“Gramps, where do I take Jasmine for dinner after the game?”
“You’re seeing her again? That sounds like it’s getting serious.”
“It’s our fourth date and a Friday night, so it’s gotta be somewhere nice but I don’t want her thinking I’m going to marry her. I’mnot. I’m twenty-five.” Seth Larsen slaps his hat onto his head and gives me a friendly punch. “I need to come off like I’m long-term material without actually being it. You know?”
“Keeping it classy, I see.” We leave the clubhouse and head out onto the field at Verizon Park for warm-up. Late spring in Seattle has been dreary and gray, but today is one of those rare ones full of pure sunshine and blue skies. The weather makes me think of Boise, which makes me think of Nola.
I wonder what she’s doing today. Emma probably has STEM Club, and afterward, I’m sure they’ll go hike the foothills or visit Stella for Bingo. When I called my grandmayesterday, she told me Roger has given up his position as caller to Emma. Turns out she’s reveling in the new power that comes with shouting out numbers which have the potential to award senior citizens $20 per game. I need to ask Emma about it later when we have our nightly FaceTime.
Once I was cleared after my concussion, Nola and Emma headed back to life in Idaho and I went back to playing ball. Gratefully, that week off didn’t damage my game too much, and I’ve only made gains week over week. Even better, after Nola called me out on my crap with my mood, I’m working on being cognizant of when things start to bring me down. I’m in weekly therapy to not slide into old patterns, especially with how I react to setbacks. Violet was quick to point out she’s been asking me for years to do this for myself, and it took my wife getting on my caseonceto make it happen.
While work and self-improvement are going well, the downside has been the lack of Adler time. For spring break, they met me in Houston for Open Day’s three-game series. A few weeks later, they made it to Seattle for a fast and furious twenty-four hours. It’s not ideal but we both knew what we were getting into when we made this pact. And Nola’s become something of a baseball wife celebrity—a known entity in the WAG world.
Seattle Magazinedid a big spread on a selection of the wives and girlfriends of this year’s Seafarers, and Nola was invited. True to form, she didn’t share too much, though she did reveal we were newly married and talked about her day job being an artist. That was enough to make her Instagram account balloon overnight and now any time we’re spotted, the female fans who used to fawn over me have taken to lavishing their interest on her. The first time it happened, Ididn’t know how it would go over but I married a pro. She’s gracious, she’s kind, she takes the photos and laughs politely.
Thinking about this right now makes me miss her so much, an ache forms in my chest. This has never happened to me before—I don’t let women get close to me. And since our chat over sushi, she’s been more vocal in her feelings for me. I love it.
Larsen’s still talking about taking Jasmine on a fourth date and I can’t even remember a time in my life I’ve gone on a fourth date. Baseball had always been the driving force—ever since we moved in with Stella and Grandpa—and it hasn’t left room for much else. One, two dates tops, was easiest. It also never occurred to me before that anything was missing in my life.
Then I met Nola.
The ache grows deeper.
We have tonight’s game, and a game at noon tomorrow, then we head to Colorado for a four-game series. I’m eyeing a twenty-four-hour window where I could potentially squeeze in a very fast Boise visit next week. The team travel director has already arranged flights to and from Denver, but maybe I can get him to change mine, or I can book my own ticket and surprise them.
“Earth to the old man. Any suggestions? I am looking for a good steak and potatoes place. Some views maybe. No fancy music, though.”
I shoot him side eye. There’s a lot of younger me in Larsen and if I have the chance to steer him in the right direction, I’ll feel like I’ve done my job. “Don’t ask for advice and then call me an old man. Respect your elders.”
“Come on, where should I take her?”
“Doesn’t matter what you want, you should take her some place she would like.”
He’s still beyond clueless about the city and unapologetic about it, a real piece of work, but there’s potential. And he’s a fantastic short stop, which is really all that matters to me. We stop near second base and he rolls his shoulders. “Okay. Where?”
“The Pink Door.”
“What’s that?”
“Italian.” I don’t bother to expand on the cabaret shows and trapeze artists that provide entertainment. Not exactly the romantic setting he’s going for, but I’ve heard good things about the food and that should teach him to think twice about calling me old.
Our centerfielder jogs up to us from the dugout and tosses me a ball. “You didn’t tell us your lady was coming today, Gramps. My girlfriend is going to be mad that she didn’t know Nola was coming, so they could have gotten seats together. Did I tell you?—”
I don’t hear the rest of his question. I scan the stadium seats over near the dugout past third base. There she is. Like a drink of cold water after a long hike in the summer heat. She’s all mischievous smiles as she watches me sprint toward her, jumping the railing to scoop her up in my arms.
Lavender.
Home.
She’s my home.
Twirling her around, we both break into happy laughter and when I set her down, she smooths the front of her wrap dress. It’s a similar style to the one she wore to Thanksgiving at Stella’s place, but instead of navy, this one is a floral print,and I love it. She brushes back her hair from her face and says, “Surprise.”
“What are you doing here?” I can’t wipe the grin off my face. There’s a fairly good chance it’s going to be stuck like this permanently for the rest of my life.
“The lightbulb over the kitchen sink burned out.”
A new laugh rips out of me, a boisterous and loud one that draws attention. I notice out of the corner of my eye a few people pulling out their phones and I don’t care. Nola’s here and she’s sassing me straight out of the chute.
