“Got it,” Dante salutes with a gloved hand.
Finally, back in the dugout out of the hot sun, I quickly tear off my equipment, giving myself time to cool off before I go to bat. Connor sets up at home plate, as the other team takes their places on the field. He takes a few practice swings before stepping up to the plate.
I glance at where Abby sits a few seats up to the right of the dugout, her eyes glued to the field. I’ve never considered that she might actually like the game or want to come to these more often. I’ve been offering more as a formality, so she doesn’t feel like her only choice is to stay home. But every time I look over, she’s engrossed in every hit, every throw, every catch. Her facial expressions mimic the play at hand. Watching her is like a game itself. I feel like I can pick out each play based on her expressions and movements. The slight twitch of her hand as the ref calls each strike, the way she runs her fingers through her hair during a stressful play, and the smile she develops as each inning ends.
A hand waving in front of my face snaps me out of my trance. “Wow, dude. You’ve got it bad.” The team cracks up, laughing at whoever makes that comment.
I shake my head and look back to the field just as Connor strikes out. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Logan cocks his head, a single brow raised. “What?” I ask, trying to play it off.
“Dude, you were staring at Abby the entire time Connor was at bat.”
“I was paying attention. I was just looking at the crowd, too,” I lie, knowing full well that my eyes were solely fixed on her.
“The crowd? I hardly consider three people a crowd. And if so, then tell me how many times Connor swung.” Logan folds his arms and smirks as he waits for my answer.
I pause but decide it’s not worth lying at this point. “Okay, you caught me. But I’m making sure she’s not bored.”
“Dude, just suck it up.” Everyone laughs again. “You’re on deck, lover boy.”
I roll my eyes, grab my bat and helmet, and head to the on-deck circle, directly in front of Abby. She watches me intently as one of our outfielders, Jake, takes the plate and my nerves melt away with her smile. My helmet no longer feels too tight. My batting glove doesn’t feel so constricting. The bat in my hand feels lighter. I pace my breathing and after a few practice swings, it’s my turn. I wink at Abby as I take my place. She mouths the words “You got this.”
That’s all I need to ease my spirit. With one on second, and one out, a home run could put us in the lead. Catchers aren’t usually known for their superior batting averages, and I’m no exception, but at this moment, I feel like I could hit forty of them. The first two strikes fly past quickly. I plant my feet firmly into the ground, adjust my grip, and ready the bat. Our relief pitcher, Kevin, winds up and lets his fastball go. This time, I see it coming. The crack of the ball hitting the bat reverberates off the bleachers and I take off running toward first base. But just as climactic as the hit is, it also comes to an unfortunate abrupt end. Centerfield catches the pop fly as my foot hits first base. I take the walk of shame back to the dugout and see Abby standing up, her hands folded in front of her chest with a reassuring smile aimed at me.
The scrimmage ends with our opposing team winning 2-3. Coach provides us with a few pointers in the locker room before I quickly shower and head back to the bleachers to meet up with Abby. She’s talking to someone on the phone so I quietly approach, trying to not disturb the call. She smiles as she listens intently to whoever is on the other line.
“Yes, I know.” A pause. “No.” Another pause. “Yep.” One more. “Okay, Mom. Thanks. Love you, too. Bye.” She slips her phone into her back pocket as she stands up. “Good game,” she beams.
“Thanks. I’d say everyone played well today. I didn’t know you liked baseball so much,” I say, starting back toward the car.
She follows behind me, watching her steps as we make our way down the bleachers. “My dad used to watch every game he could, even if he didn’t like the team. It was one of my favorite things to do, watch him watch the games. It was easy to figure out the rules after watching long enough and whenever I heard the sports announcers talking on TV, I would come running. He used to take me to home games at Target Field as often as he could. And he used to play for Oxly, too. He was their first baseman.”
“He doesn’t take you anymore?” I ask curiously. She hasn’t talked much about her family yet.
She walks silently the rest of the way to the car, but I don’t pry. Once she climbs into the passenger seat and I’ve started the car, she takes a deep breath. “He passed away a few years ago.” She pauses to regulate her voice, the air in the car suddenly growing heavy. “Today, actually. Which, unfortunately, also happens to be my birthday.” Her eyes are fixed on some distant point ahead of us. No doubt the memories are flooding in.
“Abby ...” I start but don’t know how to continue. I should, having gone through this with Cole, but the words are gone. “I’m sorry,” is all I can come up with. I know there’s never anything “right” to say in these situations, especially when it falls on what’s supposed to be your favorite day of the year. In my experience, silence is usually the best option, so I focus on giving her just that. Her hands lie restless in her lap, so I place mine on hers, stilling the movements. The corner of her mouth twitches, but the forming smile quickly fades.
“Can I ask how he died?” I ask, hoping I’m not crossing a line.
“Kidney cancer. They didn’t catch it early enough, and by the time they did, he was already in stage four, and it had spread. Everywhere. There wasn’t a whole lot they could do other than try chemo and hope for the best.” She pauses. “Clearly, it didn’t work.”
“Damn,” I say before catching my tongue. “Sorry.”
“No, damn is right. And some other choice words.”
The drive home is silent. As well as the walk back inside. Abby settles on the couch as I find some food to replenish the calories I burned today. I make a sandwich for both of us and grab some chips before moving to sit on the couch next to her.
“Happy birthday, by the way. Sorry I didn’t say it sooner, but it didn’t feel right during our earlier conversation.” I pop a chip in my mouth and then instantly regret the loud crunching.
Her chest bounces with a breathy laugh. “Thanks,” she says, taking a bite of the sandwich.
“You want to do anything fun for it? How do you normally celebrate? Or how did you before your dad passed?” I hesitate even bringing her dad up again, but I know from my own experience that timing rarely matters. Even when I’m not thinking about Cole, he’s always hovering just below the surface.
“Honestly, I haven’t really celebrated my birthday since before he passed. Sam never really made a big deal about it, and I guess I never tried to make it anything special either. He also wasn’t a fan of baseball, so I fell off the bandwagon pretty quickly. My dad used to buy me tickets to whichever Twins game was closest to my birthday every year. My mom and sister never really cared for baseball, so it was usually just the two of us.” The corners of her mouth tick up a little as she talks about him. It’s nice to know she had a good relationship with him.
A shred of an idea forms in my mind as I think about how to make this birthday a little better than the last few years. Whose boyfriend wouldn’t want to celebrate their girlfriend's birthday? I feel like that’s a part of the package. I roll my eyes as the thoughts spiral in my head, and then the idea hits me, but it requires talking to my father. The dread sinks in as I solidify my decision.
I finish my sandwich and pull on my shoes again. “I have to run an errand. I’ll be back within the hour.” She shoots me a weird look but nods and turns her attention back to the TV.
