Page 132 of Carrie Soto Is Back

But there is still a huge piece of my father here. There is still work for him to do. This is one last tournament with my dad. I am holding it in my hands.

And I am going to fucking win it.

—

“Gwen,” I say into the phone. I am in my kitchen, getting blueberries out of the refrigerator. “I’m going. Confirm with the USTA.”

“You’re sure about this?” she asks.

“Yeah,” I say. “I’ll fly out with Bowe.”

“All right, I’ll call you back.”

I hang up the phone and walk upstairs, where Bowe is reading the same book I’ve seen him carrying around for days. I finally register the title.How to Go on Living When Someone You Love Dies.

“Hi,” I say.

He puts the book down and sits up. “Hi.”

I stare at Bowe as he waits for me to say more. He is in a heather gray Henley T-shirt and a pair of jeans. His hair is a mess. His stubble has grown in quite a bit.

He is here. He has not left.

“I’m going to New York with you,” I say. “I’m playing the US Open.”

“Okay,” Bowe says, nodding. “Yes, great.”

“My dad would like that,” I say. “If I did that.”

“I completely agree.”

I walk toward him and put my arms around his torso, lean my head against his chest. Here is someone else who knew my father, someone else who knows what I have lost, someone who lost something too.

“I’m gonna go and I’m going to win the whole goddamn thing,” I say, pulling back.

“I love it,” Bowe says, nodding and smiling. “Yes, I’m gonna do that too.”

Both of us laugh, and I don’t have a shred of guilt for feeling joyful without my father on this earth. This is the tiniest beginning of a terrible, beautiful whole new life.

The morning of my matchagainst Dvoráková, there is a knock at the door of my hotel suite, and Bowe answers it. Gwen comes in holding a blueberry smoothie.

“I didn’t know you were coming,” I say.

Gwen smiles softly. “Yes, you did, honey,” she says. “It’s okay. I’m here.” She hands me the smoothie.

Bowe is gathering my kit and my clothes. But when I watch him do it, I realize I didn’t do any of the packing. He did it all back in L.A. And now he is doing it all here.

So far this morning, as well as asking Gwen to get the smoothie, he’s woken me up, called down for almonds, run the shower, put me in it, and then when I just stood there, he got in with me and washed my hair.

“You’re playing Dvoráková?” Gwen says.

“Yeah.”

Gwen looks at Bowe. “And you’re playing Gustavo?”

Bowe nods. “If I win, I’ll play Ortega, probably. And then maybe Griffin or Bracher. But, you know, when I lose, that’s it for me.”

“You’re retiring,” Gwen says.

---