CURVEBALL

by Mariah Dietz

  He smiles and then turns back to the waitress. “We would like to begin with the crispy fried calamari, fried twice with a drizzle of lemon between, and then the slow-roasted porchetta with light sauce.”

  Flashing my attention to the menu set in front of me, I read that porchetta is pig belly, and my stomach knots. He’s just ordered squid and pig belly, and I hate seafood and can’t even fathom what pig belly will be like. Garret completes our order with some bread and an antipasto dish I also won’t be touching because I hate olives and he requested extra.

  The waitress takes our menus, and Garret folds his arms and leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “So why are you on a dating site?”

  His question surprises me. I am still considering how I’m going to politely reject every dish except for the bread, and to now answer why I’m on a dating site in a way that doesn’t make me sound desperate or rude leaves me floundering.

  “I mean, you just don’t look like someone who would need the internet to find dates. A date? Dates?” He makes it more awkward, as I think we’re both debating his words and their insinuation.

  I clear my throat and sit straighter in my chair. “I have a busy lifestyle, and sometimes that makes it difficult to meet people.”

  “But you want to meet someone?”

  What happened to not having criteria, buddy?

  “Yeah, otherwise I wouldn’t be here.”

  He looks me over, and I feel the itch to call his first strike.

  “So tell me about yourself,” he says.

  It’s the single question I hate more than any other. Regardless of being in a personal or professional setting, it’s an uncomfortable subject because I never know what the person asking is referencing. “The CliffsNotes version: I’m from North Carolina, so I can firsthand confirm this isn’t like the Vatican.” I pause long enough to give a teasing smile. “I have a son and a dog, along with a full-time job, and combined they keep me fairly busy.”

  He doesn’t flinch. Instead, his smile grows. “I have two sons,” he tells me. “They’re nine and seven.”

  The idea of a strike against him vanishes. Especially when he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet, flipping it open to show me pictures of his boys who are miniature versions of him.

  “They’re adorable! And so happy.” I scan over their infectious smiles that remind me of their father’s and wonder if Hayden were around them if he would smile more. No one has a better smile than my son, but he doesn’t wear it without it being earned.

  “My son’s nine,” I tell him. He doesn’t comment about me not reaching for pictures, and I’m grateful. While he doesn’t seem alarming, my own anxiety and fears still lurk in my mind, keeping details about Hayden hidden.

  “Boys are the best, aren’t they?” he asks.

  I hate statements like this because my mind always wants to dissect them.

  “There’s no one I love more than him.” I don’t mean to stare at him afterward. It’s not meant as a threat or a dare, but when he turns his chin to one side, I see how it could be taken as one. “So tell me more about your job. You mentioned you opened a business with your father. I think that’s incredible.”

  And because I am failing even at this date, I rely on another question I loathe: careers.

  Garret laughs. “Growing up I always told my dad there was no way, no how,” he sweeps his arms across the table,” I would ever go into construction. He used to make me help him on jobsites starting when I was young. It was my job to walk around and find all the loose nails on the ground, and then I graduated to using a hammer and had to learn how to knock in four-inch nails while everyone around me got nail guns and went a thousand times faster, which drove me insane. I was so mad at my dad, and it became my mission to learn how to use every single tool so I would never have to lag behind. By the time I was thirteen, I realized he’d tricked me into learning how to use them all, and hated him for it.

  “By the time I went away to college, all I knew were jobsites, and somewhere in the mix of it all, I had even started to enjoy the process of watching something being created from nothing into a home. It inspired me to study architecture.”

  “So you guys design and build?” I ask.

  Garret smiles. “We could, but mostly we just build. I guess I missed getting my hands dirty.”

  “That’s really awesome. Do you get to take your boys out now? Make them pick up loose nails?”

  “The little one will, but my older son, AJ, won’t go near a jobsite.”

  I try to imagine if Hayden would have any interest in doing something like that. The kid has loved constructing things since birth. Give him Legos, magnets, bricks, or blocks and he’ll build a cityscape.

  “I’m sure that’s normal,” I tell him. “I’m in marketing, and I already know for a fact that my son will never choose the same field. He looks at all my Excel spreadsheets and just shakes his head.”

  We share a laugh that sits on the edge of being polite, but is genuine enough that it doesn’t feel contrived.

  When our lunch arrives I look over the food, each dish less appealing than the last.

  “Looks great!” Garret says, rubbing his palms together.

  “It does,” I lie.

  He dives in, and I reach for a piece of fresh focaccia and some of the root vegetables that are served alongside the pork belly that I can’t remember the fancy name for any longer.

  If Garret notices that I don’t eat anything besides those two things, he doesn’t mention it.

  It’s the first date in a long while I have to cut short so I can return to work before Hayden’s game. I thank him, and while it wasn’t what I had imagined and maybe hoped for, he has no strikes by the end, and it makes me feel hopeful that maybe the next date will be even better.

  18

  Coen

  I pull into the parking lot and scrub a hand down my face. I feel like I drove across the entire continent yesterday rather than just a few invisible state lines.

  Hayden’s in the middle of the field doing warm-up drills like last time I saw him here, and it only takes me another beat to find Ella sitting on the bleachers, watching him intently. She doesn’t see me, not that I expect her to. She probably doesn’t even realize I’m coming or expect it.

  Her hair’s curled again, and her skin is flushed from the heat. I stand a safe distance from her and enjoy being able to study her features while they mock me for thinking I remembered how beautiful she is.

  I drop my keys into my pocket and head over to her, not knowing what to expect. Again, she doesn’t look at me until I sit beside her, and then her blue eyes widen and I see the trace hints of a smile, and I want to apologize and tell her about every single second that has passed since I last saw her and hear about everything she’s been doing and how Hayden has been.

  “Hey,” I say, bumping my thigh against her bare one.

  “How are you?” she asks, staring at me long enough I know she sees my exhaustion.

  “I’m okay,” I tell her.

  She nods a few times. “Well, if you want to tell me later, you know where to find me.”

  Strangely, I find comfort in her knowing that I’m lying. “It’s been a really long week.”

  “I’m sorry.” Ella’s voice is soft and more soothing than I had remembered. There are moments in time that my soul feels like an inferno, flushed with smoke and scarred beyond recognition. Over the past week, I’ve realized why I’ve been finding excuses to be around Ella. It’s because her demeanor, her smile, her patience—they all keep the flames at bay as I bask in the bright blue zone that her eyes cast.

  “I’m sorry I disappeared.”

  Ella lifts a shoulder with a weak shrug. With it, I can tell she’s bothered that I did but also know she’s not going to admit it.

  “Why do you do that?” I ask.

  “Do what?” She looks from the field to me, and with the movement I catch how long her eyelashes are. It’s a detail
I don’t think I’ve ever appreciated from any woman, and one I now want to never stop.

  “Why don’t you say when something’s bothering you? Why not tell me you’re upset?”

  “Will that make you feel better?”

  “Yes.”

  “Fine. If it gives you gratification, yes, it bothered me that you went AWOL. Does your ego feel better?”

  I move closer to her, my heart thudding in my chest. “That’s not what I meant,” I tell her. “I just want you to stand up for yourself.”

  Her eyes become slits of accusation, but she says nothing, and when I don’t say anything more, she turns back to the field and moves her leg that’s pressed against mine, folding it over her knee and physically withdrawing from the situation.

  If the woman farther down the bench wasn’t staring with rapt attention, I would continue talking to Ella. Explain to her what I meant and continue clarifying and repeating myself until I believed she understood.

  “Hey!” Rachel calls, making her way over to us.

  Swiping a hand over my face again in an attempt to clear my thoughts, I smile and greet her.

  “I had the worst dreams last night,” Rachel says, sitting in front of Ella and me and turning to face us. “I’m never letting you pick the movie again.”

  Ella’s attention breaks from the boys throwing balls back and forth to each other, and she looks at me for only a second before looking to Rachel. “What did you guys watch?” she asks.

  My heart thuds with pleas.

  It.

  Thud.

  Wasn’t.

  Thud.

  What.

  Thud.

  You’re.

  Thud.

  Thinking.

  “Oh my God, Ella, it was so scary. It was one of those paranormal films where you hear about it and it sounds so ridiculous and unrealistic until you’re in your dark bedroom and every sound makes you think a ghost is about to jump out and murder you. What was the name of it, Coen?”

  Rachel looks to me. Ella does not.

  And if I couldn’t be any more fucked over, I look up in time to see Patrick heading toward us with a paper bag gripped in his hand.

  It takes him a moment to see me, and then he jerks his head back with obvious surprise before smiling at me in feigned greeting. “DeLuca,” he says. “What brings you here? You have a son out there?”

  I never questioned if it was appropriate for me to be here. Never thought I might look like a threat or desperate, like I think I may be. But suddenly, I feel completely out of place and as though every parent in the stands is looking at me for the first time, wondering what in the hell I’m doing here.

  “He’s been practicing with Hayden,” Ella answers for me. “Coen lives next door to Rachel,” she continues as if the explanation is necessary. I wish she hadn’t. I enjoyed the way his jaw ticked.

  Patrick and I stare at one another, neither smiling nor extending an olive branch for us to rest on to make this easier. It goes against so much that is me because I constantly work to make things more comfortable for people even when it involves letting my neighbor inside to watch a movie with me because she claims she’s had a bad day and needs to hang out with someone.

  “Patrick!” a woman behind us calls. “It’s so great to see you. How have you been? Is Lindsay feeling better? We missed her Sunday at church.”

  Ella doesn’t turn in her seat, but Rachel does with a hard glare that makes her dislike for Patrick even more apparent.

  Patrick nods to the woman. “Thank you, Mrs. Kaminski. I’ve been well. Keeping busy.”

  “Well, I’m sure Hayden keeps you on your toes,” the woman says.

  He looks to Ella, who has turned her attention back to the boys for their last warm-up drill. “Hayden’s a good kid,” he says the words clearly, firmly, as though they’re a warning, and I wonder if he realizes the hell Ella endures because of him.

  I don’t want to crane my neck around to look and see the woman’s reaction because I’ve been pretending I’m not listening to anything he’s saying, but wonder if she interprets the message how I have.

  “I know work’s been crazy for you, and I know how you skip lunches when you’re behind.” Patrick hands Ella the bag he was carrying. “So I picked up some tacos from that truck over on the south side of town.”

  While I had intentionally kept my head forward before, only catching glimpses of Ella’s reaction when Patrick spoke to the other woman, I now turn to watch her.

  “Oh, Patrick,” Rachel says. “You shouldn’t have.” She reaches up and grabs the bag. “You really, really shouldn’t have.”

  And I realize Patrick still hasn’t said anything to Rachel and doesn’t as he takes a seat on Ella’s other side, forcing us both to scoot farther down the bench. Ella sits between us, her body rigid, and I scrutinize the space between our thighs and then hers and Patrick’s before realizing she has centered herself perfectly between us.

  The movement must have caught Hayden’s eye because he looks up from where he and his team is huddled, and his smile—Ella’s smile—burns brighter.

  When Hayden’s team lines up for offense, Hayden doesn’t approach the pitching mound like I’m waiting for him to, but instead goes out to centerfield.

  “What’s he doing?” I ask.

  Ella’s frown is pronounced, her anger more visible than I had seen it when Mrs. Grant yelled at her in my front yard.

  Patrick, however, is smiling as he looks over to me. “He’s taking after his old man.”

  Realization dawns on me about how much I don’t know about Ella, this entire triangle of her life between Patrick, Hayden, and her and how far it stretches.

  The game is difficult to watch. My attention continues to be pulled to Ella, measuring and re-measuring the space between Patrick and her then me and her. Each time he talks, I want to punch him, and every time he cheers, I want to cheer louder.

  “How about we go celebrate another victory and go get some dinner?” Patrick announces as Hayden makes his way over to us.

  Jealousy spikes my heart with a nasty concoction as Hayden’s eyes light up.

  “Sorry. We already have plans,” Rachel says. “Maybe next time you should try planning.” She lifts her shoulders to feign innocence because her words are dripping with intent.

  Patrick looks to Rachel, his smile vacant though present, revealing how much he dislikes her as he keeps up the wall of formality.

  “Patrick! It was so good to see you. I’m glad the city finally gave you a day off.” A man approaches us and grips Patrick’s shoulder with a hero-worship complexion that Patrick eats off the silver spoon this town has gifted him with.

  “You’re Coen!” I turn, and a woman approaches me, a smile stretching her red lips. “Bill, it’s Coen DeLuca, the guy we’re always reading about in the paper. The firefighter from up north.”

  The man who was stroking Patrick’s ego turns, his expression not waning as he greets me. “Two of this city’s finest,” he says.

  My smile broadens, enjoying the fact that Patrick’s has just shrank. I move the intimidation factor up a notch and hook my arm around Hayden’s shoulders. “Good game, dude. You might be the best centerfield player I’ve seen. You might be too good for the position.”

  The couple stops looking at Patrick or me and focuses on Hayden, congratulating him on a game well played. Patrick stares at me for several seconds. I pretend I don’t notice and watch Hayden bathe in the attention he’s deserving of. When I meet his stare, Patrick’s lips are pressed into a line. I hate thinking of Ella having kissed him. I hate even more that I thought the guy was worth being respected and idolized.

  “Let’s go get some pizza,” Rachel says.

  Patrick makes a big production of hugging Hayden and telling him how proud he is, then he turns to Ella. If a fire started beside me, I would miss it because my sole focus is on the two of them. “I’ll talk to you later,” he says, staring at her too intensely for too long. She
nods but doesn’t reply, her gaze shifting to Hayden and then Rachel. When he moves toward the parking lot, I stop watching him.

  “Are you coming with us?” Hayden asks me.

  “Wouldn’t miss it,” I tell him.

  I catch the look Ella sends me, one filled with sarcasm and disbelief.

  “Can I ride with Coen, mom? I want to talk baseball with him.”

  She doesn’t even allow the idea to sink in before she shakes her head. “Maybe next time. Grandma wants you to call her and tell her about your game. You can do that, and then you can talk baseball with Coen over pizza.”

  I deserve her anger, but knowing that doesn’t make it any less difficult to accept.

  The pizza place Rachel leads us to is one I haven’t been to before, and when we walk inside, it doesn’t smell of tomato sauce and peppers but of scented candles.

  We’re seated at a round table with chairs and white tablecloths and each have multiple forks and spoons.

  “Aunt Rachel loves this place,” Hayden whispers. “It’s not so bad. They’ll let you order pizza without all the gross stuff on it.”

  “Gross stuff?” Rachel cries. “One day your future wife is going to be thanking me for your sophisticated taste palate.”

  Ella’s smirk doesn’t tell me if she’s laughing at Rachel or her son before she turns to her menu.

  “The chef here studied in Italy,” Rachel tells me. “I thought you might like it since you mentioned you’re Italian.”

  “You know he was raised in DC, right?” Ella keeps her attention on her menu, but there’s a clip in her tone. One that makes me irrationally happy.

  “But each week his mom cooks a big Italian feast,” Rachel says, making me regret sharing personal information last night.

  That makes Ella look up. She smiles affectionately at Hayden and then at Rachel. “Tell me more about the movie from last night. It’s great you guys spent time together.”

  A sharp pain makes a residence of my chest and builds when Ella refuses to look in my direction

  “I just noticed he’d been gone most of the week, so when he got home I brought some food over.”