Carrie soto is back, p.30
Carrie Soto Is Back,
p.30
I might beat her today. If that ball is in and she misses it, I can beat her today.
But that will not change the fact that she is incomparable. And she will win another Slam in ’96. And then probably another, if she goes easier on her ankle.
And what am I going to do? Keep coming back to try to take it from her? Keep holding on for dear life to what I should have let go of long ago? Is that what I want my life to be? Trying to deny what Nicki Chan is?
Where is the beauty in that?
My shot arches toward her, over the net. Nicki’s running deep. The ball goes past her. She’s not going to get it.
I can feel myself winning this thing and then letting go of it all. Letting her take the rest from here on out. I am ready for that. I am ready to give it to her. To let her have it. Finally.
But as I watch, the ball lands one centimeter past the baseline.
The linesman calls it out.
I can’t quite believe what I’m seeing. Nicki screams into the sky, both arms outstretched. The crowd is up on their feet, cheering.
I just lost the tiebreak. I just lost the match.
I can barely catch my breath.
I don’t slam down my racket. I don’t scream. I don’t bury my face in my hands. I just look at Bowe.
Nicki Chan has won the US Open.
I lost. The match and my record, twice in one year.
I wait for the skies to open up and shame to rain down on me. I wait for my belly to split in half. For the grief to overtake me. But…it doesn’t come.
Bowe is smiling. And Gwen has her arms out, waiting to give me a hug. Ali is clapping wildly, even though I lost.
And the thing I don’t understand is that I still feel that hum. That hum in my bones. That sense of weightlessness and groundedness. That sense that the day is mine. That I can do anything.
Nicki Chan looks at me. And I smile at her.
I am no longer the greatest tennis player in the world.
For the first time in my life, I can be…something else.
One Year Later
CHAN VS. CORTEZ
1996 US Open
Final
It’s 5–4 in the deciding set. If Nicki breaks Cortez’s serve on this last game, she will set a new record.
I am sitting in the players’ box. Bowe is next to me. Nicki’s parents are on the other side of us. Her new girlfriend, who cannot stand me, is sitting with a tight smile on her face in the corner.
I watch as Nicki returns Cortez’s heavy forehand with a slice. I nod.
The Soto Slice was the first thing I taught her.
“You need to improve your volleys, your short game. That’s how I almost beat you back in New York,” I said, on our first day on the courts together.
“I don’t need a volley game when my baseline game is as good as it is,” she said.
“You will never win Wimbledon again with just your baseline game, and you know it. You’re gonna give up one-fourth of all Slams a year because you don’t want to perfect your volley?” I said. “Now, come on, de nuevo!”
Nicki frowned but then did what I told her to. Just like she did when I made her start going easier on her ankle—so she could extend her career a few years. She gets pissed and mouths off, but I can tell she’s always listening to me, even if she doesn’t act like it.
It makes me laugh—how often my father must have seen my own frown, knowing I’d still do what he said.
And now, here we are—coach and player—at the 1996 US Open, me sitting here in the stands, helpless to do anything but hope she can harness all the new skills we’ve worked on.
My God, how hard it must have been for my father to do this. To sit here, a ball of nerves, knowing that all of the control was in my hands. He could not think for me on the court, he could not hit the ball for me. He just had to have faith that I could play the way he’d taught me.
What a gift it is, to be able to guide someone to a point and then let them finish it themself. To give someone all the knowledge you have and then pray they use it right. It’s a skill I am learning, one I am determined to perfect.
Nicki’s now at break point. Which means she is at championship point.
She looks up at me. I nod at her. She nods back, a small smile erupting across her face.
If she takes the next point, she’ll win the US Open and hit a record-breaking twenty-three Slams—a feat that, just a few short years ago, was unheard of. But that’s Nicki for you. Unstoppable. Raising the bar for absolutely everyone.
Cortez tosses the ball into the air and sends it screaming over the net. Nicki starts backing up, stepping into position.
“She’s got it,” Bowe says, quietly under his breath. I stare straight ahead, bouncing my knees. He grabs my hand to calm me.
I sit forward, praying with all my might, as Nicki pulls back and swings—
To Brad Mendelsohn, the closest thing I’ve ever had to a coach
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I loved creating Carrie Soto with all of my heart and I only got to do it because of readers. So thank you, to every single person who picked up Malibu, or Daisy, or Evelyn, or One True Loves and any of the books that came before it. Thank you for showing up for these characters.
This is a story of a woman who often acts like she does it all on her own but, in fact, benefits greatly from the talented people around her. And because of that, I’ve dedicated this book to my manager, Brad Mendelsohn, who was the first member of the incredible team I have now—and directly and indirectly led me to the wildly talented people mentioned here whom I am incredibly fortunate to work with.
Thank you to my editor, Jennifer Hershey. You understood Carrie and pushed me to bring her fully to life with all of her flaws. I’m so thankful to you for your commitment to her. And to my agent, Theresa Park, thank you for seeing the joy and fun in this book and feeling it alongside me.
To the team at Ballantine—Kara Welsh, Kim Hovey, Susan Corcoran, Jennifer Garza, Allyson Lord, Quinne Rogers, Taylor Noel, Maya Franson, Paolo Pepe, Elena Giavaldi, Erin Kane, and Sydney Shiffman. I cannot believe I got so lucky as to be published by such a talented and powerful publishing house. Thank you for your passion and all of the effort that goes into getting these books into people’s hands. It doesn’t happen without you.
To the PFLM team—Emily Sweet, Andrea Mai, Abigail Koons, Anna Petkovich, Kathryn Toolan, Jen Mecum, and Charlotte Gillies. I would not be able to do any of this without your insights. You all are invaluable, and I consider your expertise paramount to my success.
Carisa Hays and Hayley Shear, thank you for always having my back. Each and every time.
Julian Alexander, you are always such a bright spot on every Zoom! Thank you for your faith in me. And to Ailah Ahmed and the entire team at Hutchinson Heinemann, I cannot tell you what it means to have such a phenomenal, robust team behind my work in the UK.
Leo Teti, you have saved me! This book needed you, and I am so grateful to have had you in my corner.
Stuart Rosenthal and Sylvie Rabineau, thank you for being there—calm, cool, and collected—for every curveball that gets thrown our way.
Kari Erickson, I don’t think I would have gotten through 2021 without you. And I certainly wouldn’t have been able to get this book ready in time. Your insights, thoughtfulness, and conscientiousness have become indispensable. Thank you.
I wrote this book during a pandemic. And I could not have done that without the people closest to me stepping up to help with childcare. I have said it before but I don’t think I can ever say it enough: This book does not exist without my mother-in-law, Rose, and my grandmother-in-law, Sally, stepping in to spend time with my daughter. I cannot do it alone. And I do not have to. I thank you for that. Thank you to my brother, Jake, for talking me through it all, even the parts that have no easy answers.
And thank you to my peanuts. I can’t make any decisions without you all so I’m very grateful that one of you is always there, at any reasonable hour eastern time, to help me through it all.
Of course, I have never written a book without you, Alex Jenkins Reid. It’s not just because you watch our daughter. Or that you help me to remember that these things are only books, after all. It is because you also help me figure out when I should listen to what other people are telling me and when to go with my gut. It is an incredible skill, to understand when you are right and when you are wrong. You have helped me to see it as clearly as I can. And in so doing, you’ve helped me become more myself than I have ever been before.
And lastly, to Lilah. You’ve heard me talk about Carrie Soto for a while now. You’ve patiently listened to me try to figure her out. And you had a very good idea for the title of this book, which I almost used. So, I don’t know, maybe you’re a writer. But let me tell you something: You are capable of so many amazing things. I hope, as you grow older, that this gives you a sense of peace. I, for so much of my life, have had something to prove. But I think you have a real chance of knowing you don’t have to prove a single thing to anyone. If it should come to pass that you feel the need to go do something big, to go be the greatest there ever was, I will stand by you for that journey. I will be there, cheering you on, for anything you go out there and do. But just know that, to me, you showed up perfect. You don’t have to prove a single thing.
By Taylor Jenkins Reid
Carrie Soto Is Back
Malibu Rising
Daisy Jones & The Six
The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo
One True Loves
Maybe in Another Life
After I Do
Forever, Interrupted
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Taylor Jenkins Reid is the New York Times bestselling author of eight novels, including Malibu Rising, Daisy Jones & The Six, and The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo. She lives in Los Angeles with her husband and their daughter.
taylorjenkinsreid.com
Instagram: @tjenkinsreid
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Taylor Jenkins Reid, Carrie Soto Is Back
