Mixed Doubles

Emma's cat, Barnaby, regarded her with judgment from the kitchen counter as she swallowed her vitamin D supplement with lukewarm coffee. Another day, another chemical promise that she wouldn't crumble like her marriage had.

"You're judging me again," she told him. Barnaby blinked slowly, his tail flicking with what she imagined was quiet contempt.

The invitation to play padel had come from Marcus—her ex-husband's best friend, which made it simultaneously the worst and best idea she'd heard in months. Padel, with its enclosed courts and eccentric scoring, was having a moment among the thirtysomething set. Something about the sport being less tennis, more therapy.

"Just a friendly game," his text had said. That word—friend—hung between them like smoke.

She arrived at the court ten minutes early, nursing the familiar panic that she was either underdressed or overqualified for social gatherings now. Marcus was already there, stretching against the wire fence, looking unfairly good in a way that suggested he actually slept through the night.

"Emma." He straightened, smiling. It was a real smile, crinkling the corners of his eyes. The smile of someone who hadn't spent three years married to your best friend, watching it dissolve in slow motion.

"Marcus."

They played. The ball ricocheted off walls, the sound satisfying and rhythmic. Emma hadn't realized how much she needed to hit something repeatedly until she was doing it.

"You're still angry," Marcus said during a water break, sweating and breathless. Not a question.

"I'm not angry at you."

"No. You're angry that you're not angry anymore." He handed her a water bottle. "That's the dangerous part, isn't it? When you stop caring enough to be furious."

Emma's throat tightened. Barnaby would've purred if she were home, would've pressed against her shins. Instead, she stood on a padel court at 10 AM on a Sunday, her vitamin D dissolving uselessly in her system, realizing that friendship with her ex-husband's best friend might be the most honest thing she had left.

"Play another set?" she asked, and Marcus's smile returned, softer this time.

"Always."

Later, Barnaby would greet her with indifference, and she'd take another vitamin, and Monday would come. But for now, there was only the satisfying thud of ball against racquet, and someone who remembered who she was before everything broke apart.