Page 112 of Backhanded Compliments

Vladimir pauses and looks up. “I know,” he says. Slowly, he sets down the butter knife and muffin. He looks tired, as if he didn’t get much sleep either. “Tell me what happened out there. I’ve never seen you like that.”

Luca bites her lip, unsure of how to explain. So, she simply lays it all out on the table. She tells Vladimir about Juliette and their relationship and how Juliette broke up with her. How seeing her made her focus slip and she spiraled.

“It’s no excuse for my behavior, and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have acted like that.”

Vladimir shrugs. “No, you shouldn’t have, but no use dwelling on it now. Did Juliette apologize? Are you two okay?”

Luca nods, biting down her smile.

“Good. Being happy is important, Luca,” Vladimir says, reaching across the table and curling his fingers around Luca’s wrist, over her wrap. “And I only want you to be happy. You are not alone. I apologize for leaving yesterday. I knew you weren’t okay, and I shouldn’t have left you alone.”

Luca blinks. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not, Luca. We’re basically family, and someone doesn’t just leave their family because they’re having a bad day. I know you. I have for years. I let my own feelings get in the way and I made a mistake.” Vladimir squeezes her wrist, and Luca tries to swallow past the lump in her throat.

“Okay,” Luca says, unsure of what else she can say without bursting into tears. “We’re okay.”

Vladimir smiles and lets go of Luca’s wrist. “Are you all right to play the rest of the final? You have a lot of work to do,” he says, and the tension eases out of Luca. Vladimir has always known how much he means to Luca, not only as a coach but also as a friend and father figure. And he knows when to change the subject because some things can be left unsaid.

“I know,” Luca says, but she does feel ready. For the first time in weeks, her hands are steady as she pulls out her phone and opens the spreadsheet she made on all of the players she’s ever played.

Vladimir peels the wrapper off his muffin. “Let’s go through your strategy again.”

Luca steals one of Vladimir’s strawberries and launches into her plan of attack.

As Luca walks back on court for the final’s restart, she looks at her box. Vladimir is front and center, as usual. But her gaze drops to the empty seat next to him. One day, Juliette might sit there. Her heart skips and she can’t help but start to smile at the image.

Even though Luca is down 5–1 in the first set, she feels renewed,like the match just started. And while Octavia wins the first set, Luca doesn’t see the next two sets as a burden. As she stands on the baseline, ready to serve in the first game of the second set, she feels as light as a feather. Even if she loses, Juliette still loves her. And that is worth more than a trophy.

Luca wins 2–6, 6–3, 6–4, and while Juliette isn’t in Ohio anymore, she knows she’s watching—hopefully with pride and only a little bit of annoyance that Luca beat her sister—as Luca lifts the Cincinnati trophy.

FORTY-FOURLUCA

It takes a lot of Luca’s mental energy not to appear shocked by the artist’s apartment that Juliette opens up for her.

“It’s awesome, isn’t it?” Juliette turns in a slow circle with her arms out, as if to properly display it. Her eyes are bright and excited, giddiness written on every line of her body.

Luca tries to look at the apartment with fresh eyes. It’s certainly… artistic. Although the first word that springs to mind iskitschy.

It is bright, though. A lovely summer breeze drifts in from the open kitchen window, ceiling fans stirring the late August wind. The creaking shelves to her left are laden with artfully stacked books, an antique desk to her right. Photos and oil portraits line the walls, some crooked and others asymmetrically organized together.

“It’s interesting,” Luca says, spying checkerboard tiles in the dining room area that leads into a kitchen.

Juliette wheels Luca’s suitcase deeper into the apartment to where Luca assumes the bedroom is. She takes one last glance around the mismatched living room before following. The bedroom isn’t large, but Juliette’s artist friend didn’t compromise with a tiny bed. It’s fluffy and piled high with blankets they probably won’t need, since a wheezy air conditioner in the window is threatening to kick the bucket.

“No tub, but the shower is big enough for both of us,” Juliette says with a suggestive waggle of her brows.

Luca laughs, too loud, and she pinches her palm in an effort to calm the storm of nerves threatening to drench Juliette’s happiness.

“Is everything all right?” Juliette asks.

Luca tries to smile, but she can’t help picking at the skin around her thumb again.

Juliette frowns, unconvinced. The afternoon sunlight catches her just right, illuminating her hair to vibrant gold and bronze, honeying her skin, and shooting amber ribbons through her brown eyes.

Luca licks her lips and fumbles for the right words. Her tongue is mush in her mouth, her insides twisting into elaborate knots. “Sorry, uh—” she starts, shaking her head. “It’s stupid,” she blurts.

Juliette steps forward and out of the light. She gently tugs Luca’s hands into hers, lacing their fingers together. A bit of the tightness in Luca’s throat loosens with her touch. “Tell me? Please?”

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