Rating: no sex, no profanity, no violence, no drugs.
Disclaimer: I like tennis. A lot. However, I don't own any tennis players, tennis courts, tennis tournaments, or tennis equipment except for two rather grungy tennis balls for my dog. This is a fictional representation.
Justine rolled over, and looked at Lindsay. Lindsay sat, leaning against an oak tree, perched next to the lazy river passing by. Justine plucked a bit of grass, and said, "You like the grass."
Lindsay snorted. "Yeah. It's nice for picnics." She glanced over at Justine, and raised an eyebrow.
Justine threw her grass at Lindsay, and rolled onto her back. She watched the sparse clouds rolling by. "I mean, you like London."
Lindsay shrugged, and winced as the movement pulled her injured back. "I'm good on grass," she said. Then Lindsay's face hardened, and she said, "I'm better on hard court." Lindsay glared at the water.
Justine said lightly, "But not on clay."
"No," Lindsay said, and her face cleared. "I suck at clay." Justine giggled, and Lindsay sighed and shook her head. "You're great on clay, though," she said to Justine. "I saw the final in Paris last month, and you were fantastic."
Justine blushed. "Thank you."
"You're great on hard court too You're a really good player, Justine."
"Thank you."
Lindsay's gaze returned to the water, which was sluggishly drifting by. Justine stared at Lindsay in silence.
Eventually, Lindsay spoke. "What are we doing?"
"A picnic?"
Lindsay flinched. She did not look at Justine when she answered. "You're married. I love my husband. We might get seeded in the same draw in New York."
Justine sat up and wrapped her arms around her knees. "I am not sure," she whispered.
"No?" Lindsay barked a pained laugh. "Neither am I." This time, Lindsay threw some grass at the river. The stalks fluttered to the ground before reaching the water, and Lindsay shifted against the tree, wincing again.
Justine remained curled up, resting her cheek on her knee. She watched Lindsay watching the water.
"What do you want?" Justine finally asked.
Lindsay didn't respond immediately. "I want another slam title," she said slowly. "I want to retire."
Justine nodded and turned away. Lindsay stared at the canopy above her; Justine focused on the river, not looking at Lindsay.
"I want kids," Lindsay said.
Justine didn't answer.
The silence stretched agonizingly long. Lindsay decided that perhaps she should forget the whole thing and leave. She was about to stand up when, without looking at her, Justine whispered, "Do you want me?"
Lindsay turned and met Justine's eyes. She said softly, "Yes."
They stared at each other, not moving; children shouted from the field on the other side of the river, a car backfired on the lane, a dog barked.
Without looking away, Lindsay repeated Justine's question. "What do you want?"
Justine licked her lips, and Lindsay's eyes followed Justine's tongue, lingering on her lips. Justine smiled. "All those things."
"The slam?" Lindsay asked, still staring at Justine's lips.
"Yes."
"Retirement?"
Justine smiled, and Lindsay smiled reflexively in return. "Perhaps not as soon as you, but yes."
"Children?" asked Lindsay, and finally tore her eyes from Justine's lips to meet her eyes.
"Yes."
They were silent again, watching each other, until Lindsay broke the quiet.
"Me?"
"Yes," Justine said firmly.