Page 69 of The Best Friend and the Shortstop

When she leans into the mic and begins to sing, Nikki sits back, letting her folded hands fall into her lap. Her lips part, and for a long while she doesn’t blink. She simply listens and watches. I’m not sure what she hears because I don’t really understand what she’s missing now. The doctor did tell her that she may have been missing the midrange for years, which means she’s already learned how to maneuver around the loss. But Nikki doesn’t believe that’s the case. She would know best.

Annabeth finishes, and Nikki claps softly, her eyes shifting to me for a second, long enough to soften and show that she’s giving in.

“Yeah?” I say.

She nods.

“This was a good plan, Alex Mendoza.” She leans into the corner of the table, and I meet her halfway for a kiss as our waiter drops off our lunch.

Nikki devours the burger in minutes, beating me, and at one point I notice Annabeth smirk at seeing the petite girl out eat the muscle man. We order dessert, cheesecake, because my girlfriend is obsessed with the stuff, just as Annabeth announces another break. I nod to Nikki, urging her to introduce herself.

She breathes out some stress, then leans into the table, making eye contact with the musician.

“Excuse me, but could I . . . can I ask you something?” Nikki’s gaze drifts to me for a second.

“I’ve seen you play before. I came here with my mom,” I insert, filling the silence and setting Nikki at ease. She doesn’t want to be the only one talking. I can tell.

“Aww, thank you for coming again. And sure. What can I answer?” Annabeth pulls a chair from our table and takes a seat while my girlfriend kneads her hands together on top of the table. It catches Annabeth’s eye, and I think maybe she has a hunch what has Nikki’s tongue tied.

“It’s the implant, right?” She reaches up her right hand and runs her fingertip along the edge.

“Yeah, and sort of the whole thing. How do you— You sing so well. And you play . . .”

Annabeth chuckles.

“I wasn’t always deaf. In high school, I got really sick with meningitis. I was a pretty big music nerd. Only member of the guitar club,” she says, raising her hand.

Nikki’s hands part and flatten on the table, her shoulders relaxing as she lets out a soft laugh.

“I was the only girl in the AV Club,” she says, holding up her hand. Annabeth gives her five, and I sit back in wonder as the two women form an instant bond.

We spend an hour at the café, waiting through Annabeth’s final set so Nikki can continue learning how she made the decision to get the implants and when. How it changed her practice, what she hears and feels. How her body adjusted, and her mind. And they talk about the grief and depression, the part that lingers in the shadow and, I know, eats at Nikki’s soul.

I pay the bill as Nikki and Annabeth exchange numbers, and we walk our new friend out to her Volkswagen. I carry her amp, tucking it in the tight back seat. These cars are stupid. Quirky, but stupid. I keep that to myself.

They hug, Nikki promising to come to her first solo show at the Rebel House next week. I’d usually send Omar with her to something like this. But this time? I think I want to come along. In fact, I might not send Omar in my place for anything ever again if I can help it.

Because I’m never going anywhere.

21

alex

july, after graduation

My house is a buzz of activity with family and friends claiming every seat and square foot of standing room with a view of the television. Nikki pushes herself into the non-existent free space on our family couch, her right leg slung over my left just to fit. She knows better than to try to move my mom from my right side, and my dad has the back of the sofa on lockdown. I don’t think his hands have left the cushion in twenty minutes as he leans over, hands braced about five feet apart and gripping like he’s trying to push a Cadillac up a hill. His back is going to suffer for this, the way he’s leaning, lunging.

“You can see the same thing if you don’t hover,” my mom says.

“I know,” he grumbles.

I chuckle as I make eyes at Nikki. We’ve noticed that for a man who claims baseball superstitions are “a bunch of hooey,” he sure does have a lot of interesting habits he refuses to break when something is going well.

Having my entire family together for the draft was only a dream a few months ago. My immediate family seemed so broken, and my odds of being drafted at all felt pretty fucking slim.

But we have come a long way, my mom maybe the most, though she would argue that my all-star nod and slugging awards to end my season probably takes the cake. It’s nothing compared to her personal growth, though.

I didn’t know at the time, but while she was finalizing the divorce, she was also going back to school for her master’s degree online. It’s one of those things she left hanging and unfinished, and when my dad let her down, she decided to quit letting herself down, too.

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