“I’ll be there for about three months,” Liam said. “And Lily can come West whenever she feels like it.” He turned and smiled happily at his fiancée. “But I know you have a ton you want to get done for the wedding.”
“If we’re going to get married next year, it has to happen fast,” Lily said. She half expected Liam to interject,Next year? Honey, I can’t make that work anymore. I’ll be too famous by then.She felt sweaty with nerves.
“That’s right! That’s why I’m marrying her!” Liam cried. “She’s assertive. She knows what she wants!” He raised his glass of champagne exuberantly, and everyone laughed, even Rebecca. Lily reminded herself that this was a good thing, that Liam’s career taking off was exactly what she’d always wanted for him. If it hadn’t, if he’d waited around forever for a call fromhis agent, she knew he’d be brokenhearted. That was the last thing in the world she wanted.
Later, they took two cabs to the Javits Convention Center, where Yoko Reynolds was being honored for a lifetime achievement award in professional tennis. Lily quivered with nerves in the back of the cab, lacing her fingers with Liam’s as she listened to him talk basketball shop with her brother. Liam seemed ever capable of slipping into different personalities and different interests, depending on who he was talking to at the time. It meant that almost everyone who met him went away thinking Liam was their new best friend.
Upon entering the beautiful hall, Lily was faced with a ten-foot-by-ten-foot photograph of Yoko Reynolds at age twenty or twenty-one. In it, she wore an all-white tennis outfit and whipped across the court, her racket extended. There was a look of determination in her eyes that terrified Lily. Had Lily ever felt so driven to do anything? She felt stuck in front of the photograph for too long, nearly forgotten. Liam had to come back and fetch her, drawing her into the grand hall where the party was held.
Already, Rebecca was making her way to the front of the room, where Yoko and Kendall were seated, dressed immaculately and greeting their guests. From the doorway, Lily could make out several faces she recognized from her vague memory of professional tennis. These were the women who’d faced off against the great Yoko. These were the men who’d probably lusted after her, marveling at a talent that had come from as far away as Osaka, Japan.
Lily and Liam found their place cards alongside Chad’s, Shelby’s, and Rebecca’s on a table next to Yoko and Kendall’s. Lily put down her bag and turned to watch as Rebecca greeted Yoko with first a handshake, then a hug that seemed to make Yoko uncomfortable. Lily’s cheeks were hot. “I hope your mom’s okay?” she muttered to Liam.
Liam followed her gaze. “Mom’s fine. She has to get used to the attention tonight, right? It’s all about her.”
Lily couldn’t pretend to know what it was like to have so many eyes upon her. Yoko seemed flustered, as though all she wanted in the world was to throw off her heels and leap into the nearest taxi. Or was Lily imagining things? Was she projecting again?
Liam tugged at Lily’s elbow and drew her toward his mother and father, eager to introduce her as his fiancée, she guessed. But when they reached the table, the first thing he said was, “Mom. Dad. I got the part!”
Immediately, their faces transformed. Yoko was on her feet, kissing her son’s cheek, and Kendall reached across the table to shake his son’s hand, man to man. Lily stood with a silly smile on her face, listening as Yoko and Kendall asked all the same questions.What’s the part? Where is it? What happens next?It took nearly three minutes of conversation before Yoko and Kendall remembered that seeing Lily today was a big deal.
Yoko blushed and took both of Lily’s hands in hers. “Congratulations, my sweet,” she said. There was still a lilt to her English, proof that she’d learned it later in life. Lily wondered when Yoko had last spoken Japanese and whether she and Liam talked exclusively in Japanese over the phone. She hoped so. Lily pondered if she’d ever learn it, too, in order to honor this woman—and teach it to her children. They would be one-quarter Japanese.
After numerous congratulations and introductions to several of their friends, Lily floated back to the table with her mother and siblings. Liam was still in conversation with his former tennis coach, whom Yoko had been friends with when she’d been on the circuit.
“Did Liam ever play tennis?” Rebecca asked, sipping her wine.
“He did.” Lily explained that the man yonder had been Liam’s coach. “But Liam said he wasn’t very good at it. It hurt his mother. She’d wanted to bond over it.”
Rebecca’s forehead crumpled with worry. “It’s hard not to put expectations on your children. Your father and I used to talk about that all the time. We wanted you to know that you could be or do whatever you wanted.” She took a breath, her eyes unfocused. Lily wondered if her mother was thinking about her father and if she was missing him as desperately as Lily was right now.
“We felt that,” Shelby interjected, breaking the spell.
Chad nodded earnestly and raised his glass of soda. “Wish he was with us tonight,” he said. “I don’t know what he’d make of all the fanciness, but he’d get by.”
Together, the four remaining Vances chuckled at that, their minds’ eyes filling with Freddy’s face. Lily felt his blessing from wherever he was. She hoped he was safe and that he felt their love, too.
Chapter Four
Summer 1995
It was hard to believe it was the Wimbledon Championship. Even during warm-ups, Yoko fought not to panic, to be struck dumb with wonder, to overthink. Didn’t they make some mistake? For weeks, she’d pushed herself from one tier to the next, battling women older and more tactical and faster and stronger than she was on the court. For whatever reason, she’d scraped through every game and brought herself here.
Today’s championship match featured Yoko facing Emilia Lewandowski, a Polish woman. Emilia had won Wimbledon last year and had come in as runner-up the year before. She had strong shoulders, thick, muscular legs, and blond hair that hung in a straight braid down the center of her back—except when she bobbed and weaved and dove for balls. Then the braid came alive like a yellow snake. Even now, as Yoko and Emilia entered the first game of their match, Yoko felt herself quivering. Despite being a part of the circuit for years and despite being a well-known up-and-comer, Yoko still hadn’t played against Emilia.She knew better than to think she would lose, as it did an athlete no favors to imagine losing. But she couldn’t really visualize herself winning, either.
Her coach hadn’t minced words. In Japanese, he’d essentially told her to do her best. “Better things will come from this,” he’d said. This hadn’t brightened Yoko’s view of herself nor her game.
Emilia served first. She ripped the bright ball through the air directly into the back square. Yoko hardly saw it and only realized she’d lost track of it when the chair umpire called that it was a point for Emilia. Yoko hadn’t had a chance to hit back. She blinked and blinked and moved to the other side of the court for Emilia’s second point. Emilia’s serves were colossal. Yoko had to find a way to get them back, or else she’d lose game after game after game.
After Emilia defeated her in the first game—without allowing Yoko a single point—Yoko went to the side of the court for a drink of water and an internal pep talk.You’re allowed to lose, she told herself.But you can’t embarrass yourself on Center Court. You’ve worked too hard to get here. Show them you were worth the plane trip over here, at least.
As Yoko got up and stretched, she allowed her eyes to glaze over the little group of Japanese people who’d come to England to support her. Among them, she knew, was her childhood best friend Akira. He’d flown into London only last night but had called her from his hotel, telling her he’d made it and that he couldn’t wait to catch up. Yoko’s heart had leaped. After high school, Akira’s and her lives had splintered apart, with Akira abandoning tennis and taking up filmmaking. Yoko’s entire existence, it seemed like, was on the tennis court. How she missed being younger, giggling with Akira as they explored Osaka, eating desserts, and never managing to hold hands (despite her aching desire to).
It was hard to believe that Akira had come all the way to England just for her. Would their romance finally begin? Would he help her through the heartbreak that probably awaited her after the loss of the championship?
There he was, so handsome, broad-shouldered, and taller than most Japanese men. She’d watched his most recent student film and felt blown over by his talent. He’d been wasting his real talent on the tennis court. He should have been making art from the very beginning.
But right before Yoko walked out to serve, she realized that someone was sitting next to Akira, a beautiful Japanese woman with slight features and glowing black hair. As Yoko pretended not to look at them, the Japanese woman leaned over, whispered something into Akira’s ear, and giggled. Yoko seethed. What was the Japanese woman saying? Was she telling Akira that it was obvious that Yoko would be slaughtered? That she wouldn’t win a single game. And then, horribly, Akira laughed at what the strange woman had said. Like he was agreeing with her. Yoko’s eyes filled with tears. She wanted to storm up the stadium steps and tell Akira to take that girl out of here. She was distracting.
