Page 134 of Off Court Fix

I’m on my feet immediately. “Atta girl, Max!” I don’t care I’m the only person in all of Arthur Ashe Stadium on my feet at the moment, given the match has barely begun. I’ll cheer for every point Maxine wins, and I’ll do so loudly and proudly, with zero reserve.

And I know Maxine likes it because before she sets herself to serve for the next point, she looks at me and winks.

* * *

There’s been a brief break in protocol when Maxine plays, no matter if she wins or loses, and it’s been occurring since the Australian Open in January. No matter what round the match is, Maxine takes a brief moment on the court for a short interview and a wave to the crowd, then exits stage right, out of whatever complex she’s playing in, and makes her way to the parking lot where she hugs her father.

I owe Ted Draper more credit than I care to admit. While he’s retained his position as Maxine’s manager, there’s been a shift in his strategy—he lets her make the decisions and advises, even sometimes too aggressively for my liking. But Maxine is quick to put him in place and remind her father she calls the shots.

And while I had my doubts about his intentions, I know how hard it must be to have to watch Maxine play from a screen. I’ve been there. I can’t imagine a lifetime of it, so it’s hard to admit that without Ted, it could easily have been me.

And true to his word, Ted never misses one of Maxine’s matches. Today’s win during the semifinals of the US Open is no exception.

And me? I wait. I let her have her moment, no matter how many more there are to come. I follow her only on the way back into the stadium, where she usually meets with her coach and trainers, and I get to walk beside her for a minute. And Maxine always reaches for my hand first, taking me along her journey.

“Hell of a match, slayer,” I say as we walk hand in hand, only breaking our hold so she can stop and sign some autographs for fans waiting outside the stadium for this exact moment. “I’m so proud.”

Maxine returns a marker to a fan and then reaches for my hand again. “Yeah?”

“How do you feel?”

“How do I feel?” she asks, as if I should already know the answer, and I do. Maxine is tired, but she’s on that high that comes with winning. “Like I’m about to collapse. But I’m ready to do it again. Andbetter.”

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