Love Games at Sunset

The padel court echoed with the sharp thwack of ball against racquet, each strike more aggressive than the last. Mark wiped sweat from his forehead and adjusted his hat, pulling the brim low to hide eyes that had been avoiding mine all morning. We'd come to this Mexican resort to save our marriage, or at least to determine if it was worth saving.

I watched his shirtless form across the net—the familiar map of moles on his back, the way his shoulder blades contracted with each serve. Ten years of intimacy reduced to tactical movements on a court.

"Your serve," he said, not meeting my gaze.

I served hard. He missed.

Afterward, we sat by the infinity pool, where the water seemed to spill endlessly into the Pacific. Children screamed somewhere, their joy cutting through the thick silence between us. A waiter brought margaritas, the salt on the rims glistening like crystallized tears.

"You've been sleeping in the guest room," I said, finally. It wasn't a question.

Mark swirled his drink, watching the palm trees sway in the afternoon breeze. Their fronds cast dancing shadows on his face, masking his expression.

"I needed space," he said. "To think."

"About us?"

"About everything."

He took my hand then, his palm against mine—familiar and foreign all at once. I remembered how those hands had once explored every inch of my body, how they'd once held mine during childbirth, through chemotherapy, job losses, and promotions. Now they simply rested, heavy and uncertain.

"Do you still love me?" The question escaped before I could catch it.

A child jumped into the pool nearby, sending water cascading over us both. We flinched, laughed nervously, the moment breaking but not disappearing.

"I think," Mark said, setting down his drink, "that love isn't the question. It's whether we still like each other."

I looked at him—really looked—at the lines around his eyes, the gray in his beard, the way his hat sat slightly askew. The man I'd married was somewhere in there, beneath years of disappointments and compromises.

"Let's walk," I said.

We left our drinks behind. The sand burned my feet as we moved toward the ocean, leaving the pool and the padel court and our unfinished game behind. Somewhere between the truth and another lie, we might find something worth building on. Or we wouldn't. Either way, the sun was setting, and there was still time.