Instead, we sit for a long time. Small talk comes easy between the quiet that I need.
And this is good too.
This quiet togetherness.
I’m sure the women upstairs are gone, but neither of us moves to leave. Time is lost down here, just like the retro room.
Until she points to an upright metal rack of mallets and balls on the fake green turf.
“Look.” Her legs swing over the side of the lounger. “It’s that game fromAlice and WonderlandandBridgerton.”
“Croquet?”
She beams. “Yes. I’ve never played. Have you?”
“Not with pink flamingo mallets.”
“Have you played with regular mallets?”
I nod.
“I think I need to play this.” I don’t know how she makes everything feel brand new and exciting. “Will you teach me?”
“Is it going to be anything like your baking?”
“You’ll have to play to find out.”
A distraction from my thoughts is exactly what I need.
“All right,Little Miss Time Capsule, lead the way.”
She claps and hops to her feet. “But I am disappointed it’s not pink flamingo mallets.”
She grabs a plain wooden mallet, striped in green, and hands me one striped in blue.
She sets her ball at her feet and taps it with the head of her mallet.
“What are the rules?”
I give her the rundown. This isn’t a full game. Only three arches close together form a triangle.
She inhales. “You hit first.”
“Alright.” My fingers settle on the wooden handle, smooth and worn from years of use.
She steps back, tugging the ridiculous floppy hat lower over her eyes. “Good luck.”
I don’t need luck. I roll my arms and remember all the games I played with my grandmother growing up.
I whack the ball just hard enough. It glides under the first arch in one hit.
Her mouth gapes. “Impressive.” She steps up to her ball. “Looks like I have some competition.”
I shrug. “A little bit.”
“Uh-huh. Where did you learn to do that?”
“My grandmother.”
