Page 31 of Game Point (Game, Set, and Match #2)

She hummed, ‘I woke up one day and I’d seen my daughter – my youngest daughter – collapsed in the middle of a tennis court.

’ I bit down on my bottom lip, anxiety building.

‘And to top that off, she didn’t call. I got a text in the middle of the night.

Two words. “I’m fine”. Not to mention that damn coach of yours.

She was useless.’ She grabbed a tea towel, throwing it over one shoulder as she turned, leaning back on the counter. Arms crossed.

‘It wasn’t her fault. I fired her,’ I said simply.

Her eyes went wide, her head nodding. ‘Oh yes, because on top of that, I found out from the news the same youngest daughter had decided to retire?’ I was dead. I was so dead. She continued, hardly missing a beat, ‘Retiring from the sport me and her father helped her with for her entire childhood.’

‘Mum,’ I pressed, but she didn’t stop. And why would she? She was on a roll.

‘Driving her around Victoria to her matches, paying for her lessons, her coaching, the rackets and kit. I had to get really good at washing whites, and in a family of five that’s no joke.

’ She counted each thing off on her fingers, like this list has been building ever since the news broke.

‘Then there was that awful friend of yours –’

My eyebrows bunched together. ‘Who do you mean?’

She tsked loudly, as if even speaking the name annoyed her. ‘Avery. She still stops by unannounced.’

I stood still as I racked my brain, trying to think over all the possible times they had spoken, been together.

Since we used to compete in the same competitions, we would all travel a lot together, with one set of parents managing two kids.

We’d all spent a lot of time with each other, and I’d never noticed that they felt this way. ‘You don’t like her?’ I asked.

‘Never.’ She pursed her lips, ‘She was a fine player, but she was never as good as you, and I always thought she knew it. Then after she quit, I felt like she still hung onto you.’

I frowned, her words not quite making sense to me. ‘What do you mean? She was in that accident, Mum. Her leg was –’

‘I know she was in a crash, Dylan,’ Mum interrupted. ‘But have you ever wondered if it was really the injury that ended her career?’

I blinked at her, taken aback. ‘What else would it be?’

‘I just think it’s strange, that’s all.’ Mum hesitated, looking down at her hands before shaking her head slightly, almost as if she regretted bringing it up. ‘She recovered, didn’t she? Fully, from what I remember.’

‘That’s not what she told me,’ I replied, remembering those months, getting the call while I was away, playing on the tour. ‘She was in rehab, she was struggling and then, it only took her so far. It wasn’t the same after.’

‘Are you sure?’ Mum asked, her eyes locking onto mine. ‘Or is that just what she’s told you?’

I froze, Mum’s words sinking in slowly. I could feel the confusion swirl inside me. ‘What are you trying to say?’

‘I’m not saying anything definitive,’ she replied quickly, raising her hands as if to calm me. ‘But think about it, Dylan. Why didn’t she try to come back? Why didn’t she push through like you would have?’

‘I don’t know,’ I said, my voice quieter now, the doubts creeping in. ‘Maybe she was scared.’

Mum gave a small nod, acknowledging that possibility, but her expression didn’t change. ‘Or maybe she just … didn’t want to keep trying.’

I shook my head, trying to resist the pull of her suggestion. ‘No, she wouldn’t just quit like that. She loved tennis.’

‘She did. But love isn’t always enough. Especially when there’s someone else who’s always just a little bit better,’ Mum agreed, her voice steady. ‘Next time you talk to her, ask her.’

I was quiet, almost trying to convince myself she was thinking of the wrong person, or mixing my friends up.

But I remembered that Avery had said she’d stopped by a bunch, and I didn’t have many friends that still lived locally.

I swallowed down the discomfort, nodding and registering the reminder for later.

I inhaled deeply, trying to move on and get back to her original point. ‘Mum, I couldn’t do it anymore.’

‘Do what?’ she asked, her voice softening slightly. ‘What was so bad that you couldn’t call me or your dad and tell us yourself?’

I shook my head, ‘I want this. I’m done. It was too much.’

‘You mean losing was too much.’ Her eyebrows pushed up. ‘Second place. I read the news too, you know. Lennon helped me set up a Google alert and everything.’

‘No. Not just that.’ I sucked in a deep breath.

This was the conversation I’d been avoiding.

Oliver had been kind, letting me off the hook.

And so far, I’d left most of my messages and calls unanswered.

‘That didn’t help. If I’m not winning, then what was it all for?

But I’m exhausted. Burnt out. I needed to stop. ’

‘You need a break,’ she said. ‘In ten years, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you take time off.’

I shook my head, denial on the tip of my tongue. ‘I’m done.’

She looked at me as if I was a child, refusing to eat their peas and carrots for dinner. ‘You are not done.’

My reply was just as juvenile. ‘I am.’

‘Dylan, I raised you. I know my daughter. When you were a kid, I used to have to drag you off that damn court to get you to sit down and take a break. You wore out tennis shoes like they didn’t cost the sun.’

‘That was years ago. I was a kid.’

‘You are the same determined girl. It was relentless. You are relentless. I’d say I didn’t raise a quitter, but you’ve never allowed yourself to even know the definition of the word.

’ She stopped, as if I was supposed to reply, but I didn’t have a goddamn thing to say because all I felt like – more than when I lost at Wimbledon, more than at the US Open, more than any time before – was a failure.

When I didn’t say anything, she softened a little more, her body relaxing against the counter.

Perhaps she could see how deeply she cut.

‘I can deal with you coming in second. I can deal with you getting past the first round and failing on the second. I’m still very proud.

’ The emotion was welling in her eyes, as if she felt my frustration as much as I did.

She blinked a couple of times, taking a deep breath before she continued.

Meanwhile, I continued feeling about three years old.

‘You’ve always been tough on yourself, pushing yourself past your limit.

If you took a moment to enjoy what you have instead of what you’ve lost, maybe you’d see it. ’

I couldn’t help but ask, my voice quiet. ‘See what?’

‘That you have won. Plenty of times. You have your beautiful house –’

‘That I never use,’ I muttered.

She raised an eyebrow, continuing, ‘A family that loves you.’

‘That I never see.’

The next look she sent me was scary, but scary in that ‘ I’m your mum, now listen ’ way.

‘You have the power to change all of that. Spend more time at home, concentrating on this side of the world. Don’t enter every single tournament and give your energy to every single competition.

Settle, Dylan. Settle with being happy and satisfied and having fun.

Because recently, you do not look like you are having any fun, and that breaks my heart more than anything. ’

Neither of us said anything for a while.

I wasn’t quite sure if there was anything more to say.

I wasn’t ready to consider her words; instead I tucked them away for another time.

A time when I felt ready. Maybe when I started to miss the feel of that fuzzy green ball against my fingertips, the strength I had with a racket in my hand, the fresh air, the sun burning on the back of my neck.

The next thing I knew, my mum’s arms were around me again, pulling me into her, despite her smaller height. Her hands stroked my back.

‘I don’t want you to turn around in a few years and regret it. You can have both things, a life and tennis. It’s about learning how to balance.’

‘Thanks, Mum.’ I swallowed uncomfortably, knowing better than to argue with her. My eyes involuntarily shifted to Oliver, spotting him hand in hand with two of my nieces, running around and around.

How had he made himself at home this quickly? Literally in the time it took me to turn my back and get us a drink.

Somehow, as Mum released me, a more hopeful smile replacing the frustrated press of her lips.

I felt like he might have the answer, or something close to an answer.

It sounded like something he’d advocate for, everything he’d promised me on the plane here when he’d pitched coaching me.

But a new coach meant returning. Was I ready? Did I still want this?

Or perhaps a better question: could I sit back and watch somebody else win, wondering to myself if that trophy could’ve been mine?

I looked around the yard, an ice-cold ginger beer in my hand, and watched as Oliver held one of my nieces upside down, rocking her from side to side as she screamed excitedly. The sun was gone, dusk setting in.

‘I think he might have a new fan.’ Lennon sat down beside me, her eyes trained on her youngest daughter. Oliver placed her down on the ground but immediately Ava was up, shouting for ‘uppies’.

He looked over at me, the exhaustion clear across his face but his smile never fading. I had no sympathy for that man. If I could withstand his killer coaching sessions, he could survive this four-year-old.

‘At least he will tire her out.’

‘Good. Sometimes it feels like that child has an endless supply of energy.’

I held back a laugh as my other nieces ran out from the kitchen, heading straight into Oliver and rugby tackling him to the floor. The future was truly in their hands.

Laughing, I turned back to my sister. ‘Are you raising these girls to join the Wallaroos? Because if so, I’m on board.’

‘I always thought rugby was more interesting.’ She took a sip of her beer, moving a little closer to the firepit we had lit.

‘Our sister-fights did prepare me better for a full-contact sport.’

She shrugged nonchalantly. ‘Pity you picked a boring one.’

‘Tennis is not boring,’ I defended, but it was useless. This was a war that had been raging far longer than this conversation.

‘What’s next for you?’ Lennon asked, sitting back on her chair. ‘With the big retirement.’

‘I’m not sure.’

‘No big plans?’

‘None.’ It felt weird, uncomfortable even, to not know what was coming next. I’d always known, my life dictated by whatever tournament was next, whatever great plan the coach I was working with had come up with.

Now, nothing.

‘It will be good to see you around a little more,’ Lennon said.

I gasped. ‘Did you miss your baby sister?’

‘No,’ she said, her expression flat. ‘But the girls could use a fun aunt.’

‘That is true,’ I said, ‘I am far more fun.’

‘Or at least bring Oliver. They seem to like him,’ she added. I tried to ignore the small wound in my heart. I knew eventually he’d have to leave. The thought of him going, leaving me here.

Not to mention, I’d starve to death without his assistance in the kitchen.

‘Yeah, he’s not so bad.’ I looked over my shoulder, Oliver lying flat on the ground as three young children used him as a trampoline.

Get him girls.

‘It’s good to see you happy,’ Lennon said. ‘Mum’s always yapping on about you. Worrying about how you’re doing. She watches every match you know?’

‘Really?’

‘Wimbledon really fucks up her sleep schedule. She practically lives on BST when it’s on.

They throw this big party for the final.

’ I tried not to show my surprise. I’d never known they went all out like that.

My eyebrows creased, thinking of how disappointed they must have been every time I stumbled, every time I lost. ‘And win or lose, we are all really proud of you. I hope you know that.’

My hands clenched, her words catching me off guard. I managed two words through a hoarse voice. ‘Thank you.’

Lennon’s hand reached mine, as she looked straight at me. ‘And you should be proud of yourself.’

I swallowed down the lump that was suddenly stuck in my throat. ‘I try.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Try better.’

‘It’s not easy, you know?’ I shook my head, trying not to feel that heavy weight of competition on my back again. I was free, right? I didn’t have to feel like that anymore. I could ignore that niggling. My mum’s words.

‘Of course not,’ she said. ‘But if you didn’t love it, it wouldn’t be worth it. Right? Like parenthood.’ We both looked back at her kids, Oliver crying out for help as the girls chased him around the yard, ready to tackle him back to the ground.

‘So, do you ever think about it?’ Lennon asked.

‘What? Kids?’ I shook my head, holding a hand up. ‘I’m good.’

‘Tennis isn’t in the way anymore,’ she pointed out.

I sighed. ‘Tennis was never the thing. Nothing is really the thing. I just never wanted them.’ When I was growing up, I’d hear my friends, my classmates, talking about their future wedding, how they couldn’t wait to have a family of their own.

I’d understood what they were saying, but that need to have a tiny version of myself running around just didn’t exist. I’d dreamed of tennis, and travelling and everything else life with a child made too difficult.

It was like having a pet, but one you couldn’t just leave with a friend while you went to Bali for the weekend.

‘I’m kinda glad,’ Lennon admitted. ‘It’s nice to have somebody who won’t be too exhausted by their own to ship the kids over to.’

‘Exactly!’ I smiled, ‘Cool Aunt Dylan forever.’

‘Sounds perfect.’ She took a sip of her drink, looking around the yard. ‘Is he really just staying with you?’

I hesitated, growing more unsure of the answer with every day that passed. How long did I have before he grew bored of waiting for me?

‘Yes, just a friend.’

‘A really cute friend.’

I raised an eyebrow at her. ‘Your point is?’

She shrugged. ‘You let the people you love leave, just because you think it’s better. It’s not.’

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ I admitted, feeling a bit off balance from the sisterly advice.

Oliver was here, but I knew he’d have to leave at some point, no matter how badly I was beginning to realize it would hurt when he did.

That he’d grow bored of second-place Bailey. A disappointment, always.

Lennon looked at me, her eyes examining me as if searching for information she hadn’t asked for.

‘You have more people in your corner than you know.’ She nodded her head past me, sending my attention across the patio, and over to where Oliver was standing.

All six feet of him radiating sunshine and joy, despite the grass stains all over his clothes.

‘You have to let them support you. That’s how you win. ’