Page 52 of The Pickleball Girl Finds Her Match

Sebastian took a sip of coffee. “Everything okay, Bibi?” he asked as he approached his grandmother.

The French doors stood open to the shaded patio. She had always been an early riser, so by the time Sebastian awoke, she’d already eaten breakfast and read the daily issue of theNew York Times.But her eyes looked bothered, and a slight frown pulled at her lips.

Barbara Tennyson’s frown turned into a tender smile when she saw her grandson. “Good morning, Sebastian. Yes, everything is fine. Or rather, I should say that itwasfine, until …”

“Until what?”

“Until those people started up again this morning.” She lifted her chin and indicated the pickleball courts across the street. “The mornings are always so peaceful before they arrive.”

Happy chatter and the thwacking of paddles on balls carried loudly to where Barbara and Sebastian sat.

Sebastian studied his grandmother. “The noise didn’t used to bother you before.”

“That’s because when your grandfather was still with us, the pickleball courts were farther away, not on—”

“… Granddad Clive’s court,” answered Sebastian.

“It’s not just that they replaced Clive’s tennis court for pickleball,” replied Barbara. “But that sport is just so disruptive. With the music they play at all hours of the day and night, the drinking and singing, the trash they leave behind.” She pursed her lips. “It’s boorish.”

Sebastian smiled. “Sounds to me like you just described the US Open on the evening before the Finals match.”

Barbara huffed and looked away. An ambulance siren’s wail carried over the garden wall, moving away, east in the direction of Indio.

“Tennis used to mean so much to you, Sebastian,” said Barbara, gently. “Whatever happened?”

“Ah, so this is why you invited me to come stay with you,” replied Sebastian, rubbing his chin. “The lame excuse of needing help around the house was just a ruse.”

Barbara picked a piece of lint from her sleeve.

“I’m surprised it took you this long to ask, Bibi.”

Barbara looked at her grandson with love. “I don’t want to pry, you know that. I simply care very much for you.”

“I know. And you’re right, you deserve an explanation, even if I’m not sure I have one.” Sebastian took another sip of coffee. He looked down at his knees, one still wrapped with an ACE bandage.

“It was during that time I had to take off because of my knee injury …” He looked away, his head tilted up toward the majestic San Jacinto Mountains far off in the distance.

She let the pause continue. Sebastian was so like his grandfather in the way that they both tended to keep their thoughts close to the vest until they had somehow worked through whatever was bothering them. There were times when she would ask Clive a question, and he would merely reply with a nod of his head, acknowledging that he’d heard her. But his reply might not come for days or even weeks. She would not push Sebastian to comment until he was ready.

Barbara looked at her grandson and settled into her chair. She could feel a confession coming, which she knew would not be easy for him.

Sebastian raked his fingers through his hair and thought back to what happened so many years ago. All the work that he’d put into being the best college tennis player on the West Coast, if not in the nation, went down the tubes when he’d lunged for that serve out wide. He’d anticipated it, but Kovacic was on fire that day, and the serve was just too good.

“I spent days and weeks thinking about how I lost that match to Kovacic,” he finally said.

Barbara leaned forward and pushed her cup away.

“At first, I felt robbed. And then I was pissed off,” Sebastian said, his voice low. “Especially since the rest of the team went on to win. And then the following Monday, everybody was going about their regular lives.”

He swirled the cold coffee in his cup.

“But me? I was stuck in my apartment in Westwood. There was no way I could go up and down four flights of stairs with my knee so jacked up.”

Sebastian thought bitterly about how he had sat stewing in his torment, alone in his apartment for days on end. After an initial couple of visits from his tennis coaches and some phone calls and texts from his teammates, it seemed as if Sebastian didn’t even exist. His team had actually gone on to win the Pac-12 Tournament Championship title without him. They hadn’t needed Sebastian at all.

Even Sloane had been busy with school and her own championship matches. She’d barely checked in on him.

He shook his head. “I felt sorry for myself. Nothing is more pathetic than a self-pitying, angry guy with no future. No one could stand being around me, and I don’t blame them, but still, I was more alone than I’d ever been.”

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