“Of course I have. I’ve met his whole family. His mom made one of the best lasagnas I’ve ever had.”
“You’ve had dinner with him? And with his family?”
“Yes, Emmett,” she says with a slight chuckle. “I’ve met all of them. During the offseason, I traveled the country, introducing myself.”
I’m shocked silent but somehow am still able to exhale a question. “Why?”
“Wouldn’t you be a little freaked out if the franchise you’re signed with got a brand-new president and owner all in one go? I wanted to be able to put faces to names and ease any concerns they might have. These guys are our future players.”
I should probably focus on reiterating how impressive that is, that she went out of her way to do that. But instead, I’m still having a hard time finding words, so again, I give her only one.
“Our?”
She shoots me a deadpan look. “We’ll see.”
“What about the guys on the Warriors?”
“I met most of them last year while I was shadowing and they’re kind of stuck with me all season. Plus, they don’t need as much assurance. They’ve already made it.”
“You seriously made sure to meet every single one of these guys and their families?”
She nods as if it were no big deal, eyes on the game.
I’ve never known an owner or president to take that kind of initiative. But when I think about my own time, coming up through the developmental system and hoping to one day play in the majors, I would’ve felt so valued as not only a player but also a person if the team owner went out of their way to meet me.
“Well, Reese. For someone who views baseball as just a business, you sure met a lot of families.”
She slightly shakes her head, still unable to take her eyes off the game.
And when Braden hits a double, it feels like I’m watching the baseball fan version of Reese next to me as she cheers for him.
She tells me all about the second and third batters in the lineup as they each make their way to home plate. She tells me where they went to school, how long they’ve been playing, and where they’re from. She even spews out some of their stats from memory. And I’m not talking about the simple stats like their batting percentage that’s displayed on the jumbotron.
She recites their weighted on-base average and their OPS all from the top of her head.
Then she follows it up with things like, “His sister is a senior in high school this year,” and “He’s also very talented at the guitar.”
I swear I’m living in an alternate universe where everything I thought I knew about this woman has flown right out the window. Yes, she’s business savvy and will be great for the franchise in that regard, but she also knows the game. Far more than anyone realizes.
She also cares for these players’ well-being far more thansherealizes, but that’s a conversation for a different day.
That apology I already owed her becomes even more imperative.
“Reese.” My tone is serious as I turn slightly in my chair to face her. She hears it too, evident in the way her smile drops soberly. “I need to apologize.”
“It’s fine, Emmett. I promise.”
“It’s not, though. I shouldn’t have undermined you the way I did during and after that advisory board meeting. I’m sorry.”
She offers me an understanding smile. “Well, thank you for saying that. And I’m sorry for not giving a heads-up about wanting to trade one of your players.”
A concessions worker slowly scales the steps, a hot dog sign plastered to the heated bag he’s wearing.
“Want one?” Reese asks, and though I know she’s trying to change the subject, I’m starving, and a hot dog sounds delicious.
Reese starts to reach into her purse.
“Yes, but put your wallet away. I can buy you a goddamn hot dog.” I hold up two fingers to the concessions worker, exchanging cash for two hot dogs. “But I’m capped at that.”
