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“I’m sorry for your loss, princess.” His thumb caresses my hand softly.
“It’s okay. It happened a few years ago, and I got used to life without him. I still miss him at times.”
“What about your mum?” I smile when she jumps to mind.
“I think your mum might like mine. Susan spends her days walking from one appointment to another. Always busy. She married a New Yorker quite quickly after Dad died, but I just hope she’s happy now after the love of her life died.”
“She sounds lovely,” Chester repeats my words, and I nod my head, but a sinking feeling runs over me. Mum is aware of what is happening and how wickedly Frederic is navigating the waters, but rarely does she inquire how I am doing. She’s fixed on the updates and though I love my mum dearly, something has been off with her lately.
“Kind of sucks that you have such a horrible brother.”
“Don’t remind me of him,” I whine. Chester’s blue-greyish eyes connect with mine. He lifts our hands to his mouth before he slowly kisses mine. I breathe out when my poor heart skips a beat.
“I wish I could fix it.”
“Me too.”
***
Sweat drips from my temples. I stand bent over, waiting for Topper to serve. The thin line of his lips and the turned-down eyebrows show a very focused Topper. One who’s ready to show me every corner of the court. This is what I like. A highly competitive game.
A game that will demand me to play as hard as I can. I don’t like losing and I like working hard to win. But Topper, he likes to win as well. He bloody loves it, and that’s where the problem situates itself. In tennis, only one person can win, and it better be me this time.
Topper serves, and the ball bounces just outside the court.
“Out,” I yell, pointing at the ball. Already bursting with happiness that I’m a step closer to calling myself champion of the day.
“Bullshit,” Topper screams back at me. “You’re lying.”
“I’m not.” I point at the spot where the ball ended up bouncing for the first time. Topper shakes his head no, before he breathes out loudly, pointing his ugly new bedazzled racket at me.
“It wasn’t out, Evangeline. You’re lying because you’re losing.”
“I’m not losing.”
“The score tells a different story though,” a hoarse voice butts in. My mouth opens, and I roll my eyes before they fall on the woman sitting on a bench while flipping through a fashion magazine.
“Will you just shut up, Moreen,” I say to her, feeling a vein in my neck throb. Moreen hasn’t played one game; instead, she has been reading her magazines and commenting on our tennis skills every once in a while. When we’re playing, she’s quiet, but when discussion arises, she’s the first to open her mouth. At least, she pretended that she was interested in playing when she showed up in a tennis outfit, but that’s as far as she went.
“You’re cheating,” Moreen states.
“How would you know that? You haven’t looked up once from your magazine.”
“Details,” she mumbles before reaching for her cocktail on the ground while waving me off. It’s still morning, and she’s already sipping from a glass filled to the brim with alcohol.
“It might be a good idea to pick up a racket and play with us. It’s healthier than day drinking.” I can practically feel her eye roll from under her sunglasses from my position before she sips from her drink again.
“It’s a mocktail.”
“No, it isn’t,” Topper says. “I can smell the alcohol from over here.” Moreen sighs loudly, before emptying her glass in the bushes around the perimeter of the field.
“Happy?” I nod my head. She freaks me out sometimes. I like how honest she is about everyone and everything, except for the things about herself and her life. I like how her eyes come alive when her daughter is near, but they turn dark when her husband is present. I like how smart and business savvy she is. Moreen is a force to be reckoned with, but there’s much more going on beneath the surface. One look at her proves that to be true.
“Now that we have discussed me and my drinking, let’s discuss Evangeline and her almost combusting from pleasure at my daughter’s birthday party?”
“What?” Topper screams out of surprise. His mouth is wide open, and he stares my way. My face is wiped clean and I act as if I don’t know what Moreen is talking about, but I know my red cheeks will soon give me away.
“Oh yes, Topper,” Moreen says, pouring more oil onto the fire. “I would love to know what Chester whispered in your ear to have you squirming in your seat that much.” This time, it’s my mouth opening wide. I can’t believe she saw that. It makes everything that much more horrible. I’m not allowed to escape what happened Wednesday morning.
