Page 95 of Praising the Pitcher

The next box contains clothes, shoes, and a few odds and ends like a set of old batting gloves that are worn basically to shreds.

When I get to the third box, I stop before untucking the sides—almost like I know whatever is waiting in here is going to hit me hard. My suspicions are confirmed when I open it to find a framed picture of me and my mom. I’m about three or four, hugging her neck, and we’re looking at the camera.

My heart prickles, a lump forming in my throat.

“God, I miss you,” I whisper, swallowing the now almost painful lump down.

The next is a book—one of my mom’s favorites, Wuthering Heights. I run my fingers over the worn paperback and sigh. She would have been so excited to watch the movie featuring Jacob Elordi and Margot Robbie. I mean … anything with either of those fine humans in it means it’ll at least be easy on the eyes.

I guess that’s why I’ve always thought Noah is so hot. The dude kind of resembles Jacob Elordi only in a more … sunshine version.

I never cared for the book because for me, it was just too sad. So I didn’t watch the movie, either, because I knew it would wreck me. My mom, however, had read it at least five or six times.

I lift the book higher in front of me, examining the shape of it, but before I get the chance to flip through the pages, a piece of paper falls out, followed by another. Both are folded, and I freeze, wondering if this is something I shouldn’t look at out of respect for my mom’s privacy. But when the paper falls on the ground beside me, flipping over, I read my name written in my mom’s gorgeous cursive handwriting and I instinctively know, she meant for me to find this paper.

I don’t reach for it right away. Instead, I sit and stare, wondering what it could be and how I’ll feel finding out. Something tells me it’s a letter to me, and the thought of reading what could be the last letter I’ll ever read from my mom makes me not want to read it at all. Because after this … it’s over. There won’t be any more pieces of her for me to find.

I know that’s not right though. Whatever this is, she wanted me to have it. So even if it takes hours, I’m going to be brave, pick up the papers, and find out what they are.

Dear Gigi,

I wonder how long it took you to find this letter—if you found it at all.

Gosh, I hope you did. If not, this was all very poor planning on my end. But I’m just going to hope you’ll find it not too long after I leave you. Then again, if I know you, and oh, how I do, baby girl, you’ll avoid going through my old things for as long as you can. You’ve never been one who feels comfortable coming face-to-face with feelings, my love.

The last thing I ever wanted was to leave you so soon. For weeks, well, months, I’ve prayed every night for a miracle. Something, anything to give me more time with you. Though I know all the time in the world would never be enough because saying goodbye to you will be the hardest thing I’ll ever have to do.

Life is just so unfair sometimes, isn’t it?

I wonder how you’re doing now, and how much time has passed since I last saw your pretty face and buried my nose into your golden locks while you hugged me tightly—still holding me like I could protect you as I had tried to do in the past. Only now, I’m sick and weak, and I want to scream because I hate this body of mine so much for failing me.

For failing you.

I wonder if you’re still playing ball. Wow, what a silly question that is … of course you’re still playing ball. I think you always will. That’s the funny part of softball, Gigi. Even though I hated the person it made your dad become once he saw your potential, I undeniably loved watching you play the game. I hated that it tore you down, but I can’t deny how much it also brought you up.

I love the look in your eyes when you go after that third strike. And I love the smallest, most subtle smile when the umpire throws his arm up, and you know you won the battle, and the batter walks back to the dugout. You’ve always played a quiet yet undeniably bold game, Gigi. Never showy, always humble. The way it should be, and despite what your dad has pushed on you, you’ve stayed true to yourself. You’ve played the game the way you want to play it and that’s why, even when I hated the word softball, I still loved how much it meant to you.

Because you never, ever let him steal your joy. Even when he tries. And we both know how much he has.

I don’t want you to think I left you with that monster without thinking twice. I promise you, if I could have found you a way out before I took my final breath, I would have. I would have done anything to set you free, but the truth is, Cal Jacobs isn’t a man you walk away from. Not without a fight.

So this is where it gets hard, because I’m going to say something I know may not be easy to hear. I have to give you some tough love, not because I want to … Lord knows you’ve been through enough to make you tough as nails. It’s just … we don’t have a choice, baby.

For years, I’ve wanted us to be free. I would have kept up with your softball training but damn, how nice it would have been if you could focus more on the joy of the sport and not have your dad’s crushing pressure. I would have taken you to eat crappy fast food after a game to celebrate and given you these things I loved as a kid called Slush Puppies. I would have had ice cream every single night in the summer and let you go Trick-or-Treating on Halloween and eat way too much candy.

There are so many things I would have done to let you just … live. And all of these things, oh how I hope one day you’ll get to experience them all.

As much as I hate to leave you with him, a big part of me knows that it’s going to be okay. Because you, my darling, are the toughest girl I know.

He will try to break you down. And you won’t let him. I know you won’t.

He’ll try to control this game you love so much.

You can’t let him.

He’ll try to tell you that you are only where you are because of him …

That’s bullshit.