Love Game

Margaret watched her husband serve across the **padel** court, his movements sharp and practiced. They'd been coming to this club every Saturday for seven years, ever since the promotion that was supposed to make them happy actually just made them tired.

'I think I want a divorce,' she said, as his ball hit the wire fence.

David missed the return. He turned slowly, and in that moment, the **cat** that lived under the clubhouse emerged — mangy orange fur, half an ear missing — and stretched languidly across the baseline.

'Now?' David asked, gesturing at the animal. 'You picked now, with that thing watching?'

She'd been thinking about it for months. Since the dinner party where he'd talked over her about his start-up idea again. Since she'd started sleeping in the guest room because his snoring sounded like judgment. Since she'd realized that every conversation between them was either logistical — bills, groceries, the car — or something they'd already said a thousand times before.

Later, they sat by the **pool**, feet dangling in water that was too cold for September. Margaret ordered a salad. When it came, she moved the **spinach** around her plate with her fork, thinking about how her mother had always said it would make her strong. Her mother was dead now, and Margaret had never felt weaker.

'I still love you,' David said, finally. His feet were pale and wrinkled from the water.

'I know. That's the worst part.' She looked at the families on the other side of the pool — fathers throwing children into the air, mothers applying sunscreen with careful, loving hands. 'Do you remember when we were like that?'

'We never were,' he said.

It was true. They'd met at thirty-two, both already settled into themselves, both too tired for the performance of new love. They'd skipped the messy part, the part where you accidentally show each other who you actually are. They'd gone straight to efficient.

The orange cat appeared again, jumping onto Margaret's chair and curling up beside her. It purred, loud and unapologetic.

'He likes you,' David said.

'He doesn't know me yet. That's why.' Margaret set down her fork. 'Let's finish the set. Then we can talk about logistics.'

They walked back to the court in silence, and she served first, the ball spinning perfectly, landing exactly where she intended.