Mixed-Up Matrimony. Diana Mars
Tamara asked her daughter quietly as soon as they pulled out of the Eck Tennis Pavilion parking lot.
“I tried to, Mother,” Sabrina said, smoothly maneuvering the car as she headed toward Angela Boulevard. “But you were always too busy.”
“Oh, come on,” Tamara said, shifting in her seat to look at Sabrina’s expression. Her chest constricted. Her daughter might think she was an adult, but the baby roundness of her face, the innocent look in those green eyes...they spoke of a child protected against the harshest realities of the world, with its cruelties, unfair rules, and gaping jaw waiting to devour the unprepared.
Had she overprotected Sabrina?
Sabrina shot her a quick glance, and the hostility and coldness Tamara read there froze the blood in her veins.
“You know you were always too busy. The only things you cared about were that I got good grades and practiced hard.”
Mystified, Tamara shook her head.
“And what is wrong with that, may I ask? You know you need good grades to get into a good university. And in order to have any chance at turning pro, you need a high national ranking—which would also allow you to get into top schools like Stanford, Northwestern, or Notre Dame—”
“What about my social life, Mother? Why should I have to give up everything?”
Anger shot through Tamara, and she had to contain herself to keep from raising her voice. “You know that the reason you don’t have a higher ranking is that I didn’t send you to more tennis camps, and gave you the choice to attend concerts and dances instead of participating in important tennis events—”
“It’s all about tennis, isn’t it, Mother?”
“What do you mean—all? You made a choice not to attend one of the tennis camps in Florida, or California. As a matter of fact, I was quite willing to move to either coast so you could play year-round and have more access to competition and world-class pros—”
“That’s exactly what I mean, Mother!” Sabrina practically shouted. Shocked, Tamara looked at her daughter. Only in the past few months had she even dared raise her voice at Tamara.
“Sabrina, calm down. You’re driving, remember?” Tamara reminded her as they approached an intersection. As the light turned yellow, Sabrina slammed on the brakes and swore.
Tamara paled and watched, speechless, as both Bronson and Christopher, who had made the light, pulled over to the side of the road to wait for them.
Another admirable trait of her daughter’s was her self-control. When her opponents were cursing up a blue streak on court, she had always maintained a calm, reserved demeanor. A tournament director in Kentucky who had seen Chris Evert play as a junior had compared Sabrina’s sportsmanlike behavior during matches to the legendary champion’s.
But this out-of-control teenager was nothing like the daughter she had raised.
As the light turned green, Sabrina leaned on the accelerator and took the turn with a squeal of tires.
“Sabrina, take it easy!” a horrified Tamara yelled as they almost hit a car in the next lane.
Sabrina slowed down and swore again.
“Stupid jerk!”
“I’m sorry to say, Sabrina, but the jerk in this case is you. What’s happened to you, anyway?”
As her daughter turned a wounded, confused look on her, Tamara regretted her outburst.
“That’s what I mean, Mother. The only time you’re ever with me, or have anything nice to say to me, is when I get A’s or win a match—or preferably the damned tournament.”
Expertly passing, Sabrina caught up to Christopher’s Celica, which was the lead car, and motioned for him to open his window. When he did, Sabrina said, “Chris, let’s skip the restaurant altogether. Let’s just go over to the room and get this over with.”
Christopher looked from Sabrina to Tamara, accusation plain in his gaze, and nodded. “You go ahead. I’ll tell Dad, and I’ll meet you there.”
* * *
Bronson swore fluently, as he saw Sabrina head toward the highway. He was glad he was alone in the car, because he really felt like throttling the two kids.
Obviously, things had not gone too well with mother and daughter, since Sabrina had changed their plans and had indicated to Christopher that she did not even want to keep them company while they had some lunch.
Fear joined anger as Bronson followed his son to the motel. Had they lost before they had even begun?
Five
Tamara’s throat constricted as Sabrina parked in front of Room 401. The door had a non-smoking symbol, and Tamara tried to swallow. At least Sabrina’s rebellion had not extended to smoking.
Christopher and Bronson parked in adjacent spaces, and Christopher left the Celica as if shot by a cannon. Reaching the driver’s side of Sabrina’s car, he opened the door for her.
“Are you okay?” he asked Sabrina, his dark blue eyes drilling holes into Tamara.
Bronson left his car and opened the door for Tamara.
“Are you all right?” Bronson asked, his stern gaze drilling holes into Christopher.
If she hadn’t been so exhausted from so many shocks in one day, Tamara would have laughed.
It was almost funny. Almost.
Mother and daughter answered simultaneously.
“I’m all right.”
“I’m fine, thank you.”
An awkward moment ensued as both Sabrina and Christopher searched for the hotel key.
Bronson and Tamara looked at each other, and Tamara saw the fear and disappointment she knew must be visible in her own eyes reflected in Bronson’s gaze.
“I got it,” Sabrina said, waving the brown plastic key chain.
Sabrina walked to the door, Christopher glued to her side. She opened the room and walked in, Christopher at her heels.
Tamara swallowed again and looked up at Bronson. Though his eyes were shadowed with worry, he gave her a crooked smile and put a supportive hand at her back as they walked into the Knight’s Inn.
* * *
“Christopher has the best chance for a scholarship, Mom,” Sabrina insisted. “And I want to be with him.”
Tamara took a deep breath, and wrapped her hands around the knee of her crossed leg.
They’d been at this for the past twenty minutes. Both she and Bronson had been shocked beyond what they believed possible: both kids were putting their relationship above their futures and were refusing to listen to reason.
Tamara and Bronson were sitting on one double bed, facing Sabrina and Christopher, who occupied the other one.
While Tamara had been glad they’d not been confronted with a single, queen-size bed, she was not sure whether that was by design, or because they only had a room with double beds left when the children checked in.
At least, to her they were children. And to Bronson, too, she suspected. And they would be even when they got to be fifty, and had their own kids, and maybe grandchildren.
What was really eating at Tamara was that Bronson seemed distanced from her, now that he’d realized Christopher was still seriously considering attending college.
“Sabrina, you have one semester in which you can play a lot of tournaments and get your rankings up. And, if necessary, you can go to one university freshman year, and then transfer to one of the powerhouses in your sophomore year.”