The Zombie Rally

The padel ball hit the wire fence with that hollow thud that always made Marcus wince. Sweat trickled down his palm as he adjusted his hat — the same fedora Elena had teased him about on their first date, seven years ago. Now it just shielded his thinning hair from the merciless sun at Palm Springs Padel Club.

'You're playing like a zombie,' Sarah said from across the court. She wasn't wrong.

Their Thursday matches had become a ritual, like everything else in his life. Morning coffee at 7:03, same route to work, the circular arguments with Elena about things neither could remember originally caring about. He moved through his days on autopilot — a functioning zombie in corporate casual.

Then he saw him.

Liam, standing near the clubhouse entrance, wearing the same ridiculous canvas hat from their backpacking trip to Thailand. The friend who'd drifted away after Marcus's promotion, after the mortgage, after he'd stopped returning calls.

'Your serve's gone to shit,' Liam called out, grinning.

Marcus laughed — actually laughed — for the first time in months. They played until his legs burned, until the palm trees cast long shadows across the court, until Sarah gave up and left.

'You look exhausted,' Liam said, tossing him a water bottle.

'Married life,' Marcus replied, then heard himself say: 'I think I forgot how to want things.'

Liam's phone buzzed. 'I'm leaving next week. Costa Rica. There's a padel club there, if you're interested.'

Marcus drove home to a dark house. Elena was asleep. He placed his hat on the entryway table, exactly where he'd placed it every evening for three years.

He pressed the buzzer to let Liam in.