Riddles on the Court

The cat — a mangy orange tabby that lived at the padel club — watched from the fence as Elena served. Her ex-husband David returned it easily, his movement fluid and practiced. They'd started playing together during marriage counseling, something the therapist suggested to rebuild trust. Now, a year after the divorce, they still met every Tuesday. It was pathetic, really.

"You're seeing someone," David said, hitting the ball against the backglass. It wasn't a question.

Elena missed her return. "How did you know?"

"The sphinx has returned." He gestured to the small sphinx tattoo on her forearm, usually hidden under foundation. She'd started covering it after their separation — his nickname for her during better years, when she'd been mysterious, unreadable, perfect. Now it was visible again, fresh ink over faded scar tissue.

The cat meowed from its perch.

"His name is Marcus," she said, serving again. "He's an architect."

"Of course he is." David's laugh was bitter. "You always needed someone to build you monuments."

"That's not fair."

"Isn't it?" He slammed the ball into the corner. "Remember Egypt? Our honeymoon? You made us climb to the top of Khafre's pyramid because you said the Great Sphinx was disappointing from below. Said it lacked mystery."

"I was twenty-two, David."

"You're thirty-four now and still treating people like riddles to solve instead of humans to know."

The cat jumped onto the court, padding toward them. Elena knelt, and it wound through her legs, purring.

"Marcus doesn't know me at all," she admitted quietly. "He thinks he does. That's the problem."

"So why him?"

"Because he doesn't ask. He just assumes. And sometimes" — she stroked the cat's rough fur — "sometimes it's easier to be misunderstood by someone new than truly seen by someone who's already leaving."

David stood still for the first time all match. The cat abandoned Elena for him, but he didn't reach down.

"I never wanted to leave," he said.

"You never wanted to stay, either." She picked up her racquet. "Your serve."

They played until sunset, the cat sleeping on the bench, the sphinx on her arm darkening in the fading light, neither of them scoring, neither of them winning, both just keeping the ball in play.