“Noted.”
As I went down my list of batters, my mind wandered to the hospital, to Daisy, to the baby, to what they were doing. And I thought that maybe Emily was right. Maybe the boys would be happy to have some girls there cheering for them. I looked down at my phone again, smiling, remembering that, tonight, I’d have someone cheering for me too.
DAISYFixer-Upper
I’ve never liked baseball. I know. It’s a bad true confession from someone who cannot keep her mind from wandering to the adorable high school baseball coach. I don’t hate it. I’m just more of a basketball kind of gal. But, tonight, all that changed. Because at this baseball game, there were cheerleaders.
I had grown up cheering, which was so much fun. As a teenager whose mom had taken off, raised by a dad who loved her and did everything for her but who wasn’t exactly a professional in the science of pink, cheerleading was my foray into all things girly. Cute outfits and pretty hair and the company of other girls and women smiling and laughing and planning their outfits for the pep rally and homecoming. Coach Tracy took me under her wing, teaching me how to do my makeup and curl my hair and all the things that, sure, shouldn’t be that important, but, when you’re a girl with no mom, can make you feel really left out if you don’t know how.
I positively worshipped my dad. But becoming a cheerleader under the tutelage of Coach Tracy gave me the chance to learn how to become a woman.
I was surprised—and pretty thrilled—when Laura, one of the nurses I worked with, slid beside me onto the low bleachers. She was still in the blue scrubs she’d been wearing at work, but her glasses had been replaced by contact lenses, and she’d definitely swiped some blush on her cheeks. “Well, hey, honey,” she said, patting my knee, swooping her shoulder-length light brown hair back into a ponytail.
“Hey, yourself,” I said cheerily. “What brings you here?”
She pointed toward the dugout. “Number eleven is mine,” she said, grinning at me. “Meaning I have spent more hours sweating on a baseball field than the mind can even calculate.”
We both laughed. I had heard enough friends complain about it to know that baseball meant long hours on the field, usually all summer once you got competitive enough for travel ball.
“I have enough money in roadside motels and batting equipment to have sent the kid to college.”
I winced, but she winked at me. “Good thing there’s nothing I’d rather do more than watch him play.”
“Thatisa good thing.”
I looked over at Mason, who, I was delighted to see, was looking atme. I waved, and he sort of nodded and, I think, winked at me. I couldn’t one hundred percent tell. He was kind of far away.
“Oh my word,” Laura trilled. “I’d ask what bringsyouhere, but I think I know. You’ve already caught the eye of Mason Thaysden?”
“Well, whohasn’t, Laura. That’s not a real high bar,” a voice from behind us said. A woman I didn’t know scooted in on Laura’s other side, a box of Reese’s Pieces in her hands. Laura swatted her thigh.
“Carmen, honestly.”
She held her hand out to me, and I noticed her long fake nails before I processed how very done up she was for a baseball game. Falseeyelashes, hair extensions, the works. She was wearing cowboy boots with her Cape Carolina Marlins–green dress. “Carmen.”
“Daisy.”
“You’ll have to excuse Carmen. She has carried a very long-standing torch for Mason Thaysden, and he has never been exactly interested.”
“Hey!” Carmen protested, sliding one of those long nails under the top of the Reese’s Pieces box to open it. As a short-nail, no-manicure type of girl, I was fascinated by this move. She held the box out to me, and I opened my hand. Generous of her to share with me when we were, as it seemed, fighting for the same man.
“That is untrue,” Carmen said. “We dated for four glorious weeks in high school,” she added wistfully. She looked at me knowingly. “That was in his player phase. That lasted about two and a half decades. But I hear that he’s all grown up and ready to settle down now.”
“Your move to town couldn’t be better timed,” Laura added, smiling.
“Forwhom?” Carmen asked, emphasis on the whom. “Because I thought I was going to finally get my shot. So it’s not better timing for me.”
I couldn’t one hundred percent decide how I was supposed to take all of this. She seemed like maybe she was kidding.
“Right,” Laura said. “But a divorce would be so messy for you if Mason decided he was interested. And, let’s be honest, no one is going to take your side over the beloved principal’s.”
Carmen waved to a man in a suit who had walked over to the dugout to, it seemed, give Mason a pep talk.
“True,” Carmen said wistfully. “And I do love Tim, damn him.” She looked at me pointedly. “But he is no Mason Thaysden. So I’d lock that down if I were you.”
Now I knew when I laughed heartily, I wasn’t offending her. Probably. I loved a good sarcastic, dry sense of humor, but, when you were new here, it could be hard to read.
“Oh, hey!” Carmen said. “What’s going on with that baby?”
