Authors: Lucy H. Delaney
Cole had started dating again, too. I pretended to be happy for him. I mean, I was with Parker. I had no reason not to be, and he deserved a girl in his life. I asked about the girls, who they were, and what they were like in the least jealous tone I could muster. I even tried to give him pointers, not that he needed any. Then one of them, Tina, stuck around. He tried to convince me, and himself, that she was just a girl, but I heard it in his voice when he started crushing on her. Before Haylee had even accepted Parker's friend request, Cole had a whole new second-chance theory. His new idea was that he would get a chance with someone brand new, who never knew the player he had been before Stacy. I bought it. He deserved it—he really was different. The whole time we were dating I was judging him, comparing him to what he had been before, and he had to constantly prove he was different. I was glad for him and his fresh start with someone less suspicious than me.
Within months my love life had gone from me having to choose between the two of them to the two of them ditching me for others. My game had failed me miserably and left me more hurt than I ever would have been without it. The final blow came that winter. Parker knocked on my door late one night to tell me she wanted him back. Haylee Howell, the girl of his dreams, finally wanted him back at long last and, lucky me, I was one of the few people he had to tell about it. How could I not be happy for him? He was getting his girl back. Never mind that I had spent the better part of four months trying, unsuccessfully, to fill the role myself. He hugged me and thanked me for being there for him through it all. He promised me that he would never forget me. I was happy to have been there for him. I was happy to have been his in-between girl.
As soon as he said goodbye, I set out to make a memory of Parker and put it in a special kind of bottle. It was a Merlot bottle, and I drank the whole thing alone in my room one night. Brett begged me to come out, but I insisted I was making the most of a bad memory the way mom taught us to.
“I don't think she meant to drown your sorrows in a bottle of wine.”
“Oh, I think she did,” I slurred over my play list of sad, sad songs. “I'm good; give me tonight, OK?”
“Fine, whatever,” he said. “At least turn your stupid music down. I don't need to be depressed.”
I took the night and I made a memory. I sulked, I bawled, I mourned for a relationship I had embraced as lightly as I could have. I YouTubed every song he had ever played for me and listened to them over and over again. Since I was on such a depressed kick, I threw Cole's songs into the mix, dancing around to “Better Together,” kicking myself for not taking him up on his offer to be my boy when I had the chance. I wanted him. I wanted him since that first time we bumped into each other in the hall and he smiled at me. I always wanted him, and then I remembered the dance, that glorious dance on first base and the goober one before it. He had tried so hard to get me to see he was different. And I ignored it—for what? For someone whose heart belonged to another.
I was left with neither and it wasn't fair. I captured it all—the whole sad, sorry story and collected it to remember forever. The room was spinning and closing my eyes made it ten times worse, so I lay on my bed staring at my light fixture, remembering what I wanted to remember. Every inning was played and I was, once again, lonely, embarrassed, and heartbroken. I decided to swear off love all together. It wasn't for me. It wasn't meant to be. I was destined to be single.
It was harder than I expected to get up and make my way to my dresser where my rules were stashed. The stupid paper was ripped on the edges and wrinkled from moves and folds over the years, but it was still there. I was done with it. I closed my eyes and tore the sheet over and over and over again until it was nothing but confetti on my comforter. That was the memory. I stared down at the pieces. Even the best-laid plans, even the most thought-out rules didn't matter to love. Love hurt, love was mean, and I had no use for it. I started to collect the pieces and was going to put them in the empty wine bottle, but thought better of it. There was still a little moisture in the bottom of the bottle and I wanted to keep it forever. The one true, tangible, bottled-up memory.
I passed out with the light on and every time I woke up I hit replay on “Better Together” and fell back to sleep. The next morning was horrible. I had to be at the gym early and was pretty sure I was still intoxicated when I woke up, so I ran to the gym instead of risking a drive. My time was pathetic; I was nearly five minutes late and Luke was ready to give me a hard time.
“Bad, bad night. Don't even start,” I said with my hand in his face.
“Calm down. I come in peace,” he said. I felt bad taking it out on him but I wasn't in the mood for his witty banter. I ran the classes hard that day and when I got off, I put myself through a ten round WOD that lasted over an hour.
“What's with you?” my boss asked when I finally returned to the counter, sweaty and spent. “Sucky night, sucky life,” I moaned.
“Tomorrow's gonna suck worse after all that. Need to talk?”
“No!” I snapped. “I need people to leave me alone about it.” And he did. I was lucky he was as understanding as he was. The run home was better. By better I mean my time was more respectable; it didn't quench the hurt. That night called for Ben and Jerry's and, because I was a special kind of stupid, the sappiest bunch of romantic movies I could find on rent at Safeway. I forced Brett to endure that torture with me, which he did, like a champ.
I pulled up my big girl pants, sealed the bottle, literally and figuratively, and moved on. I plugged the real dried-out wine bottle, complete with the pieces of torn paper in it, with a tapered candle and let it burn and drip its wax down the sides. In my mind, I placed it up on the bad memory shelf of my cave, far, far back where I hoped I could never reach it.
Parker came back with Haylee days later. We didn't talk. My parents told me that she was there and that she seemed like a very nice young lady. No matter what I told myself about the strange kind of relationship Parker and I had, it always had been more than “just friends.” I couldn't pretend to be just friends with him if I saw him again, so I avoided him and he did the same. There was no animosity but neither was there a place for me anymore. I was his middle and he was past that part. We stayed friends on Facebook and I watched his albums expand to pictures with her in them, just as Cole's did with his girl. They both smiled. They both were happy; they were in love, so much in love it made me want to poke my eyes out.
But ... but they gave me hope, too.
Maybe love could find a way. Not for me, but for others.
The winter was long and dark and wet. Slowly it morphed into a long and wet and dark spring that dragged on and on until I doubted the light and warmth of summer would ever come. I had gone back to school, and between work, college, and studying, I kept busy enough to avoid love at all costs. When Cole and I talked he asked less and less about Parker now that he knew he was living happily ever after. He talked less about Tina, too. I figured it was because he didn't want to hurt my feelings. All he said was that they were doing what we had done and were taking it slow. We talked regularly but he kept it platonic. He never gave me the impression that we could get back together or that he wanted to see me on the side when he was up for the season. It made me happy for her. She wouldn't have to worry about things the way I had. Of course she wouldn't because he wasn't the same guy.
Then he told me that he wouldn't be coming out for the season. He said he had been drafted to a Triple-A team. He was moving up, one league at a time, and he was excited about it. I was proud of his success and, as his friend, I was happy for him, but I was sad for me.
A couple weeks before the season opener, all of the Patriots’ staff started work. It was the usual stuff, and I looked forward to another summer on the field even if Cole wouldn't be there. I couldn't believe how much had changed for me in the past year. I was back in school, and I had a plan for my life, a plan that included baseball and travel. I had my heart broken twice and had sworn off love forever and I was OK. I looked out over the field. Baseball was my love; it always had been.
They gave me the roster and the job of designing the line-up fliers for the season. I had 5,000 made up for opening night and was only mildly nervous we would run out. Our stadium held 7,000, but we never had that many, except for maybe Independence Day games.
Bill, the emcee, did opening night like he had every night for as long as our family had been coming to games. My parents were there with Travis and Brett; even Theo and Kennedy had come down for the opener. I noticed that my mom was holding two seats beside her but didn't think anything of it. I assumed they were for friends.
I was shocked to see Parker and Haylee come in through the gates, and even more surprised when he said my parents had invited them and they would be sitting in those seats. He introduced me to Haylee and she greeted me in the softest voice I had ever heard. Everything about her was little. She was thin-boned with stick-straight hair and was dwarfed by Parker's size. She called him Justin and her eyes darted here and there, as did mine, while we talked and I escorted them to their seats. We couldn't quite seem to meet each other's gaze. I didn't know what he had told her and I wasn't about to volunteer anything. I knew they had gotten married soon after he went to get her, but other than that I didn't know what kind of relationship they had, so I tried as best I could to put on my most congenial face and keep it all about the game. After I showed them to their seats I gave my mom the eye and she sprang up to hug me. “Sweetie, if you knew you would have thrown a fit about it. They needed to get off the base. Be nice.”
“I'm always nice, Mom. Thanks, though.”
I hugged Kennedy and Theo, too, then went back up to the gate to do my job, and to distract myself from the fact that my ex-boyfriend and his new wife were sitting in the stands by my family. Then it was time for the game to start and Bill to call out the starting line-up for each team. I already knew the players so I ignored his booming voice until I heard him saying my name over the speakers.
“I'm sorry ladies and gentlemen; it appears as if Tatum made a mistake on the roster. Tatum, where are you?” he asked over the mic.
I responded with one of my long and loud cat whistles and then threw both my hands up, full of fliers, to help him find me.
“There she is. Ladies and gentleman, we would like to apologize—Please note there is a correction to the lineup you have in your hands. The catcher for the night is not number twenty-five, Peter Keller, but is in fact our star from last year, number eleven, COOOLLLLLEEE JAAACCCKKSSSSSSSSOOONNNN!”
The crowd went wild. I was stunned. Cole? My Cole? I knew for a fact I had been given Peter Keller's name. I looked at the field and there was no number 25 to be seen. Then I saw him, my sweet number 11, run out onto the field from the dugout and point up to me. The crowd, many of whom had been there for the dance and our antics last season, cheered and clapped. He smiled up at me and tipped his hat, his curls catching slightly as he did.
He set the whole thing up, planned it for weeks and got the team and my family, and even Parker and his girl in on it, too. When we won at the top of the ninth, he quickly ran up to find me by the gate. He took me all the way out to second base. I knew what he was doing.
“Look,” he said, short of breath from our run. “I know you kind of gave up on love and your game and all of that, but … maybe you wanna give it a second chance? Love, I mean ... and me.”
Cole pointed to the announcer's box and Bill, right on cue, started up our song.
“Please?” he begged, looking into my eyes with all the passion I had ever seen in them.
“What about Tina?”
“We called it off. We weren't that serious and she never really liked that I had to be gone so much. And ... she knew about you and got way too jealous when I told her you and Parker broke up. It was mostly mutual. She's already dating some other guy. She's OK.”
“And you didn't tell me?” I smiled back.
“I'm good, huh? So what do you think? Willing to give me one more try?” he asked.
I shrugged. “It's worth a shot.” That was all he needed. He picked me up and spun me around and kissed me, right there in front of God and everybody.
THAT WAS
the sweetest summer I ever remember. Our love was fresh and new; we refused to let it be tainted by the past summer or what had come before that. Together we made it this beautiful thing full of some of the happiest memories of my life. The park near the cemetery had turned into our usual go-to and for all my complaining about wanting things to be fun and exciting, there was something special that I loved about being able to meet him at our special spot. He walked the tombstones with me, noticing, remembering the lives they represented. It didn't surprise me when he found my “Gone too soon” girl and started to bring flowers to her grave regularly.
I wish I could say the summer was long and languid, but it flew by. Between work, games, and my summer classes, we didn't have much time together at all. When I could make it work with my schedule, I followed the bus to the close away games. My favorite was a two-day stretch they did in Wenatchee, a city several hours into Central Washington. Cole heard, from Parker actually, about a little town called Leavenworth that was nearby. Cole told me it was where Parker and Haylee had been married. I understood why when I saw it—it was a magical Bavarian-themed town. I wondered how Parker learned about it and why he had never taken me there. And then I was glad he never did because that memory was all for Cole and me.
As we rode the streets in a horse-drawn carriage, the driver, Mitch, drew our attention to local points of interest and made small talk about why we were there. We ate brats in a hot open air restaurant, and walked off our drinks on the old-world sidewalks, hand-in-hand, afterward. We strolled down to a riverfront park and sat together in the fading light. I laid my head on his shoulder and he leaned into me.