Page 53 of The Summer You Were Mine

“I won’t,” Cris said, adjusting his sleeves.

If he was doing Games Over he probably would have been able to roll up in a hoodie.

Then again, it did feel good to put a suit on.

Either way, he would have been more comfortable with Ellie.

Now he was going to be in totally uncharted territory.

The production assistant talked with him several times about what kinds of questions Kelly was going to ask and in what direction she wanted the conversation to go.

They were kind, assuring him that they weren’t looking to take this into tabloid territory.

They just wanted him to be able to tell his story and get the truth out there.

Still, as gracious as Ms. Jones seemed, she wasn’t Ellie.

No one was Ellie. “You know, I didn’t want it to go down like this. ”

Ben sighed. “Did you tell her this? Or are you assuming that she knows?”

“Ellie is one of the smartest people I know. I have no doubt she knows everything.”

“Despite the fact that what you are saying is true, you didn’t answer my question.

Did you tell her, Cris? Because my sister already knows how to be smart.

What she doesn’t know is whether she can trust people.

” Ben picked up a lint brush on the vanity and rolled it over Cris’s shoulders.

“This whole thing crushed her, you know.”

Cris nodded, unwilling to add light words to the heaviest moment. Whatever he said would be landing on the wrong ears anyway. The person who really needed to hear him was thousands of miles away and still asleep.

“I think we’re done here.” Ben pulled on the hem of Cris’s jacket. “Now don’t fuck it up.”

If she woke up at three thirty in the morning but couldn’t fall asleep again and so casually decided to get up and go out to the living room to watch a bit of morning television, could she really say that she had woken up expressly to watch Cris on Good Morning America ?

It was more of a coincidence than an actual plan, wasn’t it?

She lay in bed until four thirty when the tummy rumbles set in.

Hunger was an entirely acceptable reason to get up.

There was nothing wrong with having an early breakfast accompanied by some morning TV.

People do it every day, she told herself.

Even she knew she was rationalizing. Then the question hit her: Would she be more upset watching Cris or not watching him?

She answered by getting out of bed immediately.

She found her glasses and an old sweatshirt to drape over her shoulders but didn’t turn on any lights as she padded into the kitchen.

Her mom’s room was upstairs and far enough away that she probably wouldn’t hear anything, but the last thing she wanted was a curious Peggy wandering in to ask questions Ellie wasn’t prepared to answer.

She already knew Ben was probably somewhere on the set right now.

He’d told her yesterday that Cris had asked him to serve as sartorial advisor and he wanted to know what she thought.

It was awesome of him to ask her, but she’d told him she didn’t care at all.

It was easier to fake indifference than force herself to have an opinion about someone she would do anything to not have an opinion about.

Is it too early for coffee? she wondered, trying to convince herself that the blood wasn’t already banging in her temples.

The coffeepot probably made too much noise.

No, it would be okay. A casual little splash of milk?

Sure, that was no problem, totally fine.

Should she grab some food, too? Completely doable.

Maybe she could whip up a quick omelet. A batch of waffles?

Sure. Why not? At this point, why not just lean right in, find her mother’s recipe for cinnamon rolls and hand-grind the actual wheat into flour with nothing but her fingernails and the glint-edge of anticipation?

She settled on a K-Cup of a blond roast and a ricotta cookie from the not-so-great Italian bakery down the street, walked into the living room, and attempted to turn on the TV in as dignified a manner as possible.

“And now, the interview you’ve been waiting to see, superstar athlete Cristano Conte.

Italian born, American made, the son of Alessandro Conte, a gold-medal winner in his own right, as well as the loved and lauded coach of Stanford water polo until his untimely death at the age of forty-six.

” Kelly Jones’s voice-over could be heard while a montage of Cris’s athletic life played out across the screen.

The somber music put a knot in Ellie’s stomach.

She put the cookie on the coffee table and sat on the large ottoman in front of the TV.

Back in the greenroom, Cris was afraid that a combination of nerves and studio lights would make him sweat right through the Prada suit that Ben was able to borrow for him.

No such luck. It was absolutely glacial in the ABC studio.

He was glad his lavalier microphone was muted while the montage played on the monitor behind the host in case his teeth started chattering.

They sat in two tall director’s chairs on a smaller stage to the side of the main desk.

It felt a bit disorienting to think that, despite it just being the two of them sitting there and a small crew in the studio, millions of people were tuning in to hear him correct his mistakes.

He watched the makeup and hair people sweep around Kelly, heard a countdown, then saw her head snap up as a red light glowed from the camera to their right. It was on.

The first few questions were easy and designed to allow him to set up the facts and a timeline, something that would be crucial for people to understand.

Kelly was a total pro, knew how to make him relax and open up.

He spoke slowly, aware that the remnants of his accent tended to creep in when he talked too fast. Just tell the truth , Teena had said via Zoom the night before.

She had wanted to be with him today but was jammed up with a major boxing match at LoanDepot Park in Miami.

Instead, she made time for a pep talk to brace up his confidence.

She told him that if he acted ashamed, he would be giving them everything they wanted.

He had every reason to be proud of his career, she insisted, and should hold his head high.

But his career wasn’t what he was ashamed of.

“So, you never had intentions to come back. You were never interested in swimming with the Paris-bound team. You were prepared to leave it all behind, all that you had built, your family legacy,” Kelly said, laying it on thick.

This was obviously the point where he was supposed to get emotional. He didn’t.

“I knew that I was done. I did not have any desire to live with that kind of pain or the mental capacity to endure more trial and error with surgeries, physical therapy, or anything else. I told everyone who knew me and everyone I came into contact with that I was done. My mistake was in not announcing it formally to the public. Whether that was from being naive enough to think that no one was interested in what I was doing or sheer ignorance, I am not sure. But I am here willing to accept fault for my lack of communication skills and foresight, not for my lack of integrity.”

“Speaking of communication,” Kelly said, holding her pen in her hand and pausing to gaze at him.

The air in the room shifted. Was it colder?

Or was there less oxygen? His head started to swim.

“This wasn’t the original way you’d planned to tell your story was it?

You were scheduled to talk to Dr. Ellie Beltrami on her now-canceled show, Games Over, is that correct? ”

Cris froze. Somewhere in Miami, he heard the sound of Teena hurling a coffee mug into the custom-made, polished-concrete sink in her kitchen. This question was definitely not on the list.

“Yes, that’s correct,” he said, trying not to panic.

“What can you tell us about Dr. Beltrami?” Kelly shifted toward him slightly, hooking her index finger under her chin. She squinted a bit, her eyes saying, Come on kid, give me the scoop.

“Ellie and I have known each other since we were kids,” he blurted out and immediately regretted it.

“Really?” She sat back, eyes wide. Oh no.

She truly didn’t know this information. And now it really was open season.

On live TV. “You know each other? Interesting. So I guess it must have been hard for a friend to witness her… well, how should I put this? Her catastrophe,” she said, waving her hand.

“I think it’s safe to say you chose wisely. I’m sure that was hard.”

Kelly squinted again. She leaned in toward Cris and touched her cool fingertips to the top of the hand that he hadn’t realized was gripping the armrest of the director’s chair like he was coming in for a crash landing. But he was not going down like this.

“I didn’t choose against her.”

“I’m sorry?” she asked, pulling her fingertips away.

“I didn’t choose against Ellie. I made a decision based on advice from my team, who I respect.

It doesn’t mean I’m not responsible, of course.

In the same way that I was responsible for taking that supplement, I am responsible for going back on a promise I made to a friend.

I never once thought that she wouldn’t be the right person to help me tell my story, no matter what anyone said, but it got complicated. I hate that I hurt her.”

“Oh,” Kelly chuckled. Her eyes cut to her producer with a clear WTF look. “I’m sure you felt awful about it.”

“No. That’s the problem. I didn’t feel awful enough about it.

Or maybe I did, but I didn’t do enough to change the situation.

It’s a running theme in my life, I guess you could say: ‘right intentions, no follow-through.’” Cris didn’t feel cold anymore.

In fact, he was feeling pretty warmed up.

“Dr. Beltrami is an incredible woman. She is intelligent, strong, and one of the bravest people I know. But she screwed up, just like I did. Only unlike me, she wasn’t able to fix it.

She never hid her mistakes from anyone, not one person.

I’m the one who did that. Yet she’s the one who lost her show and has been threatened with worse.

And somehow, I’m the one sitting here with you in a fancy suit getting to talk you all into forgiving me. ”

“You are a very good friend, Cris.” Kelly smiled at him with a let’s-wrap-it-up vein popping out on the side of her neck.

The interview was over. All he had to do was say a polite thank-you and fake a tight-lipped smile so the host could introduce the ce lebrity chef waiting off-camera with a pot of stewed okra and cut to a commercial break.

But something about her clean and tidy comment left him feeling itchy under his suit.

Simone’s words rang through his head, reminding him that just because he lived without Ellie once did not mean he could live without her now.

What the hell else mattered but making it right with her?

He could feel it now—it was inescapable.

If he had to finish this dog-and-pony show, he was going to finish it honestly.

“I love her too much to be a very good friend who does very dumb things,” Cris said.

“And when it comes right down to it, Kelly, that’s the only reputation I really care about. ”

The remote control slipped right out of Ellie’s fingers, clattered across the floor, and slid under a cabinet that housed three generations of her mother’s family china.

One of those universal jobs, the gigantic plastic brick made a sound like someone had driven a stagecoach through the living room when it fell.

But she was frozen where she sat, unable to process the fact that Cris just dropped an L-bomb in her direction on national television, much less figure out how she was going to retrieve that remote without a crane.

A shuffling sound from upstairs told her that her mom was definitely awake and probably on high alert.

“El, honey? Are you okay?” Peggy called down the stairs.

“Yeah. Sorry, Mom. I dropped the remote.”

“Did something happen?”

“I think the right answer is ‘yes,’ but I’m not sure what.”