“Show off,” I say.
He grins. “That’s what I said to you before. On the ice. First session.”
“I was demonstrating.”
“And now I’m demonstrating,” he laughs.
He steps back and gestures at the tee with exaggerated courtesy. “Ok. Your go.”
I tee up.
I swing.
The ball goes left hard. I’m wondering if there’s a problem with the equipment, and I say so.
“Hm,” Mateo says.
“What does that mean?”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You said hm.”
“Hm is not a word.”
“It is a word!” I tee up another one. “It’s the word people say when they’re being diplomatic.”
“The equipment is fine.”
“So, what’s going wrong? Is my swing that terrible?”
“No! It’s not terrible,” he says, but he’s smiling a little.
I try to hit the ball again and mostly miss it… but I clip the very top so it falls off the tee. I retrieve it and plop it firmly back in place for another attempt.
“It’s a little terrible,” he concedes.
I point the club at him. He holds up both hands, grinning, and I turn back to the tee and try to remember the last time I ever actually played golf or even went to a driving range. I was always too busy with skating.
We go back and forth like this for a while, him hitting clean and straight, me hitting creatively, and the banter is easy. Two people in an empty driving range being normal with each other.
“Okay,” he says, after my seventh consecutive attempt to take out the left barrier. “Can I-”
“No.”
“I just want to show you-”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re really not.”
“I’m expressing myself. Through the medium of golf.”
“You’re expressing yourself directly into the barrier.”
“That’s where I meant it to go.”
He laughs and steps into my bay anyway, and I turn to tell him I don’t need his help but he’s already behind me, close, one hand coming to rest lightly on my hip to adjust my position.
