I had spent over a decade not having enough time for anything. Waking up before the sun rose to pull on a tracksuit and cap and heading out for a run on the track, coming home to get ready for school, then school and manically finishing homework during break times, so that I could get home, run off to my part-time job, which included anything from barista to dog-walking and later tennis classes for the kid's groups at the club, and then there was training for three hours, get home, have just enough energy for dinner, stretches and then collapse in bed. Well, shower then bed because usually by the end of the day, I would smell like wet grass, sweat, dirt, and old socks. And on the weekends, the hours of practice were longer and my hours working were even longer. There was never any time to stop and think. Maybe once a month, Mom and I would be fortunate enough to have a Sunday off to spend all for ourselves and then we would go out to the coast, eat ice cream in the cool rush of the wind and ride go-karts to our heart’s content.
“I’m just a little tired,” I said into the phone. “My knee is just getting to me, I think.”
Mom was sitting outside on her back patio, getting in some midday sun. It was hard to read her expression when she was constantly shading her eyes to see my face clearer on her screen. It was equally hard to tell whether her insisting that she was “doing better” was true. Whether her face did look a shade or two healthier or if it was an optical illusion.
“What does the doctor say?” she asked, peering closer at the screen. I hadn’t told her that I was in need of corrective surgery. What would be the point?
“I’m seeing him in a few days to get his final verdict,” I replied, avoiding the question. I closed my eyes.
“Elly, darling, are you sure it’s only the leg that’s bothering you?” My mom's voice was more tender. “Is it the boy that you keep trying to avoid talking about?”
I bit my lip. She was right. I had been trying to avoid mentioning any more details about Sebastian to my mom. I was taking extra precautions to only send her photos of me and not those featuring Sebastian too. And even more careful about scrutinizing my left hand on each photo to be sure to not accidentally announce my “engagement” with Sebastian before I was ready to tell her.
Which made it sound like I would ever be ready to tell her. The answer to that was probably a no.
And that was why this was the first video call we’d had since the time I had called to announce I was staying in Colombia a little longer. In texts, it was a lot easier to avoid the conversation. But with my mom’s eyes staring at me, expectantly waiting for an honest reply, I knew I was caught in a corner.
“Kind of,” I whispered.
“Has he done something you didn’t like? Has he hurt you? Did you fight?”
“We fought because…well…”Hmm, when do I tell my mom that my soon-to-be husband is a billionaire and made me a tennis court? Two tennis courts. Just because he liked the idea.
Never. It might give her the impression I’m with him simply because he’s rich. Which is kind of true since my “being with him” was all based on his having the money to pay for mom’s surgery…
I sighed and then realized I had said that first part out loud. Mom was not supposed to hear that.
“Your first argument?” Mom shot me a small smile. “Would you like to share what it was about? I might be able to help.”
“He…he got me a present and I didn’t…well, no…that’s not the right word for it. I did like it or would have liked it in the past when I used to play tennis but now it feels a bit like a taunt. Because I can’t play and…” I trailed off. I probably wasn’t making any sense.
“You don’t feel comfortable returning to tennis?”
I shook my head. “It’s not so much that but…but…” I could feel a big tear forming in the corner of my right eye. “Mom. I’m terrified. What if…what if I’ll never be as good as I was? What if that’s it, my career has ended?”
The room suddenly felt too big. The embroidered couches and custom coffee tables ordered specially from Brazil, the patterned wallpaper and mosaic art on the ceiling, the chandeliers, the oriental rugs, and everything handpicked to match a specific color palette…it was all too much. This scrutiny of the details when the big picture was crumbling down.
The tears came. I had been trying so hard to keep myself together, to not worry Mom, and figure things out for myself that now when the crack felt an impact, my whole self was beginning to crumble. I needed her.
“Oh, Elly. I wish I could hug you now,” she said. I could see there were tears in her eyes.
“I’m sorry, Mom. I really didn’t want to worry you. I’m sorry, please, don’t think about it. I’ll figure things out, I…really…I…” I was stuttering, trying to find the right thing to say.
“Elly, I’m your mother. You don’t need to carry all of this on your shoulders. You can talk to me, darling.”
“I know, but Mom, you’re so…” Could I bring myself to say the word?
“I’m still here for you, Elly. And if there’s one thing I have learned from all this time it’s to not let my worries and fears take me away from things I truly believe in. Elly, I believe in you. Do you hear that? I believe in you. Even when you don’t believe in yourself.”
I nodded, tears still streaming down my cheeks. My right hand tried to wipe them away but they were relentless.
“Elly, my darling. Don’t let the fear of failing keep you from trying. Let yourself give it your all. You have nothing to lose, darling, other than the regret of not letting your heart have a go at what it truly seeks.”
“Thank you…thank you, Mom,” I whispered.
“If that boy of yours believes in you as much as I do then I think it’s high time you start believing in yourself. Just remember…” At this, she paused. I adjusted my phone so I could shift the bad leg to a more comfortable position.
“Yes, Mom?”