Page 106 of Curveball

Everyone eventually leaves until it’s just me and my parents. Mom smiles dreamily, oblivious to the obvious evening-long tension. “Layton loves Arizona so much. I can’t believe he plans to propose to her someday soon. She finally found the right guy.”

Layton pulled my father and I aside to ask for our blessing to propose to her sometime in the near future. My father didn’t earn the honor of being asked. I understand that a woman’s father is traditionally asked, but he didn’t raise her. I did. I more than appreciate that Layton knew enough to ask me too.

She continues, “And it was so sweet that he included you, Quincy.”

My anger has been simmering all night. They’re clueless, and that comment is my official boiling point. “Well, I fucking raised her, so it makes sense that he’d ask me. What did you do, Dad, show up after she went to sleep at night and leave before she woke up? Quite a fucking father.”

My father’s smile fades. “What’s your problem, Quincy?”

“You’re my problem. I’m completely fucked up about marriage and kids because of you. Terrified of making my own wife and child feel as inconsequential as you made me feel. I can’t be in a normal relationship because of you.”

“I worked hard for this family. Every day and every night of my life.”

“I’m more than aware that you workedeveryday andeverynight. So hard that we never saw you.”

“How do you think we paid for your Little League and your equipment needs? Your dog and the clothes on your back. Your food and school trips. Money doesn’t grow on trees for real people. It takes hard work and dedication.”

“I’m a fucking professional baseball player. Don’t you think I know about hard work and dedication? Not that you’ve ever come to see me play. Do you know that I’m probably the only pitcher in the major leagues who didn’t spend hours throwing to his father in the backyard? In fact, I’ve never once thrown a ball with you. Do you even realize how messed up that is?”

“You think you’d be a pitcher if not for me?”

“You had nothing to do with it. Arizona spent hours upon hours with me. My little sister. At seven years old, she should have been having fun with her friends, instead she was crouched down getting bruised while I tried to learn a curveball.”

He turns to my mom. “Maybe it’s time for us to go.”

I shout, “No! I’ve bottled it all up for years. Arizona always defended you and told me to let things go, but she’s not here tonight to defend you. You’re going to listen to everything I have to say. You two are so fucking clueless as to the damage you’ve inflicted. Do you know why Ripley is moving back home?”

They shake their heads.

“Because of me. She loves me. She’s always loved me. And I can’t love her in return. Not in the way she deserves. All because of you. Because I decided as a little kid that I would never get married and make my wife and kids feel as bad as you made me feel.”

Mom’s crying now. Dad looks on the verge.

With a trembling lip, Mom manages, “Do you love her?”

I shout, “Of course I fucking love her. I’ve probably loved her for my entire adult life. She is the only woman I will ever love. And I love her enough to let her and our child walk away because I know it’s best for them.”

Mom gasps. “Child? What child?”

“Did I forget to mention that?” I ask with a load of sarcasm. “Ripley’s pregnant. Enjoy ignoring your grandchild as well as you ignored your children. Take a fucking Uber to the airport in the morning. I don’t want to see either of you again. Ever. You ruined my life.”

I turn, walk into my bedroom, and slam the door behind me. In some ways that felt good. It was thirty-three years in the making. But the burden hasn’t disappeared. The heaviness still weighs on me. The sadness blankets me.

Early in the morning,I hear my front door open and close. I’m glad they left. Good riddance.

A little while later I walk out of my room and into my kitchen to see my father sitting there. My jaw tightens. “I thought you left.”

“I sent your mother home. You and I are going on a little trip.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“Pack your fucking bags, Quincy. We’re going.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

A MONTH LATER

RIPLEY

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