Violets are not Blue

by Melissa Toppen

  I give my bat a few practice swings, then step up to the plate. Eyeing the pitcher – who happens to be a friend of mine, a hiring manager in HR – I knit my brows and straighten my stance, my bat primed to swing.

  The first pitch is too high. Ball one. The second is right in my sweet spot but manages to skim by me by a millimeter, hitting the catcher’s glove seconds later. Strike one.

  “Come on, Harris. You got this,” someone cheers from behind.

  Setting my feet, I line up at the plate again. The third pitch is perfect. I know I’m going to swing the instant it leaves the pitcher’s hand. Digging the toe of my shoe into the dirt, I plant my feet and swing with all my might. A crack resonates through the air and I look up right in time to see the ball soar into the outfield.

  Without a second of hesitation, I take off running. When I round second I see Blue has already scored, with most of the red team there to high five her after she crosses home plate. I smile to myself and then pick up the pace.

  I round third as the ball comes soaring back into the infield. The baseman catches it as I zoom past him, heading into home. I already know he’s going to throw it to the catcher in hopes of getting me out, which means I have to beat the throw or out maneuver the catcher. Luckily, the guy playing third isn’t much of a ball player and he overthrows home, allowing me to glide past the plate with ease.

  My team erupts with cheers and pats on the back, but there’s only one person I want to see. I nod and smile as I make my way past them toward Blue, picking her up and wrapping her in a tight hug the moment I reach her.

  “You scored!” I smile before slowly setting her to her feet.

  “Thanks to you.” She shuffles backward, her gaze going to the people standing behind us.

  I never noticed it before, but she seems hesitant of my affection. Is she worried about what people will think seeing us together? I hadn’t even considered the possibility, but given her reaction and the way she can’t meet my gaze, I’m thinking maybe she is.

  The thought doesn’t sit well with me but deciding now is not the time to say anything, I turn my attention to Craig as he makes his way over to congratulate me.

  The rest of the game I’m distracted. Every time I look at Blue she’s looking somewhere else. She barely speaks to me when we pass each other and the last three innings she has conveniently sat in between Hannah and Josie on the bench so that I couldn’t sit next to her.

  I find myself replaying the events that have taken place over the last four weeks in my head – specifically those at work. I don’t know how it hadn’t dawned on me before, but other than when we’re alone, she’s always had a bit of a wall between us. Even on Friday when we went to dinner with Hannah and Everett.

  She smiled and laughed like normal Blue, but she wasn’t as carefree or as affectionate as she is with me when it’s just the two of us.

  I’m not sure why that is or what that means but it’s unsettling as hell.

  When we reach the bottom of the eighth, we’re up nine to two, but rather than feeling excited that we’re about to win, I have this tight knot in the pit of my stomach that I can’t seem to shake.

  I watch from my place on the bench as Hannah hits a line drive down the third base line and makes it easily to first base. She probably could have gotten a double out of it but it seems she decided not to risk it.

  Blue steps up to bat next and even though there’s been a weirdness between us since I hugged her in front of everyone, I find myself climbing to my feet to yell words of encouragement in her direction.

  She gets two strikes on her first two swings. Tapping the bat onto home plate, she readjusts and lines up for another pitch. This one comes across the plate to the right and she’s able to make contact.

  The ball soars over the short stop’s head and lands in the outfield but Blue seems frozen at home plate.

  “Run!” Several people yell before it seems to dawn on her that she actually hit the ball.

  Dropping the bat, she takes off toward first base, reaching it just as the ball goes flying past her and rolls to the fence. The first baseman scrambles to the side to retrieve it, but Blue is long gone, having reached second by the time he gets it into his hand. Instead of holding the ball like he should have, he throws it to the second baseman who also misses it.

  It’s a laughable shit show out there.

  Blue keeps going, closing in on third as Henry, who’s playing third, picks up the ball and runs toward her. It’s a race to the base and at this point there’s no telling who’s going to get there first.

  Henry beats Blue by a half a second, and knowing he has to tag her, she makes a last second decision to slide. Her foot hits the base right before Henry’s glove brushes her leg.

  “Safe,” the ref yells, swinging his arms out to his side.

  Our entire team erupts in cheers and applause.

  It isn’t until a few seconds later that I realize Blue hasn’t moved from the ground. Henry is crouched down next to her, helping her into a sitting position as she grabs at her ankle.

  Without a second thought, I take off in her direction, jogging across the field. When I reach her, her face is marred with pain, her eyes filled with unshed tears.

  “What happened? Are you okay?” I kneel down next to her.

  “I rolled my ankle on the base.” She leans against my shoulder.

  “It’s already swelling,” Henry says, his focus on her ankle as he carefully removes her shoe. Blue winces and fists at my shirt.

  “Come on, let’s get you off the field.” I scoop her up in my arms with ease and quickly make my way back to the bench, Henry following close behind with her shoe in his hand.

  I sit her down and lift her leg to get a better look.

  “I need to take your sock off.” I give her an apologetic look as several members of the blue and red team gather around to make sure she’s alright.

  “Okay.” She nods, biting down on her bottom lip as I peel off her sock as gently as I can, revealing deep purple bruising that has already formed around her ankle and down the side of her foot.

  “That doesn’t look good,” Hannah says, sliding down on the bench next to Blue. She wraps an arm around her shoulders.

  “It really doesn’t,” I agree. “I think we need to have this looked at. You might have broken it,” I tell her, watching her grimace in pain.

  “It hurts so bad,” she admits, fighting against the tears that are swelling in her eyes. The fact that she still hasn’t cried is a true testament to just how strong she is.

  “I’ll call an ambulance,” Henry says as he pulls his cell phone from his bag.

  “No, I can take her,” I tell him, turning my attention back to Blue. “I’m going to take you to the ER, okay? This ankle is going to need an x-ray.”

  “Okay.” She gives a small nod.

  “I’m coming, too,” Hannah announces, standing at the same time I do.

  “No,” Blue interjects. “There’s no reason for you to sit at the hospital. You know how long an ER visit can take. Stay here. The cookout is getting ready to start. I’ll call you as soon as I know anything.”

  “Are you sure?” I can tell Hannah wants to argue, but for Blue’s sake she’s trying not to.

  “I’m sure. Harris can take me.” Her eyes slide to me and I give her a nod.

  “I’ll make sure she’s taken care of.” I lean down to pick Blue up. She wraps an arm around the back of my neck as I cradle her against me.

  “I’ll fax some workers’ compensation paperwork to the hospital.” My boss John steps up next to me. “Since she was injured on work time, we should be the ones to cover the expense. I’ll clear it with HR.”

  “Thank you.” Blue manages a smile as I turn and take off in the direction of my car with her in my arms.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Blue

  “Of course this would happen to me,” I whine, dropping my head back against the stiff hospital pillows. “A broken ankle is
all I need right now.”

  “Maybe it’s not broken,” Harris offers from the seat next to my bed.

  “But look at how purple it is.” I gesture to my swollen ankle that’s about every different shade of purple you can imagine.

  “When I was fifteen, I sprained my ankle and it bruised pretty bad. They say sometimes a sprain can hurt worse than a break.”

  “Well I’ve never had a broken bone or a sprain so I guess I wouldn’t know.”

  “How have you lived thirty-two years and never sprained or broken anything?” He smiles at me and the action makes me feel a hundred times better. I ignore why that is.

  “Because I’m careful.”

  “Maybe a little too careful.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I narrow my gaze at him.

  “I’m just saying, until you’ve broken something or had to be sewn back together, you haven’t lived.” He chuckles.

  “Well if that’s the case, I’m okay not living.”

  “Ms. Daniels.” I look up as a nurse slides open the curtain and steps inside, a wheelchair in tow.

  “That’s me.” I blow out a breath.

  “I’m here to get a urine sample from you.”

  “Um, why?” I ask, not sure why they would need my pee for a jacked-up ankle.

  “Workman’s’ comp requires a drug and alcohol screening to ensure you weren’t intoxicated at the time of the accident,” she tells me, moving the wheelchair to the side of the bed.

  “I wish I was, maybe then this wouldn’t hurt so bad,” I semi-joke as Harris stands and helps me into the chair.

  “Once we have her sample we’re going to take her back for an x-ray. You’re welcome to wait here,” she advises Harris.

  “Okay.” He nods, dipping down so that we’re eye level. “I’ll be right here when you’re finished,” he tells me, laying a brief kiss to my forehead before standing upright again.

  As much as I hate that he’s here to witness me in this condition, there’s no one else I’d rather have here with me. I know that should tell me something about my feelings, but like many things as of late, I find myself pushing it to the back of my mind and not focusing on it.

  After giving my urine sample, I’m rolled back to radiology where I end up having to wait for nearly thirty minutes before a tech comes out to get me.

  Once he has me situated up on the table, the same nurse as before comes in and wraps a heavy vest looking thing over my torso.

  “This is to protect the baby from radiation,” she tells me, tucking it around me.

  I do a double take; not sure I heard her right.

  “Come again?”

  “The vest.” She points to the dull gray covering draped over the front of me. “It protects the baby while we do the x-ray.”

  “I’m sorry but you must be mistaken. I’m not pregnant,” I tell her, figuring she must have me confused with another patient or maybe looked at the wrong chart or something.

  Her face pales and an apologetic smile crosses her face. “I’m so sorry. I just assumed you knew.”

  “Knew what?” I croak.

  “You’re pregnant.”

  “What?” I practically yell in her face.

  “When you came in, you told the admitting nurse that there was a possibility you could be pregnant.”

  “I told her I wasn’t pregnant, but when she asked if it was possible I said yes because...well, I’m...err,” I stutter, feeling weird talking about this with a complete stranger. “Active.” I hope she catches what I mean.

  “Whenever a woman could possibly be pregnant, it’s general practice to perform a pregnancy test before any kind of radiation treatment or exam is done.”

  “I thought you took a urine sample to test for drugs.” I shake my head, convinced there’s some kind of mix up. There’s no way I’m pregnant. I haven’t had any symptoms and I’m not late for my period, which is due to come in a couple of days. Not to mention I’m on birth control.

  “We did, and we also performed a pregnancy test.”

  “Run it again,” I cut her off before she can continue.

  “I’m sorry?” She steps back like she’s confused.

  “Run the test again!” I demand. “There has to be some sort of mix up.”

  “I did the test myself. I can assure you, there was no mix up.”

  My head swirls and my heart feels like it’s seconds away from pounding straight out of my chest.

  I’m pregnant?

  How am I pregnant?

  And then his face flashes through my mind and I feel like the world falls out from underneath me.

  Harris...

  Oh god, how could I have been so stupid?

  But then an even scarier thought occurs to me. What if it’s not Harris’ baby?

  I slept with Bruce a few different times just a couple short weeks before Harris and I slept together. And while we used a condom, if today proves anything it’s that no form of birth control is one hundred percent.

  “Do you know how far along I am?” I croak, the weight of the situation seeming to hit me all at once as a hard-lump forms in the back of my throat.

  “It’s hard to say. The test doesn’t show how far along you are, only if your pregnant or not pregnant.” Of course this is information I already know so I’m not entirely sure why I even asked. “But I’d say you’re at least three weeks or more given that you tested positive. Any earlier than that and the hormone likely wouldn’t have shown up in your urine.”

  Three weeks or more... I try to work out the math in my head. Harris and I slept together for the first time eight days after our bet started. Meaning it hasn’t even been three full weeks since we first slept together. My stomach twists tighter.

  “Now, let’s get you situated here so we can see what’s going on with this ankle of yours.” She tries to breeze by the extremely tense situation by reminding me why I’m here to begin with.

  Nodding, I move through the motions, but in truth, I’m completely numb.

  I can’t process the information. I can’t make it make any sense. If the nurse is right, and I’m at least three weeks or more, then that means Bruce is the father.

  I feel like I’m going to be sick...

  It could still be Harris’... I let myself entertain the possibility. It’s possible, isn’t it? I mean, it has been almost three weeks. Maybe the hormone is showing up a little earlier than normal but that doesn’t mean it’s not possible.

  I’m not sure if the thought makes me feel better or worse. I feel like I’m on the verge of having a full-blown panic attack. My chest tightens and suddenly it feels almost impossible to pull in a full breath.

  The sound of the x-ray machine is background noise to the chaos going on inside my head. Everything is jumbled and moving way too quickly.

  It isn’t until the nurse begins rolling me back to the ER that some semblance of my brain begins to work normally again. And I have the first clear thought that I’ve managed to process since the word pregnant came into play.

  “Can we not tell the man I came with?” I look up at her aging face just in time to see confusion cross it. “About the pregnancy,” I tack on.

  “Of course. We won’t discuss the details of your condition without your permission. The doctor won’t mention it when he comes in to speak to you as it doesn’t pertain to your injury.”

  “Can you make sure?” I push past the lump in my throat. “Can you make sure he knows not to mention it?”

  She gives me an understanding nod. “Of course.”

  I turn my gaze forward again, trying to focus on my breathing as we approach the curtain that Harris is sitting on the other side of. I need to try to find a way to seem completely normal, or at least until I have a chance to figure all this out.

  “Hey.” Harris looks up from his phone and smiles as the nurse rolls me back into the room. “How’d it go?”

  “It was fine.” I shrug, unable to make eye contact.

  “
She did great,” the nurse speaks up, locking the wheelchair as Harris stands and helps me back into bed. “The doctor should be in soon to go over the results with you,” she tells me, patting the top of my leg. “Is there anything I can get you in the meantime?” she asks, waiting until I’m positioned in bed before propping a couple of pillows under my injured ankle.

  How about a plane ticket and a few thousand dollars so I can run away and never come back? I think to myself. As if that would somehow solve everything.

  “No, I’m good. Thank you.”

  “Okay.” She smiles, wheeling the empty wheelchair out of the room seconds later.

  “How are you feeling? Still in a lot of pain?” Harris settles onto the edge of the bed, his body angled toward me.

  “I’m okay.” I shrug. “I just really hope it isn’t broken and that I don’t need crutches.” I pick at a loose string on my t-shirt.

  “Well even if you do, you’ll manage.” He smiles. “Between me and Hannah, we’ll have you covered.”

  I resist the urge to point out that after this Friday he won’t be around to help me, but deciding now is not the time or place, I bite my tongue.

  I’m not sure why I’m taking this bet so seriously. Haven’t we moved past it at this point? He’s made it clear he’s not playing a game and truthfully, neither am I. So why is it that I’m still so hell bent on seeing this bet through?

  Why can’t I enjoy our time together and let life take us wherever we end up? Why can’t I give him my heart the way any other sane woman already would have? Why am I fighting this so damn hard?

  Deep down I think I know the answer but for some reason I won’t let myself admit it, even to myself.

  After James, what I wanted in life changed. That happens, right? You start out wanting one thing but with each path you take things change. And before you know it you want something completely different. I’m allowed to change my mind.