Her voice is soft, like she doesn’t want to give voice to whatever she’s about to tell me. She doesn’t let me answer, not that I have any idea what to say.
“When I was a little girl all I ever wanted to do was play baseball. And I was so good at it. You know that feeling? When you’re a kid and you’re better than everyone else on the field. Itjust hits you one day, right? That they’re all here,” she holds a hand up, “and you’re here” and lifts the other one a foot above it.
I nod.
“Of course you do. I was so good, Charlie,so good, but when I was twelve, and still better than every boy in my class, they told me that my dream was impossible, that girls don’t play baseball and they certainly don’t play it in the major leagues. That coach said it right to my face, in front of the other players, like he wasn’t absolutely crushing my soul with every word. So I went home and cried my little pre-teen heart out about it and then asked my parents to sign me up for softball. I remember my dad asking me if I was sure, as he knew how much I loved it, and I said that I was, that I knew it was where I belonged. I was lying, but I wanted so badly for it to be the truth that I made it so. I got a new dream and I learned to love that game. They told me that, if I worked hard, I could play in college and, at the end of that rainbow, if managed to be better than all the other little girls, there could be an Olympic gold medal waiting for me. So I went for it. I put my entire heart into it. And I got good at it. I got so good at it schools across the country wanted me to come play for them, wanted me to lead their team to the Women’s College World Series. You know what that’s like, right? When the college coaches come calling?”
I nod again. They’d come calling, but I hadn’t listened. I’d gone right to the minor leagues, a chance she never had, a choice that just wasn’t available to her. The puzzle pieces start to click into place.
“And off I went and, while I was there, absolutely dominating and dreaming dreams of Olympic gold, another bomb gets dropped. Sorry, softball’s out of the Olympics. You’re just going to have to find another dream . . . again. But I was smart this time. I knew better than to put my entire heart and soul into one dream.”
Another luxury I didn’t even know I had.
“Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice and all that,” she says, rolling her eyes, maybe at me, maybe at society. I don’t know, but I don’t blame her either way. “I had a backup plan this time. I majored in data analysis and focused on predictive models. I was going to show that coach who told me girls don’t make it to the major leagues. I was going to make it. And you know what happened?”
It’s probably a rhetorical question, but I answer it anyway. “You did it.”
“I did it. I fought tooth and nail to get my foot in the door, had to prove myself and be twice as good as everyone else out there, but I did it. I lost my dreams at twelve and at twenty and, if someone takesthisdream from me, so help me God, I’ll find another one.”
“Sullivan, I didn’t mean . . .” I start, but she’s not having it.
“Of course you didn’t,” she says, throwing her hands up before letting them fall to her sides and shaking her head. “You didn’t know. How could you know? Why would you ever think that we had the same dream? I don’t even know why I’m telling you any of this.”
Her voice fades and we’re surrounded by the complete silence in the room, as there’s no noise from the city, such as it is, out that stupid window.
“I know why.”
That stops her.
“You do?”
“Because if we’re going to do this, I needed to know.”
“What?”
Something tightens in my chest at her question, and for a moment she’s that twelve-year-old girl she spoke about, her dream dead before it ever really had a chance to live.
“I needed to know just how much you have to lose . . . again. Ifthis doesn’t work, our truce I mean, I can keep going, but you . . . you only get . . .”
“I only get one shot,” she finishes for me. “Especially now.”
Now it’s my turn to be confused.
“General manager was what I’ve been working toward, but I didn’t expect it to happen so soon. I thought I’d have more time to build up my reputation, to make myself hirable no matter how things ended with the Eagles.”
I blink at her. “What are you talking about?”
“Haven’t you ever heard that old saying about working in baseball? “If you don’t win, you’re going to be fired. If you do win, you’ve only put off the day you’re going to be fired.” It’s what happens to us, all of us. But there’s a weird space where you might get fired, but other teams will still want you. I wanted to make sure I was firmly in that category before . . .”
“Before you were ultimately responsible for the result.”
She hums her agreement. “Do you know how long aGMusually lasts in a job?”
“No.”
“It’s actually just a little shorter than the average playing career. Five and a half years.”
“That’s . . . not very long.”
