Page 39 of Love in the Outfield

She stands up and pushes back her chair. Her voice is shaky. “How dare you! Do you have any idea how bad it was after you left? You broke my heart. I could barely function. Then I watch you competing in the playoffs while my world is falling apart. Everything was hunky-dory, wasn’t it? Not a care in the world for Mr. Golden Boy taking his victory laps around the bases. When I found out I was pregnant I was terrified, not because I didn’t want my baby but because I was barely scraping by and didn’t know how I’d manage. But ya know what, we made it. Without you or your money.”

“And you’re so incredibly proud of that fact, aren’t you? Accepting help from me would besodegrading.” I can’t keep the bitterness from edging in.

“You don’t get it, do you? I guess that’s what growing up entitled does to a person. That isnotthe way my son is going to be raised!”

“You’re maddening! It always comes back to money with you. You’re the damn snob, not me or my family.”

Her jaw drops as her eyes go round. “Me? A snob? Oh, that’s rich, pun intended, coming from you.” She crosses her arms over her chest, expression mutinous.

“Georgia, we’re never going to resolve this if we don’t stop bickering.”

“You’re the one bickering. If you present something reasonable, we’ll discuss it rationally.”

“Stubborn as the day is long,” I mutter. Geesh I’m even starting to sound like her. “What is unreasonable about wanting to vacation with my son and him getting to know my family?”

“It’s happening too fast.”

“It hasn’t happened yet. We’re two months away from my off-season. That’s two months to bond. By the end of October, we won’t be strangers.” I notice her bottom lip quivering and her green eyes shimmering. Uh-oh. Tears. Not my favorite thing to deal with but it does wake me the hell up. I’m going about this the wrong way.

“Hold up a second. Can we do a rewind?” I ask.

“I’m listening,” she says, sitting back down.

“I’m swimming in the deep end here. There’s no owner’s manual for our situation… for us. We’re both winging it. Can we try to discuss this without it turning into an argument?”

“I reckon we can try but you’re just so… so… “

“Just say it.”

“Insensitive,” she blurts out then swipes her forearm across her teary eyes.

“I’m sorry Georgia but for the life of me, from where I’m sitting, it feels like you’re the one being uncooperative. I want to be in my son’s life for real. Not some fly-by-night father that only shows up for holidays.”

“I get that and you will be, but you’re pushing too hard. We need to take it slow.”

I feel my hackles rise again. “For Auggie or for you?” Her head jerks back like I slapped her.

“I guess in your scenario my feelings don’t count then,” she hisses.

“Here we go again,” I grumble. “Your feelings matter. You matter. I’m trying to make a point. I know you’ve had free rein for the last two years but I’m here now and I’m not going anywhere. I get to have a say in things. As hard as it might be, you’re going to have to accept it, Georgia.”

“There will be no vacation this year and that’s my final answer. Next?” Her tears have dried up and her eyes are shooting daggers at me. If looks could kill… well you get my drift.

“Let’s shelve that idea for now. I printed out my game schedule and a calendar,” I say pulling a folded piece of paper from my back pocket. “When I’m on the road… flights… days off… home games. Let’s work on solutions instead of problems. Can you do that for me?” I cajole, flashing my most disarming smile.

“Don’t think you can charm your way into getting whatever you want. I’m wise to you.”

I test my luck, “Truce?”

“I suppose. Gimmie,” she says, holding out her hand for the schedule. As she scans the page, I study her and it brings back all sorts of unbidden memories.

She looks up, catches me staring, then blushes. “I can work with this.”

She stands and walks over to a kitchen drawer pulling out a tablet and pen then sits back down studying my timetable.

“I only know my schedule at the restaurant two weeks in advance. They hand out a new one every other week. For summer, I’m only taking one online class so that’s no biggie.” Chewing on her bottom lip she scribbles notes to the side of my calendar. I feel a little thrill knowing that whether Georgia likes it or not she is going to be seeing a lot of me for the next sixteen years.

“Why’re you looking like the cat that swallowed the canary?” She squints suspiciously.

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