“You are not just a tennis player, Elly. You are my daughter, and you have a lot more to show to this world than just your sporting ability. Your heart is what makes you a true gift. I love you, darling.” Her cough returned and I waited for it to subside before answering. I wanted her to hear me.
“I love you too, Mom.”
After the phone call ended, I sat for a long while by the window, watching the sun slowly take its course across the sky. It no longer felt like the day was ending in a feeling of hopelessness. Its rippling reflection over the water’s surface was no longer a frown that seemed to hover endlessly.
CHAPTER23
SEBASTIAN
Elly doesn’t believe in the power of money.
Fine, no, you can’t order a cup of happiness, press your black card to the reader and be on your way.
But what moneycando is build the foundations to get you to where you want to be. Because reaching for happiness is a lot easier when you don’t need to worry about all the small things. Like whether you can afford to tip the waiter.
I didn’t quite understand why Elly was so vehemently against the idea of her ever returning to tennis again. How many of the greats have been injured and come back like they had flames ablaze?
Venus Williams. Mark Philippoussis. Juan Martín del Potro. Roger Federer.
And, of course, the greatest comeback of them all, Monica Seles. Now there was a player who wouldn’t let the actions of a deranged fan keep her down.
I might not have been able to understand Elly’s mindset, but there was something I could do using something I did understand—money.
When I first mentioned the idea, I was ready for Elly to fight my suggestion. It had been a couple of days since the incident by the tennis court, and she hadn’t been out there since.
But Elly, as always, surprised me.
“You’re wasting your money,” she said when I suggested over breakfast that we schedule her surgery.
“You need corrective surgery. The doctor can provide that. I don’t quite see where the waste is in the equation,” I answered, keeping my voice nonchalant. I popped a piece of tamale in my mouth and chewed.
Elly kept her eyes on her plate. Her hair fell over her shoulders, covering her face. I had a brief urge to reach over and brush it away.
Which would be the wrong move. And in my plan, there was no room for the wrong move. So, I didn’t.
“You don’t need to do this,” she said. “Waste money on me. I…I…will get the surgery…a little later…after…” Her fork hovered over her plate.
“You’re an athlete, Elly. You can’t wait for ‘later.’ Plus, you’re going to be my wife. I can’t have my wife limping around when I can do something about it, can I?” I took another bite of thetamal.
She looked up. “Fake wife.”
“The limp isn’t fake. Look, I’m not saying you have to get back on the court…”
She jerked her head away. One step forward, two steps back. I could’ve slapped myself. Why on earth did I have to bring that up?
“I told you, I’m never going to play tennis again,” she whispered.
“But why?”
Her eyes found mine. I thought they would be angry, fierce at my probing but they looked doleful, almost hurting.
“Why did you give up tennis?” she asked, changing the subject.
I sighed. “Tennis is this terrifying play that requires all of you. It’s an all-or-nothing game when you get to the pro level. I got to a point where I had to make a decision—choose to pursue tennis, or give it all up to pursue my father’s business. I chose business.”
“Did you ever regret that decision?”
“No. Though sometimes I do wonder where life would have taken me if I’d continued. But, as I said, I wasn’t as self-disciplined as you are. My heart was always in the business.”