The Last Goodbye

The bull stood in the corner of the padel court, its taxidermied head mounted on the wall, glass eyes watching us play. Dead, like whatever we'd had.

"Your serve," Elena said, her paddle tapping the court. She used to be my friend, before the nights blurred into mornings, before we crossed lines we couldn't uncross.

My phone buzzed in my bag — a work call I couldn't take. The corporate world's cable tied around my neck, tightening by the quarter. I was thirty-five and already running on fumes.

I missed my dog. Buster had died two weeks ago, and the apartment still echoed with his absence. He'd been the only steady thing in my life since the divorce.

Elena smashed the ball against the wall. I didn't move to return it. Instead, I watched the bull's glass eyes and thought about my father. He'd called me 'bull' growing up — stubborn, headstrong, always charging ahead without looking. The irony: I'd never charged anywhere at all. I'd drifted.

"What are we doing?" I asked.

She lowered her paddle. "Playing padel. Same as last Tuesday."

"No. This." I gestured between us. "Every week, we meet, we play, we pretend we didn't spend that weekend in Barcelona, pretend we don't know what the other looks like in the dark."

Elena's jaw tightened. She looked like she might cry. Instead, she laughed — sharp, bitter. "You want to talk about it? After six months?"

"Better late than never."

"Late is the only thing we are." She picked up her bag. "I'm seeing someone."

The words hit harder than any ball she'd ever served. Good. That's what I wanted, wasn't it? So why did everything in me tighten, defensive as a bull facing a matador?

"I'm happy for you," I said, and realized I meant it. Not because I'd moved on, but because she had.

She walked to the door, then paused. "Your father called you bull because you never gave up. That's what you're missing. You think drifting is the opposite of charging, but it's the same thing — it's both avoiding the fight."

The door clicked shut behind her. I stood alone in the court, the bull watching from above. Outside, the city hummed, endless cables connecting everyone but me.

I picked up my paddle. One more serve. Just for myself.