I clearly hadn’t fully convinced myself that the tournament wasn’t big deal.
When we arrived at Wollman Rink, I reversed my perception yet again. It was the first year holding the tournament on the beautiful pop-up courts, and it seemed to have made a difference in the level of excitement. The low-key vibe of past years I’d clocked in photos had leveled up, big-time.
“Damn,” Meredith said, widening her eyes at the long registration line. “Glad we’re early.”
I shivered despite the hot sun. This was supposed to be an unsanctioned, easy-peasy, fun tournament, but the gathering crowd suggested otherwise.
Owen had mentioned the seasonal courts at Central Park when we first started training together, but I’d opted out when I looked up photos of them. Initially, I wasn’t in the headspaceto try to navigate the fourteen very busy, by-reservation courts. I was happier hiding out at CPA off-hours or at crappy, old Jimmie McDaniel, playing with whoever showed up that day.
Now I was about to make my competitive debut on the fancy periwinkle-and-turquoise courts. There were already spectators ringing them, leaning over the barrier and sitting on top of it. I spotted a guy handing out sports drink samples. Someone else selling pickleball T-shirts and hats.
And a local news van.
Fuck. Itwasa big deal.
“I don’t see Howard,” I said as I scanned the crowd. “Maybe he changed his mind?”
Meredith laughed at me. “I know what you’re doing. Stop. He’ll be here, you’ll play your best, and we’ll be so proud of you no matter what happens.”
An arm slid around my shoulders. “Meredith’s right. We’re already proud of you.”
I turned abruptly.“Dad?”I spotted my mom right behind him. “Oh my god, what are you guys doing here?”
He was beaming at me proudly, his eyes squinting up behind his round glasses.
“How could we miss it?” my mom asked as she swooped in for a tight hug. She was in her usual Athleta gear, looking fit enough to jump on a court and dominate. “Wes told us how good you are, and he mentioned the tournament, which you neglected to tell us about, so we coordinated with Meredith to be here.”
“You did this?” I asked Meredith as I hugged my dad.
She gave me a mischievous grin. “I helped.”
“But it’s just a stupid match,” I sputtered as I glanced between them. “You shouldn’t have come; it’s nothing.”
My dad took my hand and squeezed it. “We watch your brother play, and now we’re going to watch you. We’reveryexcited to be here. This is a big deal, Brookie.”
Seeing them was a balm on my soul given everything going wrong in my life, but it also put an extra layer of pressure on the day. They were about to witness a version of me they’d never experienced.
“Seriously, you guys, it’s nothing. I’m sorry you’re wasting your Saturday. It won’t take too long; we can grab lunch after and try to salvage—”
“Stop,” my mom scolded gently. She reached over to smooth a loose strand of hair off my forehead. “We brought chairs; we’re ready to camp out for as long as it takes to see you win.”
Of course they brought chairs, because they were well-versed in organized sports spectatorship.
My phone buzzed and I clawed at it nervously. “It’s Howard. I need to meet him at registration. His wife is with him too.” I stared at the three of them, still gape-mouthed with shock. “I guess I should go... but I don’t know which court we’re going to be on so do you want me to—”
“Go,” my dad said with a laugh and hand flap. “We’ll find you. Don’t worry about us.”
“We’re grown-ups; we’ll be fine,” Meredith added. “Get your head in the game, woman!”
I watched them for a beat longer, gave them all quick hugs, then jogged off to find Howard.
Hours later, when the sun was finally sliding off the courts, Howard and I were sweaty, tired, and semi-victorious.
He’d been right about the dress rehearsal aspect of our last game together, because we couldn’t have played better. I’d worried that the spectators just outside of my field of vision wouldthrow me off, especially knowing that my parents were among them for my sporty debut, but every gasp and cheer from the crowd made me play harder.
In the end, we wound up in a very respectable third place in our bracket.
Howard couldn’t stop smiling at me. He’d worn all black as well, even switching to a black visor instead of wearing his blue “Professor Pickleball” cap so we’d look like a united front. The age difference between us probably threw off our competitors, which we used to our advantage to finesse our way to third place.
