Chuckling, she pulls out the relish and mustard packets, assuming the prior conversation is over, but I need to explain myself.
“Reese,” I say again, placing my hand over hers to stop her from unwrapping her lunch. “The reason I was so upset after that meeting is not just because you wanted to trade one of my players.”
Slowly, she turns in her seat, giving me her full attention.
“You’re making history this year,” I remind her. “And I’m not sure if the weight of that has fully set in for you yet. And no, I don’t think you should base your decisions on the scrutiny you’re under, or the fear of what others may say, but in that moment, it felt like you were about to make this career-defining decision, and I wouldn’t be able to protect you from the aftermath of it.”
I expect her to interrupt me, to say something along the lines of “I can handle it,” but she doesn’t. She simply hears me out.
“And it’s not just protecting you for this one season,” I continue. “It’s about protecting the legacy you’re going to leave for all the women who will come after you. There are girls who love this game the same way you do, who are going to be looking up to you. I think about the little girlIraised and the world that’s not set up for her success. I think about how much I would’veloved for there to be women in positions of power for her to look up to the way you are now. And it scared me to think about what they were going to say about you in the press. Trading Kaiser would put so much heat on you, Reese, and I was afraid that you didn’t fully grasp the weight of that, and I was scaredforyou. I took it out on you, and I’m sorry for doing that.”
She swallows hard, eyes bouncing between mine. Her lips open then close, no words coming out, so I press her for them.
“What?” I ask.
“I think...” She shakes her head. “I think I’m starting to get the hype surrounding you.”
I exhale a laugh, and the tension breaks in such an easy way.
I pull my hand away so she can eat, but before I can, she grabs it, stopping me.
“Thank you,” she says softly. “For looking out for me. I try not to focus on the bigger-picture-type things because they feel heavy and overwhelming when I think about them. I already feel so much pressure every single day just doing my job, that if I think about the history books and the girls I want to inspire, I’m afraid I’ll be paralyzed with expectations.”
“Yeah,” I breathe out. “I can see that.”
“So how about I focus on the task at hand, making this team the best it can be, and if I make a decision that you think could harm the legacy I want to leave behind, you raise that concern to me and we talk it through. Deal?”
“Deal.”
She lets go of my hand, but I don’t want it back.
I like listening to her speak. I like the way she handles herself. I like her sharp mind and her quick wit.
I think I might just likeher,which is a real problem when I think about protecting her legacy. The last thing she needs is her employee crushing on her.
“Thisis why I wanted to bring you here,” she says, nodding toward home plate. “That’s Milo Jones.”
The name sounds vaguely familiar, but not enough for it to scrounge up any memories.
“He’s twenty-two years old. From a small town in New Mexico. Played center field for his local community college and is the player I wanted to call up as Kaiser’s replacement.”
“Why have I barely heard of him?”
“He was undrafted. I found him a few years ago because my car broke down and the auto shop where I was towed was next to a community college and there just happened to be a game going on. He’s wildly talented but didn’t grow up playing competitive ball or anything like that, so he’s needed some polishing. He started all the way at the bottom in the rookie league but has quickly moved his way up, just starting triple-A this season.”
My eyes flit to the jumbotron displaying his batting average, but that’s not a clear enough number to let myself get excited.
“OPS?” I ask, referring to the combination of on-base percentage and his slugging percentage.
“It’s .920.”
“Jesus.”
On the third pitch, I watch as Milo swings the bat in the most natural and athletic way, connecting with the pitch. He hits what looks to be a double, the ball landing near us in right field, but with how fast he is, he stretches it to a triple, sliding into third base.
If he’s that fast in the infield, I can’t wait to see him let loose in the outfield.
“Damn.” I exhale a laugh and when I look at Reese out of the corner of my eye, I find her watching me knowingly. “You think he’s ready?”
