Page 35

S ebastian took a sip of coffee. “Everything okay, Bibi?” he asked as he approached his grandmother.

The French doors stood open to the shaded patio. She had always been an early riser, so by the time Sebastian awoke, she’d already eaten breakfast and read the daily issue of the New York Times. But her eyes looked bothered, and a slight frown pulled at her lips.

Barbara Tennyson’s frown turned into a tender smile when she saw her grandson. “Good morning, Sebastian. Yes, everything is fine. Or rather, I should say that it was fine, until …”

“Until what?”

“Until those people started up again this morning.” She lifted her chin and indicated the pickleball courts across the street. “The mornings are always so peaceful before they arrive.”

Happy chatter and the thwacking of paddles on balls carried loudly to where Barbara and Sebastian sat.

Sebastian studied his grandmother. “The noise didn’t used to bother you before.”

“That’s because when your grandfather was still with us, the pickleball courts were farther away, not on—”

“… Granddad Clive’s court,” answered Sebastian.

“It’s not just that they replaced Clive’s tennis court for pickleball,” replied Barbara. “But that sport is just so disruptive. With the music they play at all hours of the day and night, the drinking and singing, the trash they leave behind.” She pursed her lips. “It’s boorish.”

Sebastian smiled. “Sounds to me like you just described the US Open on the evening before the Finals match.”

Barbara huffed and looked away. An ambulance siren’s wail carried over the garden wall, moving away, east in the direction of Indio.

“Tennis used to mean so much to you, Sebastian,” said Barbara, gently. “Whatever happened?”

“Ah, so this is why you invited me to come stay with you,” replied Sebastian, rubbing his chin. “The lame excuse of needing help around the house was just a ruse.”

Barbara picked a piece of lint from her sleeve.

“I’m surprised it took you this long to ask, Bibi.”

Barbara looked at her grandson with love. “I don’t want to pry, you know that. I simply care very much for you.”

“I know. And you’re right, you deserve an explanation, even if I’m not sure I have one.” Sebastian took another sip of coffee. He looked down at his knees, one still wrapped with an ACE bandage.

“It was during that time I had to take off because of my knee injury …” He looked away, his head tilted up toward the majestic San Jacinto Mountains far off in the distance.

She let the pause continue. Sebastian was so like his grandfather in the way that they both tended to keep their thoughts close to the vest until they had somehow worked through whatever was bothering them.

There were times when she would ask Clive a question, and he would merely reply with a nod of his head, acknowledging that he’d heard her.

But his reply might not come for days or even weeks.

She would not push Sebastian to comment until he was ready.

Barbara looked at her grandson and settled into her chair. She could feel a confession coming, which she knew would not be easy for him.

Sebastian raked his fingers through his hair and thought back to what happened so many years ago.

All the work that he’d put into being the best college tennis player on the West Coast, if not in the nation, went down the tubes when he’d lunged for that serve out wide.

He’d anticipated it, but Kovacic was on fire that day, and the serve was just too good.

“I spent days and weeks thinking about how I lost that match to Kovacic,” he finally said.

Barbara leaned forward and pushed her cup away.

“At first, I felt robbed. And then I was pissed off,” Sebastian said, his voice low. “Especially since the rest of the team went on to win. And then the following Monday, everybody was going about their regular lives.”

He swirled the cold coffee in his cup.

“But me? I was stuck in my apartment in Westwood. There was no way I could go up and down four flights of stairs with my knee so jacked up.”

Sebastian thought bitterly about how he had sat stewing in his torment, alone in his apartment for days on end.

After an initial couple of visits from his tennis coaches and some phone calls and texts from his teammates, it seemed as if Sebastian didn’t even exist. His team had actually gone on to win the Pac-12 Tournament Championship title without him. They hadn’t needed Sebastian at all.

Even Sloane had been busy with school and her own championship matches. She’d barely checked in on him.

He shook his head. “I felt sorry for myself. Nothing is more pathetic than a self-pitying, angry guy with no future. No one could stand being around me, and I don’t blame them, but still, I was more alone than I’d ever been.”

Sebastian had spent almost his entire life on his own, by himself.

Granted he’d been surrounded by coaches and other tennis players at IMG, but it wasn’t like he had family by his side.

And when he went to UCLA, he’d been by himself then, too.

Nothing had changed other than the city he lived in.

As long as Sebastian could remember, his “family” consisted of staff, teachers, and other student-athletes.

He had been a tennis player since he was eleven years old. Sebastian didn’t know how to do anything else … be anything else.

Tennis had been his identity.

So during those dark days after he’d mangled his knee, he’d realized that it wasn’t his injury that was making him so miserable.

It was that he couldn’t step onto a tennis court, and that essentially rendered him nonexistent.

Aside from being a tennis player, what was he?

Just another twenty-year-old, business major, washed-up athlete.

Everybody thought that Sebastian had quit tennis. But the fact was, tennis had quit him. Tennis had left him behind.

“Sebastian, I am so deeply sorry,” said Barbara, her voice soft. “Where were we? What were we doing? You were so alone and had no support during that time. I had no idea.”

“It wasn’t just you, Bibi. It was everyone,” replied Sebastian. “Sloane didn’t even want to be with me anymore. She broke off our engagement pretty fast.”

“Sloane did that? Sebastian, we all thought that you were the one to break things off. Why would you allow all of us to be so misled?”

Sebastian’s lips tightened into a thin line, and he shrugged. “Even though I’m still kind of bitter about it, back then I thought it would be better for everyone to give her sympathy and for me to be the fool. I didn’t fault her. I wasn’t the guy she had bargained on anymore.”

Tears shone in Barbara’s eyes. “Your mother and father, Granddad Clive and I … we all thought we were doing the best thing for you, encouraging you in tennis. We thought that’s what you wanted.”

“You know, I’ve been told my entire life how similar Granddad Clive and I were. I think that I mostly played tennis because I wanted his legacy to live on with me. Even still, there was a real possibility that I could have been better than he was … who knows,” said Sebastian.

Barbara bowed her head, one hand over her heart. She held out her other hand, and Sebastian grasped it with his.

“Because tennis was my life, I never thought about finding or doing anything else. Now I have to.” He let out a deep sigh. “I guess it’s time I did.”

“I’ve always had faith in you, my darling, and your grandfather would have wanted you to be happy with whatever you eventually decide for yourself,” said Barbara. “I will always support you.”

“But will you, though?” asked Sebastian, his eyes sad.

“Oh, Sebastian, I failed you once. I promise to never again. Never .”

Sebastian leaned over the table and tenderly kissed Barbara’s cheek. He rose from the table, collecting their coffee cups, the moment of confession through. Music carried over from across the street, an Ed Sheeran song playing on a tinny speaker.

“What would you like to do today?” Sebastian asked over his shoulder as he carried the cups inside the house.

Barbara smiled at Sebastian’s back. “Well, I do need those ceiling light bulbs replaced …”

Sebastian peeked his head out the door. “Wait, so you actually need help around the house? It wasn’t a ruse to get me here to visit?”

“Of course it was a ruse,” said Barbara, giving a dismissive wave of her hand. “We’ll leave the light bulbs for the handyman, and perhaps you and I can go have a nice lunch at the clubhouse.”

Sebastian chuckled. “Bibi, I’ll never be able to figure you out.”

“Better men than you have tried,” Barbara said with a smile, “and were not successful.”

Sebastian walked back onto the patio and leaned against the half wall.

A loud cheer came from the pickleball courts, causing Barbara to look across the street, and her smile faded.

The winning pickleball players had jumped into each other’s arms, chest bumping and grabbing at each other, dancing in a pack.

Barbara sniffed. “Must they gather like that, all crowded together?” she said, irritated. “Like a common mob.”

Sebastian leaned against the wall, smiling. “A mob having a great time.”

Barbara shot him a sharp look.

Sebastian chuckled. “I’m not trying to argue with you, Bibi. I’m just saying that if a sport can interest all kinds of different people, then it must have some appeal.”

Barbara pursed her lips and folded her arms.

“I mean, I find it super fun,” Sebastian said, looking thoughtful. “And I’m kind of considering playing it.”

“Sebastian, no, you’re not!” exclaimed Barbara. “Pickleball?”

“Yes, Bibi.” He laughed. “Pickleball.”