Page 24 of Drop Shot
“Good thinking, Whim. You’re a genius.”
I take her hand, entwining our fingers together.
She gives me a nervous smile in response. It’s hard, lying to people you care about, even if you know it’s for the best. I love my twin, but God knows she’d let it slip this is fake by accident.
We step onto the patio and head to our left where the majority of the tables are. My parents and sister are facing us, so it only takes seconds for them to notice our joined hands.
Ebba’s jaw drops and I see her mouth move to make the words, “Oh my God.” While my mom’s lips form the shape of the word, “Finally.” My dad just laughs.
“Hey, guys. Sorry we’re late. Traffic was a bitch,” I explain, pulling out a chair for Whimsy before I settle into a seat myself.
The three of them blink across the table at us and I think this might be the first time in my entire life they’ve all been silent.
My sister is the first one to speak. “Why were you guys holding hands?”
I glance at Whimsy and back at them. “Because we’re dating.”
Ebba’s eyes nearly bug out of her head as her gaze swings between the two of us. “Are you serious? How long has this been going on? Why haven’t you told me?”
The last question is directed accusingly at Whimsy.
“Hey, leave her out of this,” I say, pulling my sister’s attention back to me. “I asked her to keep this to ourselves while it was new but now, we feel comfortable in sharing.”
“This is wonderful,” my mom says, clapping her hands together. “Whimsy, we love you so much. Haven’t we been hoping for this?” She turns to my dad.
“We have,” he agrees, reaching for his glass of beer.
“Hold on.” I look at my parents. “Have you guys been conspiring against me?”
“I wouldn’t call it conspiring,” my mom says, manicured fingers tapping against the tabletop. “If we were conspiring, we would’ve been actively trying to get you two together. We just hoped something would happen.” She fixes me with her wide-eyed,please don’t be mad at your momsignature look. “We just want you to be happy, Elly. That’s all.”
Ebba couldn’t say Elias when she was little and called me Elly. Unfortunately for me, the nickname stuck where my parents are concerned even if Ebba has since moved on to calling me by my actual name.
“I am happy.” I sound too defensive to my own ears, so I quickly cover by reaching for Whimsy’s hand where it rests on the table and lying mine on top of hers. “Whimsy makes me happy.”
“Well, that’s great,” my mom says, smile never dimming. “Whimsy already feels like part of the family.”
Ebba sighs, reaching for her glass of white wine. “It’s good to see you getting serious about something other than tennis.”
I bite down on my tongue. Lying to my family is a lot fucking harder than I anticipated. And even though I know they don’t mean it as a dig, it feels like one.
So what, if I’ve prioritized tennis over just about everything else in my life? My parents were more than happy to pay for my lessons and helped me secure the best coaches we could find. They encouraged to me to go pro. They travel to most of my matches. So why does it feel like they’re judging me?
“We’ve been worried about you,” my dad says. “You’ve had more meltdowns on the court than usual lately.”
Ah, that’s what this is about.
I groan, rubbing my free hand against my jaw. “I haven’t been playing my best and I’m frustrated.”
It’s the truth, too. I think any player that’s been at this for any time will admit to getting into ruts where it’s like no matter what you do—how much you practice, run, lift weights, you name it—you’re just on a losing streak. Tennis is as much mental as it is physical and I know for me, personally, when I begin to lose a lot, it gets into my head, and it becomes even more likely that I will fail.
Whimsy flips her hand beneath mine, entwining our fingers, and I send her a grateful smile. She’s been around me long enough to read me easily so it’s no surprise she’s picked up on how uncomfortable this topic of conversation has made me.
My mom smiles at our joined hands and sends a look my dad’s way.
I know this is what she’s wanted for a while—not specifically Whimsy and me—but to see both my sister and I find a love like she has with our dad. They’ve been in love since they first met at nineteen. Love at first sight they’ve always told us. One look and they knew each other was the one. I can’t imagine what that must feel like. To look at a stranger and just know they belong to you.
I look over at Whimsy and she gives me a soft smile.
