“Jamie,” I reply, taking his hand. “I, uh… lost a bet? I apologize in advance for any crimes against caddying.”
“Hm,” Benny says as he climbs into the golf cart behind Peter. Looks like we won’t be friends.
I take the seat behind Morgan and catch myself staring at her shoulders, her upper arms, totally losing track of the passing of time.
We arrive at the first hole, and Peter goes first. I carefully watch what his caddy does, desperately trying to notice every detail.
One guy in my PhD lab was obsessed with golf. He’d chat about his games and once convinced us to play a golf video game at a department party. So, I’ve got the absolute basics.
Drive, then chip, then put. The clubs have numbers on them. The numbers matter.
That’s all I’ve got.
Well, that andbirdie, thanks to mini golf.
I can’t see what number the other caddy pulled for Peter, and he’s not going to tell me, so I grab the one that looks the closest and offer it to Morgan.
“So you think I play the same kind of game as Peter?” she says, and I can tell it’s a test.
I should be angry about this. I should resent this kind of weird revenge trap. But I actually feel kind of… competitive.
Golf is physics, and I know a lot about physics.
Morgan hits hard, of that I’m sure. So, I reach for thebigger driver.
But no, that’s not right—Morgan is incredibly strong. Putting the biggest driver in her hands is likely to send the ball three holes over.
I select the next smaller driver, and Morgan accepts it.
I watch her swing, mesmerized by how the muscles in her shoulders and back shift with the movement.
Her outfit and effortless poise make Peter look like a relic in his vest and golf cap. I think that’s on purpose. I get the sense that Morgan is the type of person who makes her own rules.
Morgan’s ball soars, dropping perfectly onto the green.
“Lucky shot,” Peter teases in a thick French accent.
Lucky for me, for sure, since the green means the putter. At least I know that.
I watch as Benny and Peter discuss his chip, Benny producing statistics about the remaining distance and vertical drop. I carefully scan the course, spotting distance markers amongst the grass.
But as I scan around, I can’t help but noticewhere we are. The sun is warm above, with a gentle breeze rippling across the lawns. Clusters of trees punctuate the well-groomed greens, and pools of azure water twinkle throughout. The course has been shaped thoughtfully along the countryside, accentuating the topography.
It’s a shame it’s not a public space, but… it’s gorgeous. Quiet.
“Jamie?” Morgan says, amusement in her tone, as if it’s funny I’m zoning out. I’ll take her amusement over her ire any day.
“Sorry, it’s just… it’s a really lovely day.”
Morgan shifts her weight back and lets her gaze spread out over the golf course, taking a deep but silent breath. “It is,” she says simply.
Then I see that Peter and Benny are already in the golf cart, the hole now finished, and I scurry after them.
Morgan’s second drive is still better than Peter’s, but it doesn’t hit the green. So, it’s time for something that is neither a driver nor a putter, which are the only two types I understand. I slide a club out, glance at Morgan.
“That’s a sand wedge,” she says dryly, but not impatiently. There’s no sand around here.
I slide out the one next to it.
