Chapter 18
Zoe
It’s Wednesday afternoon. I haven’t seen Pete since Sunday night when we had take-out in his apartment and his parakeet said Pete and his precious.
He sent flowers the next day, but I haven’t seen Pete. Not to thank him for the flowers, or to see my niece. I worked full shifts Monday and Tuesday, came home and recorded, then fell into bed, but today I’m going to go to my family’s home, and make sure that my niece is doing okay without her mom. And, Pete will be there, since he’s her security guard, and I’m going to be okay with that. It’s not going to be awkward, and I probably will barely even talk to him. I doubt that he and Bexley do much together. He probably just stands in the background while she sits in a chair and reads a book. She’s not exactly an active child.
I never know whether to knock on the door or not, once I get to my house. I grew up here for the most part. My dad lives here, but my step-mom is not my actual mom, and... I don’t know if I’m overstepping the bounds when I just walk in. Not that she answers the door. The maid does. Still, it always feels awkward to me, which I hate. After all, you have less tendency to visit places that make you feel awkward, and I want to spend as much time with my family as I can.
I compromise by knocking before I open up and calling out, “It’s Zoe!”
The house appears to be deserted. I know my dad is probably still at work. He typically doesn’t get home before seven or eight in the evening. My step-mom might be anywhere, and so that leaves Bexley and Pete. I walk through the rooms - the living room, the ornate library, the imposing dining room, and even the spacious, gorgeous kitchen, and they’re nowhere to be found. I wonder if they're down at the creek, but on the off possibility that they would be downstairs watching a movie, I head to the steps and open the door.
Immediately I can tell they’re playing ping-pong. I can hear the ball bouncing and there’s an occasional grunt. I smile a little to myself, imagining Pete, concentration on his face, possibly biting his lip, as he keeps his eye on the ball.
Bexley will be a little bit more relaxed. She is not quite as intense as Pete is, although she is probably serious when she plays ping-pong.
I start downstairs, and remind myself that I’m here to see Bexley, not Pete. I usually visit her a couple of times a week even when my sister is around. I want to have a good relationship with my niece. I might never have children of my own, probably shouldn’t, considering how my bank account looks. Then I remember what Connie said earlier. It’s not all about money. I may be making too big of a deal about that.
The scene is just like I imagine, although Pete is smiling. Granted, it’s one of those smiles that could be a grimace too.
Baxley looks calm and relaxed. She always does so, I suppose it makes sense that she looks that way now. And she’s obviously just as good as Pete said she was. I don’t know of any ping-pong clubs or competitions around our small town, but Bexley could definitely benefit from such a thing. Although, if she has to move to the city in order to do it, I think that the risk would outweigh any benefits.
I remind myself that I belong here. It’s my family’s home. Pete is the one who is out of place. But, I feel like I’m intruding a bit as I walk to the middle of the table, back far enough that I don’t disturb their concentration, and lean against the arm of the couch. Watching.
They appear pretty evenly matched, although I would say Pete is just a touch better. Sure enough, Bexley misses the ball, and she turns to chase it.
Pete, his lips turned up in a grin, looks at me. “I thought that might have been you,” he says, and he sounds pleased.
I squirm inside. The flowers feel heavy between us, but he doesn’t seem to notice. It’s just me.
And why should I make it weird? I determine that I won’t. Mentally, I straighten my shoulders, and I return his smile.
“You guys are good,” I say, and I mean it. “It’s fun to watch people who are good at what they do.”
“Or listen to them,” Pete says, and I blink in surprise, and then tilt my head in acknowledgment. He is giving me a compliment.
“Aunt Zoe! Did you see that?” Baxley says, coming over with the ball and wrapping her arms around me. I love that our relationship is good enough that she hugs me when she sees me. It makes me feel...wanted, I guess. I suppose I don’t always feel that way in my family.
“I sure did. That was pretty amazing. I’m not sure which one of you is better.” I don’t mean to make it into a competition. People have a tendency to do that. Everything becomes trying to be better than everyone around you. And I don’t want to foster that, but at the same time, a little bit of healthy competition makes a person better. It drives them to do more, to put more effort in, see how much they can accomplish. I compete against myself all the time. I have benchmarks from what I did previously, and I always try to beat them.
Kylie hated it when I did that. She would say “can’t you just enjoy life, does it always have to be a competition”. And she called me competitive like it was a bad word.
I guess I tried to stifle that side of myself, since she hated it so much and she always said that growing up. Like me being competitive is a bad thing.
But, it’s obvious that Pete is pretty competitive too. Still, he grins at my words, and points to Baxley. “She is.”
“I’m the one that missed that ball,” Baxley says, holding up the ball and moving away from me.
I let her go. Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever have children of my own, and while I don’t want to put any pressure on Baxley to be my child along with Kylie’s, I do feel like I love her like my own.
Of course, I don’t have children of my own, so I couldn’t say that for sure. Maybe if I did have my own kids I would love them with a love that I don’t even know about yet.
That’s hard to fathom, but people have told me it’s true. You don’t realize how strong love can be until you become a parent.
I don’t know why I am thinking about that stuff now. I focus on Baxley. “You’re younger. Much younger. And I’m guessing he’s had a lot more years of practice.”
“We had a ping-pong table growing up, just like Baxley. I also turned it against the wall so that I could play by myself when no one else would. But I have three brothers. I usually didn’t lack for a partner. Although, I could beat their butts pretty easily, and it did get harder and harder to get them to play with me as I got older.”
He has three brothers. Did I know that? I try to imagine him in a family of four boys, all of them with Pete’s drive for right and with his sense of humor and ability to be tender. It’s a nice picture.
I also love the way he interacts with Baxley.
“No wonder you’re so good,” I say.
“You got a lot of practice?” Baxley says. “I guess I always thought that if I had siblings, I wouldn’t have to play by myself anymore.”
Pete shakes his head. “When you’re good, people don’t like to play against you, because it makes them look bad. But I always thought playing against someone better than me helped me become a better player. After all, how can I become a better player against someone that I beat easily?”
Baxley seems to be thinking about this, and nodding slowly.
“I agree with that,” I volunteer, because I do think it’s true. It’s not fun to lose, but the lessons that you learn from losing are almost always better than the lessons you learn from winning, even though winning feels better. In fact, sometimes it’s hard to take lessons from winning, and you just want to sit around and think that you’re a lot better than what you actually are.
“It’s good to see you,” Pete says, almost as though he’s trying to figure out a way to ask why I am there.
“Aunt Zoe usually visits me a couple of times a week. We hang out together, but she never plays ping-pong with me.”
“She doesn’t?” he says, looking thoughtfully at her. Then he turns those deep, soulful eyes to me. “Why not?”
I hardly want to admit that it’s because I’m no good. After all, I just agreed with him that it’s important to play with people who are better than you, and not be afraid to lose, and all that good stuff about losing being good for you.
I lift a shoulder. What else can I say but the truth? “I didn’t know she enjoyed playing so much. But I would totally lose, because I’m terrible.”
“And you just said it was good to lose. It teaches you valuable lessons or something like that. You don’t live what you believe?” He asks that in a lower tone, and it’s almost like he’s saying it tenderly, not accusing me of anything, but rather, promising me. Maybe making me think a little.
It reminds me of what I said about playing with someone who’s better than you are. Talking to someone, being with someone, hanging out with someone who is better than you are, deeper, wiser, closer to the Lord, inspires you to be the same.
“You’re right. I should play with her more often.” I grin at Bexley, who jumps up and down, like she actually would enjoy playing with me. I can’t imagine that. When you’re so much better than someone else, playing with them is usually an exercise in frustration. At the very best.
“How about we finish this game? And then you and your aunt can play together, and I might be able to give her some tips. How about that?” Pete says, looking at Bexley. Talking to her like I’m not even there.
I want to say, guys, I’m standing right here, but Bexley nods her head eagerly.
“I’m good with that!” she says, and I know she’s just thrilled to have people who are actually paying attention to her, and doing something with her. She’s so starved for that. I don’t know if it’s socialization, as much as it’s just having people who understand her. And who act like they want to be with her.
She takes the ball and goes back over to her side of the table, while Pete takes his paddle, and stands across from her. He does some kind of thing with shifting on his feet and moving his paddle around, and I think he’s just goofing off. Whether he is or not, it makes me laugh because he looks ridiculous, but cute too. Like... He’s not acting like a little kid exactly, and not being goofy in an annoying way, just... Maybe I would admire him no matter what he did.
That thought startles me. Is it true?
I cheer for both of them. Whenever either one of them gets a point, or has a great save, I clap my hands and callout encouragement. After all, I could hardly root against my niece, but I can’t root against Pete either. He’s being so kind to her, I would have no choice but to love him, but... He’s been kind to me too.
Pete wins the game by two points, and they walk to the side of the ping-pong table, and shake hands, just like it was a real match. It’s adorable, although Baxley is beaming, even though she lost. Which I love.
“All right, Ace. Your turn.” Pete turns to me, and I laugh a little at him calling me Ace. For some reason that reminds me of Trixie and how he called me Pete’s precious. That wasn’t exactly what he said. Pete and his precious? Yeah. I think that was it. I think I like Precious better than Ace.
“All right, I’m warning you. I’m terrible.”
“You’re not terrible, Aunt Zoe. You’re going to be pretty good.” I know Bexley is just trying to make me feel better, and I smile at her. She’s sweet. I’m blessed to be her aunt. She is being very generous with her praise, and trying to encourage me.
“All right. Which hand do I hold this thingy with?” I asked, as Pete hands it over.
He laughs, as I intended, and I’m tempted to be a little bit more goofy, but I don’t want to be annoying. Baxley really does love playing, and she doesn’t want a total goofball as a partner. But, it’s a little bit too revealing for me to be exactly me. No one likes to show their worst side, and ping-pong is nowhere near anything I do well. So, just the very fact that I’m going to be standing in front of Pete, who I am not sure about my feelings for, and doing something that I’m terrible at, makes me nervous.
I don’t know why. I shouldn’t be, because as we get started, I have the ball and I’m holding my paddle and, to my surprise, his arm comes around me, and he holds one hand on my hand that’s holding the ball and his other hand on my paddle hand.
“Hold it like this,” he says, and his voice rumbles in my ear, going down my backbone and sending curly cues of heat all the way to my fingertips. Which were already tingling because of his touch. Plus, his warmth is like a furnace behind me. Funny that he has his arms around me but I don’t feel stifled. Or claustrophobic. Which is sometimes an issue for me. I record my books in a closet, but it’s always a relief to get out. There’s always a little bit of a fear in the back of my head that I’ll get locked in.
It stems from a childhood trauma, but I’m mostly over it. At least I like to tell myself that.
My breathing is a little uneasy, and so, to hide my uncomfortableness, I say, “Like this?” As I try to hold my hand the way he’s showing me.
“Yeah. That’s exactly right. You’ll have a better angle on the ball if you do that. That way if you point it out too much, the ball won’t hit the table, and it’ll be her serve.”
Every word he says rumbles all through me, and I’m not sure how anyone could expect me to play ping-pong when I’m feeling like this.
“All right, I’m going to move back,” he says, and I feel like retorting that he doesn’t need to warn me that he’s moving away, but he should have warned me he was moving closer. But I don’t want to come off as being offended. Because I wasn’t. He was trying to help, and he didn’t cross any lines.
Bexley is across from me hunched over a bit, moving back and forth, her eye on the ball.
I suppose that is what I need to do too. Try to keep my eye on the ball. In ping-pong, as in life. Although, I’ve kind of forgotten what the ball is.
I don’t try to figure that out now, but throw the ball gently, and swing, and miss the ball entirely.
I want to die. I’m with two people who can play ping-pong circles around me, and I’m so incompetent it’s embarrassing.
“I feel like I’m wasting your time. You could be playing an actual game of ping-pong and enjoying it right now, if it weren’t for me. I’m happy watching.”
“I want to play with you, Aunt Zoe.”
“And I’ll help you. This is the perfect time for you to play.”
“But I stink.” This is not a lie.
“Actually, I kinda thought you smelled good,” Pete says, and Baxley laughs, but I know my cheeks heat, and I’m glad he’s behind me. I decide I’m not going to pay attention to that, and not try to figure out what in the world he is trying to say. I tell myself it was just a joke to make Bexley laugh, and I’m not going to read anything more into it.
I go after the ball, picking it up and coming back over to the table. “You know what I meant,” I say, as I put myself next to the table again, trying to hold the ball and my paddle the way he showed me, and face Baxley, who looks just as serious facing me as she does when she’s playing against Pete. I suppose that’s the mark of a champion: it doesn’t matter who you’re facing up, you always put your best effort in.
Maybe, it shouldn’t matter how good you are, you always put your best effort in.
This time I hit the ball when I throw it up. Usually I can. I’m not amazingly coordinated, but I can typically put paddle to ball anyway. It’s just a matter of getting a good shot in, and then resetting myself to be ready for the ball coming back at me.
Baxley hits the ball back, and to my surprise, I hit it back to her. The ball goes high and wide and completely misses the table.
“Sorry,” I say, scrunching up my face and wishing I wouldn’t have come. I hate that I’m so terrible.
“It’s okay. Pete said I can learn to better my game no matter who I’m playing, and you can too.” Baxley looks at me encouragingly, like she’s afraid I’m going to quit. Honestly, I was on the verge.
Pete’s voice rumbles near me again, although his hands don’t go around me as he gives me a couple of tips on how I can improve my swing and the angle of the ball.
“Ping-pong isn’t about strength, it’s about finesse,” he says, and somehow those words seem really wise to me. But, it seems like everything he says goes straight to my soul.
There is something seriously wrong with me. And my lack of ping-pong skills is not the only thing that makes me want to leave the room.