“You boys must be hungry,” Tabitha says now. “Let me get Anna to whip you something up.”
She talks while she leads us into the kitchen. All the while, I can feel the tennis courts at my back, calling me. All this wasted time that could be spent playing. Getting better. Becoming winners.
We sit at the kitchen table with plates of huge chicken sandwiches made by a chef while Tabitha studies us. Ben shrinks in on himself. I didn’t notice the change at first. But now it’s obvious. He’s not exactly a huge personality at college. But this is something different entirely. It’s like he doesn’t want to be seen.
Tabitha asks me questions. Seeing as Ben is intent on fading into the background, I answer them.
When her curiosity towards me dries up, she turns her attention on Ben, but he quickly deflects.
“Elias won a Challenger tournament you know, Mom.”
How does he know that?
Tabitha’s eyes light up. “Wow, that is impressive. What are you doing playing college tennis?”
“I had an injury,” I say, realizing Ben might not know this yet. His head snaps up. “I had surgery on my wrist and it took a while to heal. I needed time to practice before I go back out on the pro tour.”
Tabitha sits back in her chair, eyes wide, obviously impressed. For some reason, the approval doesn’t feel as good as it usually does.
When she finally leaves us to go to lunch with some friends, picking up an expensive-looking purse (without any obvious brand names emblazoned on it), I pick our plates up and take them to the sink to wash them.
“Leave them. Anna will think Mom is criticizing her if we wash them ourselves.”
“Is Anna a chef or a cleaner?”
“She’s a maid.”
A maid. Of course Ben’s family have a maid. Why wouldn’t they?
“Do we have time to head to the courts now? I think we should get in?—”
“Why didn’t you tell anyone about your injury?”
I shrug. “It’s healed now.”
Now his mother has left the room, he’s standing a little taller. His arms crossed over his chest as he studies me. I feel like I’m being called out for something, but I didn’t do anything wrong.
“You’re just biding your time here until you feel ready to go back out on the Challenger tour, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
I don’t lie. Why bother? So why does it feel shitty when Ben drops his head in disappointment.
“Oh.”
“What difference does it make? You’re graduating next year, right?”
He licks his lips before answering and something burns in the pit of my stomach.
“Yes.”
“So why does it matter?”
He drops his arms and sighs. “I don’t know, I just guess … it doesn’t.”
But it does. I can tell by the look on his face. He’s disappointed.
“Just tell me, I’d rather we get it all out there now than it follow us onto the court.”
