She swoops her hair over her shoulder, her speech slow and dreamy. “I know. But you can’t ever leave, okay? You have to stay here.”
Tears prick my eyes. She doesn’t have to say it, I know exactly where that’s coming from. No amount of therapy can fully erase our deepest, darkest fears. We just have to learn to live with them. But it’s a lot easier said than done when those fears have become a reality. Losing a friend isn’t a theoretical to her.
“I’m not going anywhere, babe.” I pat her cheek. We ride the rest of the way back to our meeting point humming along to “Mr. Brightside” and share a car home. She makes me get dropped off first even though I hate wondering if she’s going to be okay alone in the rideshare. I know why she does that, too.
Sunday is a hangover that goes through the stages of grief. Denial (I just need to sleep a little longer), anger (who even invented light!), bargaining (if I drink two liters of water will the maracas in my brain stop?), depression (I’ll never feel normal, why do I do this to myself?), and finally acceptance.
I peel myself off the couch in the afternoon, wobble to the kitchen, and put together my healing ritual of eggs, ibuprofen, and an orange. I stretch my legs, roll out my calves on a water bottle, and text with Sam.
Twice I consider asking her more about Calder’s comments. But I know if I do, it’s going to seem like she hit a nerve, which she absolutely didn’t. The only reason I can’t stop thinking about it is because it doesn’t make any sense. And that he showed up in a very inappropriate dream last night. Only because we were talking about it, obviously.
All of which I need to scrub from my imagination since I have a date with Garrett tomorrow night. And I’d really like to look at the benches at the pickleball club again without my cheeks flushing.
By five on Monday my inbox is a firework show of small emergencies, but I shut the laptop and head to the restroom with my bag. I’ve got a new slate-blue skirt I ordered online, a white tank, and a zip-up hoodie for the walk. I pull my auburn hair intoa high ponytail, secure it with a cute scrunchie, and give myself a once-over in the mirror. Low-key. Classic.
Garrett waits for me in the lobby. His eyes trail over me—he’s never done that before—and he smiles. “You parked on the street?”
I nod, my cheeks heating. Was this it? Was Garrett actually interested in me? Had Calder’s advice been the only missing piece I needed?
A voice that sounds a lot like Sam rings in my head.Red flags, A.
I slap it away. It wasn’t necessarily a red flag that Garrett needed a fire under him to make an effort. That’s how most guys are these days.
Garrett holds up his keys. “I got a court at a different club tonight. It had more availability. We could drive together in my car, but I was thinking I’d play at the open play after for a bit. You can stay for that, too, if you want?—”
“No, that’s fine. I can follow you.” A new place? My heart starts to race like it knows something I don’t.It’s just a different club.“Open play sounds fun, though.”
I don’t want to poo-poo it, but if all the players are at Garrett’s level, that would be zero percent fun for me. I’ll have to watch the warm-ups before I make a decision on that.
Garrett heads for the revolving door. I trail after him, dread settling in like a weighted blanket. It couldn’t be . . . could it? There were so many pickleball clubs in the city. The chances were slim.But why didn’t I just ask the name?
“Do you want to send me the directions? In case I lose you?” Perfect. That was nonchalant.
He looks over his shoulder. “I’m a great leader.”
I smile like that’s exactly the answer I was hoping for, then get in my car and wait for him to pull out in front of me. We start out in the coppery light of early evening, and for ten minutesI play faithful convoy. Until he takes a left and heads west, crossing over I-25. And then turns right at the grocery store.
Noooo!He’s heading straight to Smash Point, and there’s nothing I can do to stop him.
twelve
Goingto Smash Point makes sense, doesn’t it? If Garrett played with Calder last summer, that’s probably where they met. But it’s in the opposite direction from his apartment. Why wouldn’t he find a place closer to him?
My hands sweat against the steering wheel. I’ve never scheduled lessons with Calder on Mondays. He probably isn’t even going to be there, and if there’s anyone else I know, I’ll just play it off. Pretend we met playing somewhere else. I don’t know anybody well, and Garrett did say the place had a lot of availability tonight.
I talk myself down. It’s fine. There’s no reason to freak out. I should never have come up with this stupid plan and should’ve straight up told Garrett I took a lesson with Calder and I’m a complete idiot, but it’s fine.
You say that a lot.Calder’s voice rings in my head.Well, maybe that’s because I’m an idiot a lot!
Now I’m mentally arguing with him. Fantastic.
I park next to Garrett. We walk in together, laughing about a vendor snafu because that’s a safe topic, but as soon as the cool air hits my face, I feel like someone hooked me up to a caffeine IV.
My eyes dart to the desk, and I breathe a silent sigh of relief. It’s manned by a guy I’ve never seen. Mid-twenties. Smash Point hat.
“Hey! Welcome in. First time?” he asks, looking at Garrett.
“Not for me. But I’m bringing a friend.” Garrett turns to me. “I think you’ll need a waiver?”
