*187*Grownup Games During A Volleyball Tourney

I'm leaning against the gym wall, phone in hand, ignoring frantic parents and the squeak of sneakers on hardwood. The scoreboard flickers overhead, marking a brutal loss we’d rather forget.

Across the court, I spot you: a mother from the other team, hair pinned back, eyes shining with calm confidence. You're wearing a fitted jacket that spells out your club’s name in an expensive script.

I approach, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. Your perfume edges out the antiseptic stench that clings to every surface in this place. We exchange quick compliments, talking about the morning matches.

Your daughter’s serve is fierce—a fact I begrudgingly acknowledge.

You smile, half-amused, half-curious and wish me a "Happy Dad's Day." I’m suddenly aware the only sounds between us are distant warm-ups and a stray whistle echoing off the rafters. My phone vibrates—probably the updated pool-play results—but I don’t look down.

We lock eyes. I know we’re both counting how much time we have until the next round. So I tilt my head, lower my voice.

“We’ve got a break. Feel like grabbing a bite or a drink before the next match? I could use a breather from all…this.”