Page 84 of Pickled
Oh fuck.Where had that thought come from?
“Well, let’s see what you’ve got,” I said. “Want to warm up with us?”What followed was the most fun I’d had on a pickleball court since I started playing. Olive was fearless, diving for balls she had no business reaching, calling out shots like a pro, and trash-talking better than half my teammates.
“Mom, you’re hitting them too hard,” she called out after Piper sent a ball sailing long. “Remember what we practiced, soft, soft, soft, then smash it!”
“Yes, Coach.” Piper laughed.
Her genuine smile and laugh, which hadn’t come out often in our serious practice sessions, was goddamn intoxicating.
“And Mr. Bailey, you need to move your feet more. You’re reaching for balls instead of getting in position. Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle.”
I looked at Piper, eyebrows raised. “Is she coaching me now too?”
Piper looked like she was trying not to laugh. “I guess the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree.”
“I just want to help!” Olive protested. “Janie says footwork is important.”
“Janie is right,” I said. “Thanks for the tip, Coach.”
We played for an hour, with Olive rotating between being our partner and our opponent. She was surprisingly good for a five-year-old, but more than that, she was fun. She celebrated every good shot; it didn’t matter if it was hers or Piper’s or mine.
“Mr. Bailey, this is so much fun!” she squealed as we took our next break. “We’re like a real team.”
The phrase landed a little heavier than the sweet little girl intended. “Olive, you can call me Gideon.”
“Can we play one more game, Gideon?” Olive asked. “Please?” Then she looked at me, her head tilted. “Wait. Are you our neighbor?”
“I sure am.” I wasn’t sure where this was going.
“Cool.” She didn’t take it any further, and I wondered what, if anything, Piper had told her about the man who lived next door. “Can we play again?”
“Olive, we should head home soon,” Piper said. “You need breakfast, and I have to get back to work.”
“But Mom—”
“Don’t ‘but Mom’ me.”
Olive groaned.
Piper’s momvoice was kind of hot.
“You’re going to do great at your tryouts.” I wanted to help Piper get to work on time, and Olive looked like she was stalling.
“I’m gonna make it,” Olive said. She looked between me and her mom. “Right?”
“Right.” Piper’s voice was quiet. “But sometimes things don’t go the way we plan, and that’s okay too.”
As we packed up our gear, Olive continued chattering about everything, but Piper had gone quiet.
“Olive, we missed a ball down there.” I pointed to the far end of the court. The little girl darted to get it. “She’s going to be fine,” I whispered.
“I know. She wants it so much. I remember what it felt like to want something that badly and not get it. I just don’t want her to be disappointed.”
“Disappointment is part of sports. Part of life.” I touched her arm, then pulled back, remembering our agreement. “But so is trying again.”
“Come on!” Olive called from the court exit. “I want to show Judy my new racket!”
“We’re coming,” Piper yelled, then, quieter, said to me, “Same time tomorrow?”
