Stubborn Things We Keep

The padel ball hit the wall with a satisfying thwack, rebounding at an impossible angle. Marcus lunged for it, his forty-three-year-old knees protesting the sudden movement. He missed.

"You're playing like shit," Javier said from across the court, though not unkindly. "Everything okay?"

Marcus wiped sweat from his forehead. The afternoon sun beat down on the enclosed court, the glass walls shimmering with heat. He should have canceled. But the distraction of a weekly padel match had become the only thing keeping him from calling Elena, again.

"Fine," Marcus lied. "Just tired."

Javier served. The ball sailed past Marcus. Again.

"Bullshit," Javier said. "You haven't been fine since she moved out."

Marcus leaned against the wall, sliding down until he sat on the artificial grass. "She took Buster."

"The dog?"

"Yeah. She said the apartment was hers, she got the dog. But we both know she adopted him for me, after my mother died. Buster was supposed to be my grief companion, not a bargaining chip in a divorce negotiation."

Javier sat beside him. "So call her. Ask for the dog back."

"I can't." Marcus laughed bitterly. "I told her I didn't want anything. I said it first, like some bull-headed attempt to appear noble. Like not fighting showed how much I'd grown. Now she thinks I don't care about anything we built."

"The fuck is wrong with you?"

"I thought she'd call my bluff."

"Women don't bluff, Marcus. They state what they want, and they expect you to fight for it if it matters." Javier stood, offered a hand. "The padel court is closed. You're coming to my place. We're going to drink whiskey and you're going to call your wife and tell her you want the fucking dog back."

Marcus took his hand, hauled himself up. "Ex-wife. The papers were signed last week."

"Then you tell her you want the dog back and maybe you want her too. Because Jesus Christ, man. I've never seen someone so determined to lose everything just to prove he can survive without it."

Marcus picked up his racquet. "You think she'd even answer?"

"Only one way to find out."

They walked to the exit. Marcus stopped, looking back at the empty court. "You know what the worst part is?"

"What?"

"She always said I played everything like a bull fight—charging straight at things, blind to everything else. She said it would get me in trouble someday. She was right."

"Then stop charging," Javier said. "For once, Marcus—just stand still and let someone help you."

They stepped out into the cooling evening air. Marcus pulled out his phone, scrolled to Elena's number. His thumb hovered over the screen.

Tonight, he wouldn't charge. Tonight, he would just listen.

He pressed call.