
Then he started having that nightmare at least once a week for about a year. He never understood why it stopped, but he was just happy it did, because it was really ruining his sleep.
But it’s back again as of this month.
It’s just as ridiculous as it was before, but he can laugh about it more than he did back then (and it’s not ruining his sleep as much).
He knows he’s not a fraud.
There is a whole coaching career of proof that he’s not.
However, it probably came back again because he turned his hand to coaching someone who doesn’t share a surname with him, and his subconscious wanted to play him by presenting the idea that maybe he’s only good at it because of the shared DNA and lifelong bond.
Hopefully (for me and Naomi, who have to live with him and cannot deal with him recounting every detail of this nightmare much more), three US Open finals will put it to bed.
Even if, so far, two of them have resulted in a runner-up trophy, and the last is yet to be decided. (We’re obviously rooting for the win.)
Usually, we make a point of celebrating because even if you’re a runner-up, the fact remains you made it to the end of the tournament, and that’s not nothing.
But Wyatt isn’t done yet, and to be honest, it’s been too long since we slept in our beds and had Logan cuddles, so to celebrate the end of the North American swing, Naomi and I just flew home.
I’m writing this with a slightly numb arm as Logan decided that was the perfect place to rest his head, even though he could literally be lying anywhere else, and the smell of one of Dad’s Sunday roasts is starting to fill the house. Both of these things are exactly what we needed.
And tomorrow, we get to go on a long walk in our favourite park, visit our favourite coffee shop on the way, and watch Logan run himself ragged. Plus, we can rediscover all the other small things we forget about when we’re gone.
Until next time, from the house I grew up in.