I felt like my whole life could use a reset.
I tried to focus as Owen went on to describe the proper grip(soft, no surprise there), paddle position, swing path, and target, but all I could think about was how mechanical he sounded as he coached me. It felt like I was any old student who rolled in off the street for a lesson. He could’ve been reading from a manual.
I wanted to go back to the way we used to be.
Still, we were yoked together until the tournament, and if I wanted to do at least passably well, I needed to drink in every fake, unused lesson. After all, I wanted to make him proud. To show him what a difference he’d made in a dork with two left feet.
Although if I was honest with myself and sidestepped modesty, my new paddle wasn’t the only weapon in my arsenal. The reset shots I consistently managed were good enough to almost unearth the old Owen. He looked impressed but not surprised.
He seemedchallengedby my game.
By the time we finished, we were both sweaty.
“Okay, let’s get you signed up,” Owen said after he drained half his water bottle.
Yeah, I was ready, without any hesitation. I wasn’t nervous about the tournament; I wasexcited.
I followed him behind the front desk to his office, a new space for me to scope out. After greeting Marti, I surreptitiously eyeballed every wall and surface in the place, only to discover that it offered zero clues about Owen aside from a box filled with power cords and a couple of thank-you cards perched behind his laptop.
Would I end our time together with a card too? The idea of it made me preemptively sad.
“I’m signing you up as ‘needs a partner,’ right?”
I paused. I hadn’t even considered that part of the equation. “Well . . . can’tyoube my partner?”
I realized it was a stupid question the moment I said it.
“Different skill levels,” he reminded me.
As if I could forget.
Owen explained that the tournament was double elimination, which meant that even if my TBD partner and I lost our first game, we’d still have a second consolation game to play.
“I wish the timing was a little earlier, because my brother’s visiting this weekend and he’d be the perfect partner,” I said.
Owen looked up from his laptop. “The one with Barnham?”
I nodded. “Yeah, my one and only sibling. He wants to play with me while he’s visiting, so I figure we’ll go to Jimmie McDaniel and goof around.”
“Supposed to rain on Saturday,” Owen said. “Play here.”
My heart fumbled at his nonstop generosity, but I didn’t feel like I deserved it any longer. I started to manufacture an excuse, but he interrupted me.
“I’m serious,” he continued, like he could read my mind. “Depending on what time you want to come, I’ll play with you guys. I love Barnham; it would be cool to meet him. It’ll be easy to find a fourth.”
So Owen was afan. Playing with us would be partly for him.
“I’d love that.” I beamed at him, envisioning how well he and Wes were going to get along. “Thank you.”
I made a mental note to tell Wes to bring a Barnham stadium shirt for Owen.
“Let me give you my credit card for the registration,” I said as I shuffled through my bag.
He slapped his laptop closed. “Too late, all good.”
I froze. “Owen.Come on, why did you do that?”
His eyes were snagged on mine as he seemed to weigh what he was about to say. “Because it’s my turn to call in a favor.”
