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It’s the other side of the holidays, and we did, in fact, unwrap each other. The turkey was most certainly not dry, and neither was I. New Year’s was spent with Mikey, Ari, Jeff, and his new girlfriend, Tracy. We laughed a lot. Since I’m the queen of coordinated schedules, Ari and I now book the same flights. When we’re on the East Coast, we have dinner and play tennis. His backhand is wicked. When we’re on the West Coast, we hibernate with our partners. I’ve begun to fly out of LA to book signings and then back again. Alex’s traveled with me a couple of times. He works in the hotel rooms but always flies home to record the podcast with the guys.
My Philly townhouse is more of a safety net these days. I bought it when my first book did well. I couldn’t afford anything in New York, and I liked the idea of redefining my life in a different city.
As we crest into the end of February, it’s nice to spend so much time in the sun. Alex doesn’t seem to mind having me around. We flew to Boston last week when his father was able to cook for me. He only makes one thing, but it was a really good lasagna.
I moved in a couple of hangers. His were shit, and my silk blouses don’t do well with plastic. I’ve actually bought a couple of small decor items. His throw pillows were scratchy and too chic. I need a soft pillow to lay my head down, so I bought these cool aqua ones. He says he likes them because they match my eyes. It freaks me out because I don’t know if I’m overstepping. He hasn’t asked me to stay or move in here. He simply requests when I go on tour to come back. I want to, so I do.
But there have been moments of weirdness. I feel like he’s starting to hold back just a tiny bit in regard to stupid shit. Like I bought cumin, and it wasn’t from Whole Foods. He didn’t so much say anything but kept asking me, ‘Why would I buy spices from Ralph’s?’ Then I ended up defending a grocery store. I don’t know. I’m not from here. But that’s stupid. We buried it under sex where it belongs. No one breaks up because of cumin.
* * *
VIII
Off-Line
51
Tess
Ari leaps from the car. “I’m going to crush you.”
“Let’s see if you can return my serve first.”
Alex’s been swamped with the final documentary script. The boys have also been making more appearances lately. It’s a gorgeous March day, and Ari and I have plenty of time to play tennis before the boys are done working.
Ari gets this side of things. We often watch movies or sit at the fire pit, waiting for Alex to come home and signal Mikey’s done working. I disappear into the locker room. I love wearing tennis whites. It gets me into killer mode.
“You can serve.” Shit ass if he doesn’t ace me. “Damn, boy, you came to play.”
“I might have studied old tapes of you and discovered weak spots.”
“Bring it, bitch!”
We get into a nice volley, and I smoke him at the net. It’s nice to let the smash out. Each point I give up makes me dig deeper. I get the sets 2-4. We sit on the bench, slurping tons of water.
“When’s the last time you lost?” Ari looks at me.
“Wimbledon, but that wasn’t my fault.” I wink.
We switch sides, and he gets me in the end 5-7. His fair face is beet red, and I’m a sweaty mess, but also not a fan of a tie. The first point of the new set and I cut left to the net. My ankle rolls a bit, but I overcompensate and step incredibly wrong. I never make it to the net. I crumple to the ground.
“FUCK!”
Ari throws his racquet and is at my side. The pain is so familiar. “Oh. God. Can you stand?”
I’m lying there shouting expletives. “Shit. Shit.”
“Let me get someone.”
“Help me to the bench. Fuck. It’s already ballooning.”
“Damn, Tess, you need ice now.” He stares at my knee.
“I need a hospital and Alex. It’s my ACL. But the swelling will be a bitch because of before.”
Ari puts his hands in my armpits and slides me up onto my left foot. He braces me, and I grind my teeth as he delivers me to the bench. Fuck. I keep balling my fists, wishing the pain away. He returns with ice, the pro, and the club manager.
“Jason Jenkins?” I look at him, totally befuddled at the club pro.
