“Well, we have the same shaped face,” she pointed out. “I see you’re striving for butch points tonight, Elin.”
While she’d gone with a pale blue summer dress, I’d opted for a grey linen pantsuit with a simple camisole under it. I had my hair down, partly because it was a relief not to tie it back and because a little part of my brain was always trying to be a bit less recognisable when out on the town. It helped that by Hollywood standards I was very minor news.
“Where to?”
Alice punched in a destination on the SatNav, and we headed off down the hill.
“So…elephant in the car time?” I began, enjoying the breeze through my hair from the motion of the car. “Did they tell you?”
“That the great house of Larsson will split?” she announced in her best Game of Thrones intro voice. “Yeah, Mamma filled me in on a video call. Most of which she spent arguing about some hotel booking for Cincinnati for you.”
“And that doesn’t upset you? You have no strong feelings? You’re twenty-seven and suddenly your parents don’t want to be together anymore?”
“Oh dear, here comes the Ibsen drama about Elin’s existence,” she started to mock. “What do you care? Wouldn’t you rather they just be happy?”
“I… Well, yes, but…”
“Eloquent,” Alice summarised. “Sounds like one of your press conferences. Congrats, though, on the win. She was very proud.”
“The novelty really never wears off for her.”
“Like it has for you, you mean?” Alice always could see right through me. “Oh, ignore the machine. Take a right up here. Mamma also said you’d been misbehaving in London. Going for drinks like an actual adult with free will.”
“Yeah. Maybe the night before the final wasn’t so smart, but I don’t have to answer to her on that.”
I felt the surprised glance without anything having to be said. Turned out I could still shock my little sister.
Even with the vagaries of LA traffic, it didn’t take us long to find the sushi place. We took a small booth in back, nobody giving me a second glance. The refreshing feeling of being anonymous again let my shoulders drop the last inch, and I relaxed into catching up.
Somewhere between the eel and the salmon, Alice pointed her chopsticks at me in accusation. “There’s something going on with you. Did you and Celeste have a little reunion after the match?”
“What? No.” I sipped my wine, considering. “Although she did kind of suggest it? But no, we’re not meant to be.”
“Then it’s someone else. Don’t tell me, that pig from the men’s tour finally wore you down and you switched teams.”
“Ew. No. You might put up with dating men, but some of us have standards.”
Alice flipped me off while finishing her own glass of red. “No, if this is a new thing for you then we have… What? A year of silent pining, minimum? It’s not like you’re going to make a move or really do anything about it.”
For that, I balled up my napkin and threw it at her. “I have game.”
“On the court, sure. If it was a case of hitting a ball at this new mystery woman, there’s nobody better. But dating? I think maybe there’s nobody worse.”
“For that, you’re buying dinner.”
“The starving artist? I don’t think so. I might not watch Wimbledon, but I know what they pay the winner.”
Our parents would be horrified to hear us talking so openly about modest subjects like money. Not quite teenage rebellion, but close to our version of it.
“Speaking of romance and dating, I don’t see you here with a plus one,” I said.
“No, but maybe next time I could bring a certain someone. You’ll like this one. He even has…wait for it…a real job.”
“You mean he’s not an ‘aspiring’ anything? Because I’ve lived through the actor, the dancer, the one who wouldn’t wait tables just anywhere because he wanted to be a ‘professional server.’”
“For that, I’m ordering dessert.” Alice let it all bounce off her, secure as ever that in a comparison of our romantic success she’d come out in front. “And you don’t get details until you spill about yours.”
“Nothing to spill. This girl saved me from getting caught by the paparazzi, we maybe had a half a moment after I won the damn thing, and…yeah. She’s probably straight—”
Alice groaned. I did have form on that front.
“And dating her coach. Because oh, she’s another player. Which worked out so well before. To top it all off, I didn’t even recognise her at first, so I probably look like an elitist asshole to her as well. Not exactly the start of a romantic comedy, is it?”
“I’ve heard worse. Although you can be married thirty-something years and throw it all away, as it turns out. Maybe we’re both crazy to be looking for love?”
“You might be looking, but I’m not,” I argued. “And I knew you couldn’t just be that cool about the divorce. If we’re going to talk feelings, though, it’s going to take more than this wine.”
“You mean a real bar?” Alice asked like she’d read my mind. “I know just the place.”
I signalled for the check and patted Alice’s hand. We weren’t big on hugs and all that warm-blooded stuff, but it felt necessary in the circumstances.
“Come on, let’s go drown our sorrows and get used to coming from a broken home.”
The shrill ring of the phone woke me, or maybe it was the glaring sunlight through the bedroom window—I’d forgotten to close the drapes.
I fumbled for the evil noise-making machine like a drowning person clutching for a rope.
“Ms Larsson, your car will be with you in thirty.”
I grunted some kind of acknowledgement, the spike of panic leaving words beyond my reach. What car? Why? I didn’t even
