Love Game at Sunset

The padel court shimmered in the heat, its glass walls catching the last light of day. Elena adjusted her grip on the racket, her palm sweating against the handle. Across the net, Marcos stretched his arms overhead, his tanned skin glowing orange in the sunset.

"You're cheating yourself," he said, bouncing the ball. "Same as always."

"I'm not the one who keeps score during sex, Marcos."

The ball cracked against her racket strings. She aimed for his backhand, where he'd always been weakest. He lunged, returned it, and they fell into their old rhythm—each shot an accusation, each rally a rehashing of three years of grievances.

The ocean beyond the court crashed against the rocks, a steady reminder of things larger than their small wars. Water had always been their element: the hotel pool where they'd met, the bathtub where she'd told him she was pregnant, the endless glasses of wine they'd consumed while arguing about money, careers, whether they were happy anymore.

"Remember that orange bikini you wore in Cancún?" Marcos asked between points. "The one I said made you look like a sunset?"

"You said I looked like a traffic cone. Don't rewrite history now."

"I was joking. You never got my jokes."

"I got them. They just weren't funny."

They played on as the sky deepened from orange to purple. The resort emptied around them—other couples heading to dinner, to bed, to whatever came next. Elena's arm ached. Marcos was breathing harder than he'd admit. They were thirty-four and thirty-six, too old for this performance, too young to know how to stop.

"Match point," he said, though neither had been counting.

She hit the ball into the net. It rolled toward the glass wall, coming to rest against the frame. They stood on opposite sides of the court as the automatic lights flickered on, illuminating everything they'd tried to leave in the dark.

"Same time tomorrow?" he asked, not looking at her.

Elena walked to the net, touched his hand through the mesh. "Tomorrow," she said. "Same time."

The ocean roared behind them. They would play again. They would always play again.