MATCH POINT , art donaldson

VII.

PRESENT DAY
( 2019. New Rochelle.)

" sweetie, can you stay with mummy please?" Elodie's voice calls, looking to Tom who still has his nose stuck in his phone. His eyes occasionally looking to the ground to see the path that their security guard is drawing for them.

Her eyes roll before quickly drawing her attention to the blonde haired girl who smiles goofily at her mum. The neatness of the plaits that Elodie had tirelessly done for her daughter who couldn't make up her mind what she wanted to do with her hair becoming rapidly undone.

Elodie watches as the young girl walks to her, her hand small enough to wrap around one of Elodie's fingers. It doesn't take long before Elodie sweeps Bea into her arms and continues to walk — smiling and using her other hand to wave at the fans of her husband who he doesn't take notice of himself.

Looking to the small sign that reads ' Donaldson V Erikson' that makes Elodie's heart pick up. It had been years since she last saw Art, and if it were up to her it wouldn't have been today that she decided to reconcile.

She pretended to be sick, once she heard Tom speaking on the phone to someone about travelling out to the local country club to watch Phil's Tire Town — specifically Art Donaldson's first game as a wildcard. 

It was no lie that Art's highly anticipated return to the professional Tennis realm was more lacklustre than glorious. After the dark year where he became a ball of anger on the court and wouldn't qualify for the big tournaments. The tear in a muscle in his arm was seemingly a blessing in disguise.

And although his mind was back in it, his body seemingly was struggling to receive the same message — he was losing, to people he had won easily to in the span of his career. His most recent loss to some fresh faced eighteen year old, barely out of school.

Once she heard of her husband's plans, she faked nausea — going to grab a glass of water once he had actually gotten into bed. She had annoyed him with her falsified deep breathing in order to subdue this imaginary nausea that she complained about.

And this morning, she tried to act as if she could go — although as she sat staring at the breakfast she wished she could break her act to eat, she hoped Tom would tell her not to, to take a day to rest with Beatrice. Check out the hotel spa or answer some emails.

But alas, here she was. Holding onto her daughter as they were led towards the court — late of course because Tom loved to make an entrance, for people to pay attention to him. For the players themselves to take a moment to acknowledge the presence that had deemed them worthy enough to watch.

Elodie looks down to a row in front of her. Noticing the brunette hair which is now cut into a bob — wearing a new perfume and a pair of glasses perched on the bridge of her nose. Tashi doesn't turn to acknowledge her old friend, not like she's sure Elodie would even want her to.

Instead she watches her husband who sits in the chair, toying with his wedding ring as he rolls it around with the fingers of his opposing hand. And it's no shock to anyone, Tashi especially that he's looking directly at Elodie. And that he has been since they entered his path of vision.

Art looks at them, the two girls — Elodie teasing her daughter with the white bunny stuffed animal as although he can't hear it, laughter exits the two years olds mouth. She cares about the looks she gets from others as much as she did when she was eighteen ( which was none).

Art feels his lips curve, at the happiness that she looks when with her daughter. Art hadn't seen Elodie happy the last couple times they had seen each other face to face. Of course, he had found himself down a rabbit hole of press which she fronted. She'd smile and force laughter.