Page 73 of Heart Match

There’s him wearing a suit, receiving some kind of trophy, him giving press interviews, hitting his racket against another tennis player’s outside of court, both smiling. There’s also photos of him on holidays by the beach, having dinner out with his brother, in a private jet, with a Golden Retriever, giving press conferences, running, sweaty, shirtless, smiling, raising a trophy in the air, many more of him shaking his fist flexing his arm mouthing something close to yes, shouting, and so many of him in action playing on blue, green and brown courts.

God.

All this time all of this was here, out for everyone—but me—to see. All his life in squares, accessible to millions of people to like and comment on his photos. It’s almost unbelievable. It’s unthinkable that this man held my hair while I was throwing up, cooked for me, slept on my bed and asked whether I wanted to make love or fuck.

I realise I’ve been checking his posts for over an hour. How did that happen? I set my phone on the bed and close my eyes. Thoughts are racing in my head. I want to make them go away. I let out a long and slow exhale. Reopen my eyes and make myself get up and get ready for a run.

I see him nowhere, and I’m relieved.

#

‘Are you telling me the media lady basically pushed both of you against the wall to make a decision about your relationship?’ asks Naomi on the screen as she sips her coffee while she’s walking the streets on her way to work.

‘Something like that, at least that’s how it felt,’ I say, opening my laptop on my desk as I hold my phone.

‘How are you feeling?’ asks Lexi, always worried about my feelings.

‘A mess. I mean, it seems like the whole world has been watching me in some kind of reality show and I wasn’t aware of it.’

‘I’m sorry, Livvy,’ says Lexi. I’m glad she doesn’t say if you had told us…

‘Including you two, who I realised already followed him on Instagram,’ I say, a bit bitter, even though I know it’s not their fault. I keep trying to find people to blame for what’s happening, but in the end it’s all on me. And, well, Luc.

‘Well, you can’t blame us for knowing who he is, and finding him hot,’ says Naomi, and there’s so much honesty in what she says it hurts.

‘Oh God. I know. Sorry. I just, I feel so stupid. I’m so sorry I kept things from you.’

‘Livvy, you would have found out eventually, through us, the media or him,’ says Lexi.

‘I know, but I wish it was from him. He had so many chances to tell me, yet he didn’t.’

‘What are you going to do?’ asks Naomi.

‘I have no idea.’

‘You like him,’ says Lexi.

‘That’s not the point,’ I say.

‘You like him a lot, otherwise you would know exactly what to do,’ says Lexi.

‘Lexi’s right. Things are simpler when there are no feelings involved. I don’t remember you having any trouble telling Mike, Conor or all the others to go live their lives,’ says Naomi.

I say nothing, because it’s true. None of those guys were Luc.

‘Honey, there’s nothing wrong with liking someone. Did you really believe it would never happen again?’ asks Lexi.

Maybe. And maybe I hoped it wouldn’t hurt ever again.

‘Guys, I have a meeting now. Talk to you later?’ I say. It’s true, but right now I’m glad I have a lot going on at work so I don’t have to carry on with this conversation. I feel like being alone today.

‘Sure, we’re here if you need us,’ says Naomi.

‘I know, thank you. Bye.’

#

His match is at 1:00 pm. I have never in my life watched a tennis match until the end. I don’t know the rules, I never understood why people enjoy seeing two players screaming Oh’s and Ah’s as they hit the yellow balls from one side to the other for hours. If it weren’t for Dad who occasionally watches the games, I’d never know who Roger Federer, Rafael Nadal and Novak Djokovic are. If he ever mentioned the name Lamaire before, I wasn’t paying attention.

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