by Aven Ellis
I access Google and search for what I want. I stare back at an image of the reflecting pool and Washington Monument, remembering how Brody kissed me on those steps and told me this was our DC now. The image of our city will always hold a special place in my heart.
I smile and click into my emails, ready to work. As soon as I do, an IM pops up from Mariah in fundraising.
When you get in, can you come down and see me? I have a question for you.
Must be something for the newsletter. Or maybe, just maybe, Belinda shared my reports from the first week of my social media push promoting the gala. I’d really like to get updated ticket sales numbers from her department to see if I can find a correlation between peak social media responses and sales.
I take another sip of my tea and head to the fundraising department. Maybe Addison will want to have lunch in the breakroom with me today. I am getting back on track with my health improvement plan and brought tuna salad wrapped in lettuce for lunch.
Feeble food yay.
I turn down the hall and enter the fundraising side, but Addison isn’t at her desk. I’ll DM her later. Neither is Yvette. Hmm. I hear voices coming from Mariah’s office, and I find all three of them huddled around her computer, talking.
I rap lightly on the open door to announce my presence.
They all glance up and stare at me with wide eyes.
I wrinkle my nose. Did I accidentally dribble tea down my white and navy polka dot blouse? Did my mascara smudge underneath my eyes, giving me a raccoon-type appearance? What is it?
“Uh, hello, you wanted to see me, Mariah?” I ask, resisting the urge to ask what is wrong.
“Hayley,” Mariah says, standing up and grinning at me. “We’re all dying here. Nobody knew you were dating Brody Jensen!”
My face and neck instantly get red hot. “W-What?”
“I love the Washington Soaring Eagles,” Mariah says, her eyes sparkling. “Yes, I’m old enough to be their mother, but I follow all the players on Instagram. I about freaked out when I was eating my blueberry muffin and saw that picture Brody put up of you two!”
“What picture?” I ask, confused. “Brody hates social media. He rarely posts.”
“He just posted it,” Addison chimes in. “Man, I’m impressed with your ability to keep secrets. If I were dating a hot baseball player, I’d tell everyone.”
“We’re still new,” I say, my face radiating heat.
“New? That boy looks like he’s totally in love with you,” Yvette adds.
“Can I see what picture he posted?” I ask, dying to know.
Addison moves out of the way so I can take her place next to Mariah’s computer.
I slip in between Yvette and Mariah and gasp as soon as I see Brody’s Instagram account. It’s the shot he took of him dipping me on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial. I must mean a lot to him if he shared that picture with all his followers. I read the caption:
I’m grateful to this city for so much, and one them is meeting this DC girl. #Grateful #OurDC #DateNight #TheWayYouLookTonight #EarlGrey #WeAren’tFredandGinger
My heart is pounding in my ears as I finish. I can’t believe he shared this picture, and those beautiful words. I am elated knowing that he feels strongly enough to express his feelings to the world.
“Hayley, you know we could really use a sports celebrity on board for our gala,” Mariah says. “Since you have a connection to Brody, do you think he’d be interested? We could have him do some radio PSAs, maybe have him plug the event on TV and—”
My stomach goes cold as Mariah continues talking. Oh, no, please, not this. I know Brody would say yes if I asked him, but I don’t want to start asking him for celebrity favors, no matter how noble the cause. Not after a week. Not after just sleeping with him. It’s awkward, and I don’t ever want him to think I’m using him for his celebrity.
“Um, the season just started and he’s really busy,” I say.
Mariah winces. “Oh, gosh, I’m sorry. I put you in an awkward position. As a baseball fan, I knew he’d be a draw, and when I saw you two were dating, it seemed like a no-brainer. I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s okay, Brody’s busy getting into the swing of the season, and he’ll be on the road a lot so he’s really focused on baseball right now an—”
“No big deal,” Mariah interrupts. “Forget I asked. Oh, and congratulations to you! He’s gorgeous.”
I blush again. “He’s more than that. He’s absolutely the most amazing man I’ve ever met.”
We talk about Brody for a few minutes before Mariah’s phone rings.
“I need to take that,” Mariah says. “I’ll talk to you ladies later.”
Yvette goes back to her desk, but Addison stops me outside her cubicle.
“Lunch today?” she asks.
“I brought mine, but if you want to grab something, I can eat with you.”
“Excellent. I’ll see what food trucks will be nearby today, and we can meet up after I get my food. I want to hear all about Brody!”
I nod and leave her, heading back to my department. Guilt lingers inside me. Maybe I should ask Brody. He would agree and everyone would be happy, right? But what if my asking him reminds him of other girls who have just liked him for what he could provide? For being a baseball player? While part of me knows he would never think that of me, part of me doesn’t want to take the chance of annoying him with my request.
Besides, if I’m truly honest with myself, a part of me wants to be known for my hard work, not for my celebrity baseball-playing boyfriend. I hate myself for thinking of it that way, but it’s the truth.
Ugh. This sounds like a growth issue I need to work through in my best-you book. I’m not going to burden Brody with the gala, so I can shove my shortcomings aside to work on later.
For now, I want to work hard, get through the day, and then go to the Eagles Park to watch my man catch.
But I have a very important task to do first.
I sit back down at my desk and pick up my phone. I text Brody:
Your Instagram post made me swoon. I kinda like it. A lot.
I hit send, knowing he’ll love the comment referring to the one he made last night when he was talking about his feelings for me.
However, saying “I’m kinda falling in love with you” would be more accurate.
And I couldn’t be happier about it.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
I can’t believe I’ve never been to a baseball game before.
I stop at the top of the tunnel that leads out to the seats behind home plate. My senses are overwhelmed, which surprises me.
The field is majestically laid out before me. Players are out on the bright green grass, throwing balls around. Fans are filling the stadium in a sea of the Soaring Eagles colors, navy and red. Vendors are yelling “cold beer” and “peanuts here” over the music playing from the speakers. The air is permeated with the scent of grilled onions and hot dogs, and my brain is recording the entire game experience.
And it’s awesome.
“May I show you to your seats?” the usher asks, smiling at us.
“I’m so excited,” Katie says as she shows the woman her ticket. “I’ve never sat this close before!”
I nod as my eyes scan the field for Brody, but I don’t see him yet. We’ve exchanged texts all day, talking about his sweet Instagram post and how much fun we had last night. And I’m so eager to see him on the field I can barely stand it.
“I have binoculars. You can find your boyfriend when we sit down,” Dominik says, nudging me playfully.
Oh, if this were an Instagram moment I’d call it HashtagEmbarrassed.
“What? I can see fine from here,” I say.
Dominik grins cheekily at me. “I know how you women are. Who do you think insisted I bring binoculars? Barbara wants to check out baseball butt.”
“Helps pass the time,” Barbara says. “Along with my knitting, since I can’t bake at a game. Though I don’t thin
k you’ll need time killers with Brody being your young man and all. You have your own baseball butt to stare at!”
I think my entire face is turning clown-nose red.
“Come on, let’s sit down. I want a hot dog,” Dominik says, following the usher down the steps.
“What about those nachos in a helmet?” Barbara asks. “I saw those are new this season. You get to keep the helmet afterward.”
“Nachos in a helmet?” Dominik asks. “Why can’t it be in a paper tray thing? People today are crazy, Barbara. Crazy!”
I can’t help but grin. I love them so much.
Katie dips her head toward me as we follow them down the steps, getting closer and closer to the field.
“Barbara and Dominik. Relationship goals,” she says to me.
I picture being that old with Brody, holding hands and going to a baseball game, reliving his memories of the past and games I watched him play. He would still hold my hand, with the paper-thin old skin and still kiss it. He’d call me his Cherry Blossom, and we’d have a home in DC. The city where we fell in love. Bought a home. Married and raised children in, and if Brody were traded again, we’d come back to this home in the off-season.
I know it’s early to have these thoughts, but with Brody, these thoughts seem natural. That this is where this could go. I feel that kind of connection to him already.
We reach our seats, which are close to the field, and I still can’t find Brody. Worse, I feel like I’ve been dropped in foreign territory and I can’t get my bearings. Where do I even look for him before a game? Drop me into a Nordstrom in any major city and I’m solid. Drop me in a baseball park and I need a map and a personal human guide.
I sit down between Barbara and Katie, and Dominik hands his binoculars to me.
“Your young man is going to be in the bullpen,” Dominik says. I stare at him and from the way he starts laughing, apparently the question mark floating over my head is painted in neon pink and covered with sparkles, it’s that obvious.
“The bullpen for the Eagles will be all the way down on the end on the first base side, in the outfield,” he explains. “Follow the first base line and you’ll find Brody in the bullpen helping the starting pitcher warm up.”
“Thank you,” I say, picking up the binoculars and peering into them. Ack! They are on super zoom, and I wince in response at the huge image filling the binoculars. Dominik’s vision is seriously set at bad. And all I can see is a Soaring Eagles helmet full of nachos, which makes me laugh.
“Barbara, I’ve spotted a helmet full of nachos,” I say, “and they look spectacular.”
“What toppings do you see?” Barbara asks as she removes her knitting from her canvas bag.
“If it doesn’t have jalapeños and sour cream, then it’s a wasted nacho-in-a-helmet experience,” Katie adds.
“It’s a wasted experience. Just cheese on top with some tomatoes.”
“Ugh!” Katie cries.
“You have to get the pork carnitas nachos,” Barbara says as she begins to knit. “Topped with sour cream and jalapeños and chased down with an antacid at my age.”
“Spot on, Barbara. Eagles nachos are fantastic. Speaking of which, we need to get our food,” Katie says. “I want nachos in a helmet for sure. Oh, and they have a new cocktail cart; I definitely want to find that and get a blueberry mojito.”
I listen to them talk about food as I continue my quest to find the bullpen. Crap, this really shouldn’t be that hard, but now I’m disoriented by the zoom of the binoculars. Dominik’s vision is obviously a bit different than mine. All I see are nachos while I try to fiddle with the lens.
“What kind of nonsense is that?” Dominik cries. “You go to a ballpark, and you only need three things: a hot dog, a bag of peanuts, and a nice cold beer.”
“You’ll have to excuse Dominik, that’s all they had when he went to baseball games back in 1908,” Barbara teases over the clicking of her knitting needles.
“Wife, why am I married to you?” Dominik jokes.
Okay. Whew. Vision adjusted. I begin my quest to follow the first-base line to the bullpen.
“Because of my pierogi,” Barbara says.
“True. I remember now.”
They both laugh.
“I want a hot dog and a normal beer, Budweiser, none of that craft stuff,” Dominik says.
“I’ll make a food run for us,” Katie offers. “I’m definitely getting garlic parmesan fries and a helmet full of nachos. Then . . .”
I quit listening as I have found the bullpen. Sure enough, there’s Brody. He’s in his catcher’s gear and dropped down into a squat as he catches a ball from Nolan Danzen, the starting pitcher for tonight.
I can’t believe I’m watching him live. My breath catches in my throat as I watch him drop to his knees, his tattooed arm throwing the ball back to Nolan, then moving back into a squat to catch it again.
As streams of people continue to fill the ballpark, as we’re getting closer and closer to the start of the game this Tuesday night, I realize that millions of people know who he is. Fans know him for his successes and failures on the baseball field. He’s judged on this field, day in day out, and it doesn’t faze him. Brody says he doesn’t read what people say about him online or in the press because the only thing that matters to him is what his manager and teammates think. End of story.
As I watch him continue to catch Nolan’s warmup pitches, it amazes me that he can remain so focused and calm here, yet he was insecure in the restaurant last night. When it comes to me, Brody doesn’t have the same confidence in himself, which absolutely stuns me.
I think of how I’m the one who should be insecure, as I’m not the prototype of a baseball player’s girlfriend, if Instagram tells me anything. I slowly put the binoculars down and study the crowd around me. I know this is the section where Soaring Eagles wives and girlfriends sit. There are some beautiful women around me, but it’s not just about how they look. I know they don’t have stream-of-consciousness brains or obsessively buy so many kitchen gadgets they are all sitting in a room in their parents’ homes. They probably don’t worry about being helpful to their bosses and wonder if they have to change their whole personality to get approval in the workplace.
I’m the one who should fear the future, not Brody, because not only do I have to try and move ahead at work, but I also have to hope that Brody finds me as fun and intriguing six months from now, when the novelty of dating someone becomes routine. Brody hasn’t had a serious girlfriend before. Does Brody really know what he’s getting into? Outside of this rush of infatuation?
I bite my lip. Why am I thinking this now? Why am I letting these thoughts seep through when I’m here to see Brody?
Because you’re worried about what will happen in the future with Brody, my brain counters.
“What do you want to eat?” Katie asks, nudging me with her arm.
I blink. “Huh?”
“I’m going to get us some baseball eats,” she says, smiling brightly at me. “Do you want anything?”
“I’ll come with you,” I say. I lean forward, looking past Barbara to Dominik. “Thank you. I found Brody.”
I hand the binoculars back to Dominik, who smiles warmly at me. “You can borrow them all you like, sweetheart, but you’d better go get food now. The first pitch will be in fourteen minutes.”
“He never misses first pitch,” Barbara says as she knits. “Since you are seeing the young man who will catch it, neither should you.”
I rise from my seat. Barbara is right. I am here for Brody. Tonight, I’m here to experience a professional baseball game, drinking in everything that makes up the world that he loves so passionately.
And that’s exactly what I am going to do.
***
People who think baseball is boring do not understand baseball.
I can’t believe how much fun I’ve had this evening. With Katie and Dominik as my guides, I’ve learned so much about the game and the nuances t
hat make it great. It’s a game with no clock. It plays out on its own unique timetable. There’s a mind game going on with each pitch delivered. It’s a game of great strategy, something I never thought of before.
While all this was going on, I continued to experience new things. I noticed whenever Brody walked up to the plate, the song “Welcome to DC” by Mambo Sauce was played, which Katie explained was his walk-up song. Every time a player approaches the plate to bat, a song they have selected is played just for them. Considering how Brody has just come to DC, I love his choice.
Brody hasn’t had any hits tonight, but I know he will be due to come up in the bottom of the ninth, so I’m still holding out hope. While he hasn’t had any hits, he’s called a great game behind the plate, according to Dominik. He said Brody is like the conductor of the symphony for the team. He calls the pitches for each Chicago player, and he has been brilliant as Nolan is still in the game, and he’s only given up three hits. The Chicago Red Fox are tied with the Soaring Eagles, 1-1, and we’re in the top of the ninth.
But Nolan is starting to lose his stuff, and he’s just thrown ball four. I groan along with the crowd. The go ahead run is at second with two outs.
Brody gets up and takes off for the mound. I watch as he lifts up his mask, covers his mouth with his glove, and begins to talk to Nolan. Then I see the manager from the Soaring Eagles dugout trot out.
“They are going to the bullpen,” Dominik says.
I still don’t know what this means for the game, but the manager takes Nolan’s ball and the stadium cheers as he goes off the field.
“Castro is coming in to relieve him,” Dominik says.
“He’s been a bit wild lately,” Katie says, taking a bite of a chocolate-dipped strawberry ice cream bar rimmed with crushed Fruit Loops. I can’t even describe how many shades of envious I am as I watch her eat. I mean, it’s ice cream.
With cereal.
I swear, Katie has done nothing but eat since we got here. I’ve watched her plow through a ridiculous pile of nachos in a baseball helmet, fries with cheese and garlic, a hot pretzel with mustard, two mojitos, and now dessert. All by herself.
