That sentiment from a middle-aged woman will never not hit me right in the gut. This is exactly the sort of thing my mom would’ve done if she were still here. I try to smile at Mary, but it’s a wobbly smile.
“I’m proud of you.” Shit. My voice is wobbling too. “You deserve this.”
We make full eye contact, and hers go shiny. “It’s hard,” she whispers.
“I know,” I whisper back. “But you can do it. And you’ll be so glad you did. New friends. New hobby. New life.”
“You’ve started over?”
I shake my head. “My mom did.”
“Is she happy now?”
“Yes,” I lie, ignoring the way Duncan’s head whips around toward me.
I want to believe she would’ve been.
That she would’ve signed up for a pickleball league and made new friends that she had dinners with and traveled with and celebrated weddings and grandbabies with. Maybe taken art classes with.
That she would’ve kept living the life she’d finally given herself permission to have if it hadn’t been cut short.
“Okay,” Mary says. “If your mom can do this, I can do this. Where do I sign up?”
Duncan passes her a clipboard. “Waiver and sign-up form here. If you want to be added to the Thrusters or Fireballs email lists, you can add your name here, or scan the QR codes and sign up online.”
“Do I bring it back here when I’m done?”
“Yep.”
She half jogs to the bench under a tree that people have been using to fill out their forms.
Duncan looks at me. “I thought your mom passed away.”
I don’t look back at him. “Can’t exactly tell people she finally seized life by the balls only to have it ripped away by a freak accident a year later if we want to stay inspirational, can we? Shewashappy. For about ten months. Are the Berger twins coming for spite pictures?”
“Very likely. What made your mom finally seize life by the balls?”
“It’s nice of you to ask them to come for a complete stranger.” I wave the next person over with my good arm. He’s already carrying a clipboard.
Duncan’s still staring at me.
I can feel it.
“I’m all signed up. Can I get a picture?” the guy in line says to Duncan.
That gets him on his feet. “You betcha.”
One of the Thrusters admins who have been hanging around steps in to snap the picture while I take a drink out of my own hydration bottle.
“How’s it feel to beDaddie?” the guy asks Duncan.
“Coach Addie and I are professional friends,” Duncan replies. “We aren’t individually or together anyone’s daddy.”
We take the guy’s form and send him on his way as quickly as possible. The wall of clouds is getting darker, thicker, and pressing closer to us, bringing in heavier winds that make us scramble to keep our stack of sign-up forms from flying away. Mary finishes her form and slips between the next two pickleball players to deliver them to us. Duncan tells her to stick around for a little bit. That it’ll be worth her while.
I flag down Sadie from PR and point to the sky. “When are we calling it?”
“Fifteen to twenty minutes,” she replies. “We’re shutting down the line and directing people online for sign-ups after these last half dozen or so.”
