Games We Play

The orange was impossibly bright against the beige lounge chair. Maria peeled it slowly, letting the citrus scent cut through the humid afternoon air. She was supposed to be reading, but her eyes kept drifting to Court 4.

Forty feet away, David's new girlfriend laughed—a bright, rehearsed sound—as she missed an easy shot. David corrected her form, his palm resting briefly on her shoulder. The gesture was so familiar it made Maria's chest ache. Three years of marriage, dissolved in twelve minutes of mediation.

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Gray was coming in fast at the temples now. David had always said he liked the silver, called it distinguished, but she wondered if he'd say the same thing tonight, when they met to sign the final papers. She wondered if he'd tell the new woman she looked distinguished, too.

"You're staring again," said Lena, dropping into the adjacent chair. "Stop it. You look like a ghost haunting her own funeral."

"I'm not staring. I'm observing. There's a difference."

"You're watching him play padel with her. At the club where you two met. This is some cinematic-level self-torture." Lena reached for the orange. "Gimme a segment."

Maria handed one over. "He's wearing the shirt I bought him for his birthday last year."

"So burn it later."

"It's a nice shirt."

"Then donate it to someone who won't have to look at his new girlfriend's Instagram stories in it." Lena popped the orange segment into her mouth. "You know what this is about? It's not about David. It's not even about her. It's that you're forty-two and you thought by now you'd have figured out how to be happy without needing someone to complete you."

Maria watched David high-five his girlfriend. They were sweaty, flushed, grinning like they'd invented joy.

"I hate how much I still want that," Maria said.

"Then get it. With someone who doesn't need you to be smaller so they can feel bigger." Lena stood up. "Come on. Let's go play. You crush me every time, and I need the humility practice."

Maria looked at her half-eaten orange, at the palm trees swaying in the breeze, at the gray hair that caught the sunlight when she turned her head. Then she stood up, brushed the orange peel from her dress, and walked toward the empty court.

"You're on," she said.

The game waited. The ball was in her hands.