Seth laughs at me from behind Marian. “Good job,” he mouths.
“I would have called you, but I’m only here for the night,” Marian is saying to Gloria.
“Swooping in with yourman,I hear,” Gloria says, poking her in the ribs. “Tell us everything.”
Marian giggles the giggle of a woman in love. “Marcus introduced us a few months ago. He’s Javier’s agent. We met, and it was just thunderbolts. We went on one of those dates that last all day and”—she blushes—“all night. And we’ve been together ever since.”
“Isn’t it hard if you’re in Miami and he’s in Chicago?” I ask, because I have a constitutional need to question other people’s joy.
Marian waves this off. “He travels so often it doesn’t really matter where he lives. We make it work. It’s soworthit.”
“I don’t suppose he has a friend for this one,” Emily says, pointing at me. “She could use a man with strong arms.”
“Excuse me!” I cry. “I have many suitors.”
I sneak a glance at Seth. His face is studiously neutral.
“Well, we should get back to our seats before the inning starts,” Gloria says. “But, Seth, see you at the shower on Saturday? It starts at two.”
“I’ll be there,” Seth says. “Text me the address.”
We get back to our seats just in time to see Tom Beadelman hit a home run, breaking the tie for the Dodgers. Gloria, Emily, and I scream until we’re hoarse. I exchange a high five with the heavily bearded gentleman to my right and a low five with his tiny daughter, who is whipping around one of those commemorative sweat towels they give you for free during the playoffs.
I bend down and offer her one of the Dodgers key chains Seth bought me. (I don’t actually have cousins in Iowa; I just wanted to run up the tab.) She smiles shyly and lisps out “thank you.” Emily side-eyes me like “who are you?”
I don’t care. The DJ is blasting “Don’t Stop Believin’,” the entire stadium(sans, I imagine, the sullen Cubs fans) is singing along, and I, for once, am happy.
My phone buzzes in the pocket of my cutoffs.
I pull it out to see a text from Seth.
Seth:Fuck.
Seth:We’re gonna lose, aren’t we?
Seth:I blame the Coors Light.
Above it, I can still see the bubble of my last conversation with him.
January 2
Molly:You’re sweet. But I can’t.
He had to readthatbefore texting me, and he did it anyway.
I hope he’s texting me because enough time has passed since that awkward phone call in January, not because I saidI like you.But either way, seeing his name in my phone adds to this strange feeling of joy.
Molly:Don’t worry. Y’all have another inning to further humiliate yourselves
Molly:And it’s not the cheap beer. It’s that we’re a way better team
Molly:Also you SUCK at being a fan! You’re supposed to be ride or die, not just GIVE UP because we’re ahead
My phone vibrates again.
Seth:I can’t believe I’m getting (accurate) fandom lessons from a woman who once wrote a term paper at a Tampa Bay Lightning game out of boredom.
Molly:That’s because hockey is puerile and vicious
