Chapter 22

August 2008

The rest of my twenty-first summer passes in a love haze.

I can't tell you what we do every day. The days bleed into one another, one overlapping the next. We explore more—each other and Long Island. My rib repairs itself, and I get back on court, slowly at first, Matt taking it easy on me for the first time ever. Fred and I talk a lot about the future, but not the immediate one—what will happen when Fred and I go back to school in the fall. Instead, we dance around the topic, not quite going back to our old habit of detailed plans, more talking about places we want to go, things we want to see together.

I never end up reading the card my mother gave me for my birthday. Instead, I prop it on my vanity, so her handwriting greets me every morning. I'm not sure why I avoid the inside, only it feels like the last time I'll ever hear from her, and I want to postpone that day as long as I can.

And now it's late August. The days are getting shorter, imperceptibly at first, but our time out by the summer house each night is more in the dark than twilight. It's colder too. We've taken to bringing a blanket and wrapping ourselves in it, our lovemaking creating the heat we need to stay out there as late as we want. We don't talk about what the colder weather means, just push past it, like our breath that appears in a mist as the night encroaches, then disappears in an instant. Tomorrow, we're both thinking. Tomorrow we'll talk about the fall.

The weekend before Labor Day I interrupt a tense conversation between Aunt Tracy, my father, and Charlotte. Something about the housing market and some bad investments my father made. This isn't the first time we've had issues with money, but it was always shrugged off before. This time, I can tell from Tracy's tone, and even Charlotte's, it's more serious.

"Olivia, can you come in here?" Tracy asks.

I walk into William's study feeling nervous. He hasn't said that much to me about Fred, but I can tell he disapproves. It's nothing he says—more what he doesn't. How he looks at Fred sometimes at the dinner table like he's confused that he's still around.

"What's up?"

"We wanted to talk to you," Tracy says.

"What about?"

"This fall. And whether you can get an additional scholarship for school," Charlotte says, then mouths, "Sorry."

I sit down slowly in one of the chairs in front of William's desk. I'm already on a full sports scholarship, but it doesn't cover a lot of my expenses. Rent, books, food, travel for competitions … these are all extras I've paid for in part through work-study but have mostly been covered by William. "There's nothing more I can get. Not now."

William's mouth turns down, and for once he seems focused. "I'm sorry, dear, but there isn't any money for school."

I feel sick and confused. "What do you mean?"

"Surely," Tracy says, "you've been following the news?"

I haven't. Some of the big stories have filtered through: the Beijing Olympics, Obama's run for the White House, but mostly we were in our bubble. Clearly, I should've been paying attention.

"What's going on?"

Charlotte rolls her eyes. "The housing crisis? The markets?"

"Okay."

"The point is, dear," Aunt Tracy says gently, "your father's in a bit of a financial crunch, and we're going to have to retrench."

"Retrench?"

"Like in a war."

"We're at war?"

"It's an expression, Olivia," Charlotte says. "Keep up."

"What am I supposed to do?"

"Can you defer?" Aunt Tracy asks. "For a year while we sort this out?"

"I don't know."

"You should call your school. Your coach. See if there's something …"

I bite my lip. I want to cry. All the plans I've been building in my head, the path … this isn't how this is supposed to go. "I'll turn pro."

"What?" my father says.

"I'll join the tour … I can get paid sponsorships then. Make some money. I won't be a burden."

"Can you do that?" Charlotte says. Are you good enough? is what she's asking.

"Yes," I say with confidence because even if I can't, it's what I'm going to do. "I can."

"So that's the plan," I say to Fred that night. "I spoke to Matt, and he's agreed to come on as my coach. I'll call the school tomorrow."

We're out on the lawn near the summer house. We slipped away from the cocktail party that's going on as if nothing was happening, like one of those doomed parties in The Great Gatsby, a book I've always despised.

Fred listened while I spoke, not saying anything, but now, finally, he does. "Can you give me a couple of days?"

"For what?"

"To come up with a better plan."

Our backs are up against the building, our legs splayed out in front of us. Fred's shorts are paint stained. He's been repainting his aunt's porch this last week.

"Plan for what?"

"For you. For us."

I don't say anything because his hurt is evident in his voice. "I have to do it, Fred."

"Let me see, okay? Can you wait a day or two to call the school?"

"Yes, okay."

I want to say more, but I can't get the words out. I don't ask how we're going to stay together with me out on tour. At the ranking I'm going to start at, I'll be leading a wanderer's life, chasing an alchemy of points and prize money and whatever tournament will take me. Fred can't come with me. I won't let him give up his life for mine.

"Thank you." He picks up my hand and kisses it. "I'm sorry about all of this."

"It's not your fault."

"I know, but I can be sorry anyway."

I lean against him. "I thought we'd have more time."

"We will," Fred says with confidence, but his hand in mine is shaking.

"So, here's the plan," Fred says an anxious two nights later, a day that's close enough to September that I can see it on the calendar without having to flip the page. "You'll transfer to my school. I can pay for our housing because I was going to be in an apartment anyway. The team will take you—they'll be more than happy to match your scholarship. Once you graduate next year, you can turn pro, if that's what you want. But this way, you can finish your degree and we can be together. What do you think?" Fred looks at me nervously, but his voice doesn't hold any doubt.

We're in my bedroom. It's late, near midnight. I can hear the crickets outside, grinding their legs in the grass, making that high-pitched whine, and the waves crashing into shore, that metronome beat that never goes away.

"You spoke to your school?"

"Yes, the tennis coach. He knew who you were."

"Okay."

"Are you mad?"

"I don't know, Fred. This is a lot."

"Too much?"

"I wish you'd talked to me before you arranged everything."

He hangs his head. "You didn't talk to me before you decided to go pro."

"You're right." I reach for him. "Come here."

He sits down and wraps his arms around me. I drink him in, his fresh soapy scent, the undertone of sweat because he's nervous. He smells like home to me, and I don't want to lose him. "I love you, Fred. So much."

"I love you too."

"I want to be together. I do."

He smiles against my neck. "I'm so glad."

"Me too. This is good. This is going to be great."

"It is." He sits up. "There's one more thing."

"What?"

"I didn't talk to you about this first either, but …" He reaches for my wrist, the one where I wear the charm bracelet. He dips his hand into his pocket and pulls something out. I can't quite see what it is. His eyes are clear and full of certainty. "I love you, Olivia. You're it for me. I want us to be together for always. Will you marry me?" He opens his hand and there's a small engagement ring charm sitting in the palm of it, a perfect little diamond sitting on a silver band.

My heart swells. "Oh my God."

"Is that a yes?"

"Yes, yes, of course I'll marry you." I fling myself into his arms, tears in my eyes, my whole body shaking.

Fred holds me hard against him, then finds my mouth, and we kiss for a minute, both of us emotional. When we break apart, he takes my wrist and attaches the charm. I touch it, marveling at this turn of events.

"Are you happy?" Fred asks.

"So happy. You?"

"Yes. And I'll get you a real ring—"

"No, this is perfect."

We kiss again, then nuzzle into each other.

This is good—this will be good. We'll get married and spend the rest of our lives together. I'll move to Boston and play with a new team, and next year I'll turn pro and we'll figure out the times we need to be apart. We'll walk hand in hand together instead of planning for some potential future.

I'm grateful, in a way, that things didn't work out five years ago. If they had, then we probably wouldn't be together now, and this wouldn't be happening.

Married. I'm getting married. To Fred.

It feels like everything I've ever wanted is about to come true.

And that scares the shit out of me.