Page 17 of In a Pickle

Honestly, it was a blessing that he and Mary Grace finally gone their separate ways. James didn’t really miss Mary Grace.She’d always been a bit of a mean girl, and he’d looked the other way. But after his tennis-career-ending injury, when it was clear he wouldn’t be able to go pro again, James noticed Mary Grace started to distance herself from him. He didn’t think she was cheating, but by the time they officially called it quits, the relationship had just run its course. Privately, he thought one of the reasons Mary Grace had grown apart from him was that she thought she was signing up to date a professional athlete and ended up with a loser public park pickleball coach. She wanted the athlete’s wife lifestyle.

The one year he’d made it into the tennis majors, she’d soaked up every second of attention bestowed upon her as she sat in the player’s box. He remembered that hideous giant hat she’d insisted upon wearing to Wimbledon, saying it was “on trend.” He couldn’t deny that many Englishwomen indeed wore hats to watch tennis, but none had quite as many… feathers as Mary Grace’s had. He suspected she was trying every angle to get media attention.

James wished Mary Grace all the best; truly, there was no resentment. But they were oil and water, and he wished he had realized it earlier.

Like, in high school. When Liana was there every day.

Still, better late than never. Most high school relationships don’t last, anyway, he told himself; maybe it was a blessing in disguise that James and Liana were just reconnecting now. Connecting for the first time, really, save for one night that Liana had probably forgotten by now. God, he didn’t even know if she remembered a conversation that was so meaningful to him, one that had nagged at his thoughts for eight years. He’d ask her about that conversation eventually. But not yet. He wouldn’t push things.

James smiled at the buzz of a text from Liana.

Liana Abrams:I still can’t get you to tell me anything about what we’re doing tonight? Not even if I ask really nicely?

James Alonso: I told you it was a surprise. I know you know the meaning of the word surprise. Don’t forget I was in your English classes for years. You know lots of big words.

Liana Abrams:Whatever you say, Mr. Hemidemisemiquaver.

James Alonso: Don’t get all sour on me Abrams. You may know more words than I do, but I definitely know more pickleball puns.

Liana Abrams:Oh put a lid on it Mr. Pickle. I’ve had days to come up with all of the pickleball puns to use on you.

Liana Abrams: Prepare to be dazzled by my amazing pickle wit. I’ll relish my victory in the great pickleball pun faceoff.

James Alonso: You mustard have missed the memo. I’m the reigning pickle pun champ. You’ll have to ketchup with my quick wit.

James Alonso: I could keep going all day.

James Alonso:Actually, scratch that. My class is starting. So if I go silent on you, you’ll know it’s not because I was struck speechless by your jokes.

James Alonso:Seriously though, can’t wait to see you today x

He frowned down at his phone. The x was definitely too much. God, he was coming on too strong.

Liana Abrams:Looking forward to it too x

James’ stomach did a happy flip. He loved that she didn’t seem to want to play games either. So far, she was responding to his texts and matching his energy. Everything was so easy between them.

Still, he couldn’t stop from feeling a tad nervous about their time later. He wanted to make her feel as comfortable as possible, and he thought he’d anticipated things she might balk at. But what if his ignorance of Crohn’s disease, even after his in-depth googling these past few days, meant that he accidentally put his foot in his mouth?

He hoped she’d see how hard he was trying and forgive any missteps.

James could barely concentrate on his first two classes of the day. At the end of the second class, he realized he’d forgotten to make a single joke for the entire class, surely a first for him.

He hurried to the PHCC cafe to rattle off a couple of emails before Liana’s class started. He’d long ago started thinking of 4:00 pm Thursday as “Liana’s class,” despite the seven or so other people in the class.

The annual charity gala — his dad wouldn’t let him lose the “gala” name, despite allowing it to be a pickleball event — was just a few weeks away. James wanted to confirm final details with all of his vendors. He then ran through his final day-of to-do list again, adding a few extra bullet points. He spent a few minutes thinking through any contingencies he might not have thought of before. He walked to the area where he planned to set up the registration table and decided he’d need to order one more sign to point people in the right direction, just in case they confused North Country Club Drive with South Country Club Drive.

James loved organization and to-do lists, loved anything that required meticulousness and attention to detail. He would like a career, he thought, that let him use his organizational skills more. But how could he combine that with his other love, sports?

It was a problem for another day, as usual, he thought. For now, pickleball coaching had led him to Liana, and he was grateful. Speaking of Liana, it was finally time to see her. He strode with purpose back to the pickleball courts, hoping he wasn’t too sweaty from standing in the sun for the few hours before.

Chapter 12: Liana

Liana thought she might puke — from nerves, not Crohn’s disease, this time. After their pickleball lesson, Liana and her mom would go home for a quick shower, and then James would pick Liana up to go to their mystery destination.

Liana thought her mom might lowkey explode at any moment from excitement over Liana’s date. Apparently, Deb had always loved James, which was news to Liana, since as far as she knew, Deb had never really interacted with James before starting pickleball. Deb was a history teacher at Liana and James’ high school but had never had James in her class.

But when Liana had told her mom about the date, Deb had let out a little scream and clapped excitedly — a dramatic overreaction, per usual. “Oh, such aniceboy!” she’d exclaimed. “I always knew he had a good head on his shoulders. Well, I guess it wasn’t such a good head on his shoulders back when you were teenagers, since that boy never looked twice at you in high school, not even as a friend. But I’m glad he’s finally come to his senses.”

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