Chapter Fifteen Lily
Theo is already waiting on the pickleball court when we arrive on Thursday, balancing a neon-yellow ball on the center of his paddle.
When he sees the two of us approaching, the ball falls off and rolls to the corner of the court.
An expression crosses his face like a shadow, but before I can place it, he is grinning again.
He runs to the ball before it intrudes on a neighboring court’s game.
As he lopes after it, he reminds me, bizarrely, of Josie’s old golden retriever, all long limbs and energy.
“Hey, you two.” He waves, approaching my mom for a hug and giving me a high five. I meet his hand limply, which makes our palms stick together. “I didn’t know I had two customers today.”
“We’ve decided to compete in the tournament in August, so I thought it would be best if we practiced as a team,” I tell him. “I’m sorry, I should have mentioned that.”
Rose told me about the bucket list she found in Lottie’s old desk on Saturday while I was out talking to Tommy.
“And why exactly were you there? In the rental cottage?” I asked.
“Ignore that part,” Rose said. “But we have to do it. Right? I mean, I didn’t know if you’d ever be back here for a full season. This is our chance to live the perfect summer Lottie dreamed of.”
Rose’s eyes were wet, and the thought of Lottie writing down this secret wish list brought me to tears, too. Why hadn’t she told us? We could’ve helped her complete the list.
“When do you think she wrote this?” I asked.
Clearly, Lottie thought herself physically well enough to compete in a pickleball tournament, but she was also somehow certain it would be her last summer. The more this summer has progressed, the less I seem to understand Mom, Lottie, and even myself.
“I’m not sure,” said Mom. “But are you in?”
Of course I was. Secretly, I wondered if I could somehow incorporate my plan with Thomas into the bucket list…
if I can use it as a way to get them together.
He’s skeptical of my meddling, but I’m determined.
First, I’m trying to ease Rose into it, figure out her feelings toward him and wait for the anger to settle.
I figured Theo’s offer to teach me pickleball was serendipitous, so I picked her up on my way home from work and asked her to join.
“A tournament?” asks Theo now. The ball he’s balancing freezes in the center of his paddle. “Isn’t that a little ambitious? Have either of you ever even played before?”
“We’re quick learners,” says Rose. “And it’s a long story. Are you sure it’s fine if I crash?”
Theo waves off her concern but avoids eye contact. “Of course it’s okay.” He inspects his paddle, hitting it against the palm of his hand as if to make sure it won’t spontaneously combust.
“I just couldn’t stay away from my little friend!” Rose pokes him teasingly in the stomach, and her tone makes Theo smile, and then all at once, everything is normal again.
We practice dinking first. I have to bend down in order to get my paddle low enough on the ball. It’s strange getting used to how light the ball is. Every time I go to hit a ground stroke, it flies out of bounds.
For this reason, Theo has taken to calling me “Muscles.”
“Hey, Muscles!” he calls out. “Take your aggression out elsewhere.”
Or, “Hey, Muscles! A little too much strength behind that one.”
This makes Rose laugh, a lot. Admittedly, it makes me laugh, too.
He’s a good teacher, patient and engaging.
I can immediately see why he’s in high demand at the club.
He makes it fun, inventing silly games and showing overexaggerated enthusiasm whenever one of us hits a good shot.
At one point, he tries to lift Rose into the air after her overhead lands directly on the baseline.
“We’ve got ourselves a WINNER!” he screams, running in circles around her.
A foursome two courts down looks up, startled.
It’s also amusing to see how he dresses when he’s not on the job: neither in his bartender getup nor his tennis whites. Today he’s wearing what look to be jean shorts and a white T-shirt with green writing that says, “Sweet Pickle Books: New York’s Best Pickle Bookstore.”
When I ask him about the ensemble, he’s eager to explain.
“These shorts took me forever to find,” Theo says.
“They’re almost exactly like the Nike jorts Andre Agassi wore to the 1988 US Open.
But these are a fake denim printed on athletic shorts, so they don’t chafe.
” He winks again. I’m starting to wonder if the winks are meaningless, almost a reflex, or perhaps even a twitch.
About the shirt, he says it’s his favorite bookstore in New York.
“And I thought it fit the theme because we’re playing pickleball today. Get it?” He gestures back and forth between the shirt and the pickleball paddle, emphasizing the connection in case we didn’t get it at first.
“You are such an odd boy,” Rose responds, shaking her head with amusement.
After the hour is up, we sit for a break on a bench in the shade. Rose checks her phone, pulling it out of a crowded beach bag amidst a sea of lip balms and old receipts.
“Shoot!” she says. “Client emergency, I have to leave now. Sorry, guys. Lily, any chance you can get a ride home from Theo?”
He nods eagerly. “Oh yeah. It’s no problem.”
Rose turns to him before running off. “Thank you for everything, Theo. You’re a delight.” He waves her off with a salute as she hurries to the car.
In the wake of her absence, there’s a shift in atmosphere, an intensity.
I tighten my ponytail and take a long drag of water.
Theo and I have been hanging out during every shift at the club.
He’ll come by every hour and chat for a few minutes or offer to help me with one of the front desk tasks during his break.
He’s already become a friend, but still, it feels different seeing him outside of work.
“So, you invited your mom on our first date,” he says. He bounces his left knee, shaking the entire bench. “I’ve got to say, still not one of my worst first dates. What does that say about me?”
His tone is light, but I feel a squeezing sensation in my temples, like I’ve been stuffed in a vacuum. When will I stop letting everyone down?
“I didn’t think you were being serious about that. I’m sorry.” I try to look him directly in the eyes but he’s squinting toward the sun, just behind my back. “If I had thought it was a date, I wouldn’t have brought her.”
“Nah, I was just joking,” says Theo, playfully punching my arm. “We’re pals, right? Coworkers and now pickleball legends.”
He lifts his arms in the air, interlacing his fingers and cracking his neck. Afterward, he shakes them loose.
There was a part of me that hoped behind all the jokes was something real.
And today, seeing how much my mom enjoys him, it had all felt so natural and easy—more than anything in my life has felt lately.
But then I think about Emily, their casual closeness.
Maybe she’s the one he likes, or maybe he’s this flirty with everyone and I’m a fool for thinking there’s more behind it.
Besides, I’m in no emotional shape to date. It would only complicate everything.
I stand and start to stretch for something to do. “Right,” I say, not looking at him. “We’re ‘little friends.’ ” The callback makes him chuckle. “Anyway, I should be getting home. I have some work to do. Would you mind driving me?”
“Work to do?” he asks. Am I imagining it, or is there a note of disappointment?
“Yeah,” I respond. “I’ve been getting back into drawing. I went on a walk earlier with my camera, and for the first time in a while, I felt inspired. I want to do some sketching this afternoon and follow up on some more emails inquiring about job openings.”
In the two and a half weeks since I’ve been back on island, I’ve developed a new schedule: I get up before work and paint. Or I draw. Or I go for a walk and take photographs to paint later. The medium doesn’t matter, the point is I’m back in the mood to create. It’s a tremendous transformation.
“That’s so cool,” he says.
Earlier today I felt that familiar quickening in my heart again that comes with excitement for a new project.
I used to hum when I was a little girl drawing at the dining room table.
I was so happy, euphoric even, I couldn’t keep it in.
I felt such a sense of joy I would lose myself for hours, not realizing that I had begun to sing.
My ankles locked together, swinging to the beat.
I loved watching the disparate parts of a project come together; how, once it was created, it felt almost inevitable, predestined, and mathematically perfect.
The other night at the beach, the sun was setting and there were these three little girls playing tag, their parents watching on lounge chairs a few yards away.
The girls’ small frames became black silhouettes against the orange sun and without second-guessing myself, I took their photo.
Later, I approached the parents and offered to send it to their emails so they wouldn’t think I was some creep, but there was something in that image that touched me.
Innocence, I realized later when I was editing. It looked like innocence. Strangely, of all things, it makes me think of Theo.
I want to try to paint it today.
On the ride home, Theo asks more questions about my work. I tell him about getting fired, even though I’m still ashamed of the story.
“Getting fired is like getting dumped,” says Theo. “Everyone should try it once. It builds character. Besides, you have to stop waiting for permission to create from the outside world. No one’s going to give it to you. You have to go out and grab it for yourself.”
I can’t help but be affected by being in the small car with him. Usually, at work, there’s a desk separating us. Here, he feels closer than ever.