Page 53 of Love, Amy

“Thanks.” I sniffle. I pat my cheeks dry with the pocket square, dirtying the pale pink. I take a few deep breaths, slowing my tears as I do so. Even though I’m embarrassed to be caught crying by Vince, a part of me knows he’ll understand. Through every strange moment with the Bowman family, he’s remained unflappable and compassionate. I decide he deserves more than just a thanks for the fancy tissue. “Thanks for coming tonight, Vince. It means a lot.”

Vince’s worried eyes stay on me. “What’s wrong, Amy? You seemed okay on the way over.” I know what he means. His expression was cautious when he met up with Beck and me in the lobby earlier, but I did all I could do to assuage his concern by chatting about my dress and the rumored guests that would be attending the ball. He had relaxed by the time we got to the ballroom.

It’s hard to put it into words. I look up at the sky, where the stars are barely visible. “I don’t know,” I finally say. “A lot of things.”

“If this was about Aurelio and Fernanda’s dance, I don’t think you have anything to worry about,” he says cautiously. “It seemed friendly to me.”

I appreciate his fatherly concern. It’s more than I’ve ever gotten from my actual father. “No, I know. It wasn’t that I thought they were, I don’t know, cheating or something...” I stumble over the words, struggling to explain myself, struggling to explain that I don’t fit in. Finally, I turn on the bench to look at him. “Vince, have you ever wished everything in your life was different?”

Now, Vince laughs. Like, really laughs at me. I begin to worry that I sound like a spoiled brat. “Amy,” he says, reprimanding, “I’m the younger brother of one of the greatest athletes in the world. I understood from a pretty young age that I would never measure up to her. What do you think?”

It takes me a second. “You played tennis, too? But what, you weren’t good?”

He shrugs. “I was good. But not top twenty good. Not Grand Slam good. I only played on the tour for a few years before I couldn't take it anymore and went back to school.”

“To work in sports medicine?” I ask curiously. “So, you could be a trainer?”

He shakes his head. “Not at first. I had no idea what I wanted to do. I loved tennis. My family loved tennis. That was the only life I’d ever known.”

I soften. “And you found a way to be a part of it again. Just not in the way you imagined.”

He smiles. “Exactly. It took me a while to get to the right headspace for that to happen though. I had to accept a completely different future than the one I had always expected.”

“And you don’t regret it?” I raise a brow. “Even working with us Bowmans?”

He laughs again. “I don’t regret working with Amy Bowman.”

“Thanks, Vince.” I mean to say it jokingly, but it comes out too sincere.

We lapse into thoughtful silence. I pat my face with the pocket square, the tears finally dry. “I think you can do it,” Vince says eventually. “It’s never too late to change your life.”

I nod, trying to imagine the different future Vince described earlier. “I think you’re right.”

We decide we’ve had enough of the ball. Neither of us tell Beck we’re leaving. As we wait out front for the car, my phone buzzes.

It’s Aurelio.

Aurelio:

Did you leave? I wanted you to meet my father.

My heart sinks. I quickly type out a response.

Amy:

We have an early flight. Next time, I promise.

I’m already in the back seat of the car when Aurelio replies.

Aurelio:

Will you ever stop running, Amy?

The guilt swims in my stomach. My fingers hover over the keyboard, debating what to say. Finally, I take the coward’s way out: confusion.

Amy:

Running from what?