Page 33 of This Could be Love

All at once my dream was back.

“I did, too, by the way,” she added. “That’s nuts thatbothyourparents were tennis stars. And that they got married. I mean, it’s like a movie or something.”

“I thought you didn’t like love stories,” I teased, taking a bite of my pizza.

“Well, I’d watch that one. I mean, the fact alone that your dad…”

“Don’t say it,” I interrupted, frowning.

“Played tennis well,” she said with a smile.

I rolled my eyes. My father was without a doubt the David Beckham of the tennis world. At the end of his forties, he almost looked better than in his twenties when a British tabloid had named him the “World’s Sexiest Tennis Player.” My mom still teased him about it.

“A few years ago they got an offer from Netflix for a documentary series about us. But they said no. To protect their private sphere,” I said, making quotation marks in the air. “I think they were primarily interested in my privacy.”

“Would you have liked to do it?”

“No, not really. It just fits my parents’ way of doing things. Sometimes they’re a little bit…helicopter-like.”

“You have brothers or sisters?”

“No.”

“Maybe that’s why.”

“I think it’s more that their childhoods were characterized by drills and the pressure to perform. My grandparents, on both sides, put sports above everything else.”

“That had to have been tough on your folks.”

“It’s the famous flip side of the coin.” I shoved the rest of the by-now-cold pizza into my mouth. I couldn’t keep up with the movie either. I mean, I had no idea who the red-haired woman sitting on Rio McQuoid’s lap even was.

* * *

By the time the credits were rolling, it was almost ten. Laurie was snoring next to me on the couch. I toyed with the idea of waking her but decided against it. Instead, I turned off the TV and draped a blanket over her. With my shoes in my hand, I snuck to the front door. I’d just about made it when I heard a pair of keys going into the lock from the other side. The next instant the door swung open, and Vince was there in front of me. The real one, not the one from my dreams.

“Oh, hey,” he said, surprised.

He was wearing his usual outfit of T-shirt, shorts, and flip-flops. The only difference was that he’d paid a little more attention to his hair. For Pili? I pushed the thought aside and said hello with the most relaxed “hey” I could muster at the spur of the moment.

“You already going home? Wait, let me guess: Laurie snoring away on the couch?”

I smiled. “She was pretty worn out from all the painting.”

“Believe me, she would have passed out painting or no painting,” he replied good-naturedly.

“We left you some pizza. It’s in the refrigerator.”

“I already ate. But thanks.”

Silence.

“Umm…yeah. Well…guess I’ll be going then.” I motioned that I wanted to slip past, but he didn’t move an inch.

“I’ll walk you.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but he beat me to it. “I thought you’d understood how things work around here.” He made a gesture with his hand. “After you.”

I hesitated, even though I knew I didn’t have any choice.