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Noah doesn’t say anything, so I continue. ‘I’m worried I can’t give you what you want. Routine. Time. Commitment. I feel like there’s a lot we have to work out for ourselves in the next few months.’
‘But I love you.’
He doesn’t look at me as he says it, his dark eyelashes downcast as he fidgets with a loose strand on our beach towel.
‘Noah, look at me.’
He doesn’t.
I catch his chin with my hand. He looks up, his mouth twisting into a grimace, lower lip wobbling. Tears hug his lashline.
‘I love you. I knew it sitting on the banks of the river eating doughnuts with you, I knew it when you sangCatsin a drag queen’s nightclub. I know it now, and I’ll know it tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that.’
‘Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow,’ Noah agrees. ‘I knew I loved you when I saw you eat a gyros in less than five minutes, and when you signed to Alanzo on the court, and when you walked me to my door just to make sure I got home safe.’
‘I broke that door trying to kiss you.’
He laughs through the tears. ‘I know.’
I touch his face again, run my thumbs over the tear tracks running down his cheeks. ‘You have changed me so much. Every day, I become a better person with you. But I think we both know there are things we need to do once we leave here.’
Noah takes my hand from his face and laces our fingers together. This tournament has been a whirlwind but there are still so many things unresolved; this holiday is exactly what I needed, but I know it won’t fix my burnout, and I need to focus on getting fit for clay season. Noah just started a new job and is still trying to figure out university. Not to mention the issues with his own family. It’s selfish to ask him to leave all of that for me.
My battle with Pejo Auer will go down as my best performance ever; I was so close to a grand slam title; so close to holding the cup. As hard as this tournament was, it proved I could make it to the end. There are still three more grand slams up for grabs this year; I have to keep trying. Right now, I have to make tennis my priority in the same way Noah needs time to figure his own shit out.
‘I want to give us the best shot,’ I say. ‘But we both know it is not the right time.’
Noah turns my hand over and kisses the back of my palm. ‘What if we give this long-distance thing a chance? We give each other twelve months to sort our shit out. If we still want to be together, we meet at the Flamingo Bar when you come back for the Australian Open.’
‘The Flamingo Bar?’ I echo. ‘Will I have to be in drag?’
‘If you’d like.’ Noah kisses the corner of my mouth. ‘One year. Barely fifty weeks if we’re being pedantic. If we still feel the way we do, then we’ll know it’s a good thing.’
I reach up and kiss him in earnest.
‘I love you, Gabriel Madani,’ he says against my mouth.
‘Careful,’ I reply. ‘Love means nothing to me.’
‘Can I keep your hoodie?’ Noah asks as we pack our bags on the eighth day, readying for checkout. It’s drizzling outside, a perfect representation of our mood. Neither of us wants this holiday to finish.
But it has ended. I have a flight to Paris departing Sydney at six o’clock tonight. Noah has a flight from Sydney to Melbourne at midday.
I cross the room, kneeling where he’s sitting in the desk chair, one knee pulled to his chest. ‘You want me to wear it for a while and give it to you just as you leave?’
He scrubs his hands down his face. ‘What about your hot-pink swimmers? Can you give me those too?’
I scoff. ‘I would, if I didn’t think you’d throw them out as soon as I left the country.’
‘Rats, foiled again,’ he mutters, and rises from the chair.
I’ll be honest, the goodbye sucks. We fly back to Sydney. I’ve still got six hours until I need to be at my terminal, so I stay with him in a quiet corner of the gate until the final call for boarding.
‘Twelve months,’ I tell him as he kisses me.
‘Make sure you text me every time you see something funny,’ Noah mumbles, wiping his face on the inside of my hoodie.
‘Every time,’ I promise. ‘Will you send me a recording of you playing? You will keep playing, won’t you?’
