The Last Good Season

Marcus stood on the padel court, sweat already gathering at his hairline despite the morning chill. His iPhone buzzed against his hip — a corporate summons, another crisis that couldn't wait until Tuesday.

"You look like shit," David said, not unkindly. They hadn't spoken since college graduation, twenty years and three lifetimes ago. David's racket looked expensive. His wristwatch cost more than Marcus's car.

"Rough divorce," Marcus said, which was true enough. "What about you? You're a partner now, right?"

"Something like that." David's smile didn't reach his eyes. "We're all zombies, Marcus. Some of us just have nicer coffins."

They played in silence for a while. The ball — a small bright star in the artificial light — bounced between them, each return a small negotiation. Marcus found himself thinking about baseball, about the summer they'd spent chasing each other's pitches in the park behind David's mother's house, back when friendship felt like something you earned instead of something you slowly lost through neglect and bad timing.

"Remember when we were going to change the world?" Marcus asked, missing an easy shot.

"We did." David didn't miss. "We just changed it in ways we didn't choose."

Marcus's phone lit up again. His ex-wife's lawyer, probably. Or the bank. It didn't matter. He let it ring.

"Why padel?" he asked suddenly. "Of all the rich-people hobbies to show off."

"My daughter plays," David said. "She's twelve now. Lives with her mom in Chicago. I fly out every other weekend." His voice cracked, just a little. "This was her idea. Said I needed a friend who knew me before."

The ball rolled to a stop between them. Two middle-aged men with expensive rackets, failed marriages, and the hollow feeling that they'd somehow missed their own lives while they were busy living them.

"Next weekend," Marcus said, "we should go to a baseball game. Like old times."

David actually laughed. "Yeah. Yeah, we should."

They didn't exchange numbers. They already had them, buried somewhere in phones that never stopped demanding pieces of their souls. Some friendships, Marcus thought, don't need maintaining. They just need remembering.