Page 73 of Where We Fall

“He has a dinner with his siblings and a client.”

“Ah, I see. How is your mom doing?” Grace asks.

“I just talked to the nurse this morning. She’s having some more episodes with the staff. When she doesn’t recognize them, she can get really defensive and refuse to do what they ask.”

“Sounds like your mom. She never was a woman to put up with any crap.”

I laugh, even though I feel like crying. I've learned that sometimes, in these situations, it helps to find the humor in it, or you’ll go crazy. Plus, Grace is right. That totally sounds like my mom.

“Tell me about it. The stories the staff tell me are horrifying, but so mom at the same time.”

After we got off the phone, I decided to make myself some dinner and watch a movie. I’ve been craving Italian ever since eating at his parents' house last weekend. His mom’s food was incredible.

If it wasn’t massively high in calories, I’d eat that shit every night.

Tonight, I’m making myself a lasagna. I saw this recipe that has me using three kinds of cheese instead of just ricotta. This one has ricotta, mascarpone, and grated pecorino romano. It also told me to add some Italian-seasoned breadcrumbs to the cheese. I’m really excited to try it.

After I prepare the lasagna and place it in the oven, I open a bottle of wine.

Marcus insisted I try it. He said it’s one of his favorite Chianti’s. Once I pour a glass, I settle down on my couch and scroll through the movies.

A documentary on baseball comes up. It makes me think of Marcus.

Knowing he suffered a career-ending injury breaks my heart. He doesn’t seem to talk about it much.

I click on it, wanting to learn more about this world of his that means so much to him.

I watch in fascination as it starts to go over the origins of baseball. There seems to be controversy over which country created it, England or America.

The way I look at it is that even if England started it, America made it what it is today.

Part way through, I pause to take my lasagna out of the oven and cut a piece for myself. I planned on having salad on the side to get my greens in, but I honestly couldn't care less about vegetables right now.

I just want to overindulge in the pasta, cheese, and sauce concoction.

I decide to say screw the salad and sit on the couch with my wine and lasagna, then press play.

There are fascinating facts that I learn as it continues. I keep thinking of Marcus, wondering how much of this he knows.

The urge to talk to him gets the better of me. I should leave him alone and let him be tonight.

Me: Did you know that there are 108 double stitches in every major league baseball?

His reply is almost instant.

Marcus: Very odd question, but yes, babe. I knew that.

Huh, that’s kind of surprising to me. I would think one wouldn’t care about the number of stitches in a baseball.

Me: Did you know the New York Yankees were the first team to wear numbers? Also, their numbers corresponded to their batting order at first.

I put my plate down and pick up my wine glass as I get cozier on the couch. There’s no way he’s going to have known that. Who knows that fact?

My phone pings with a notification.

Marcus: Did you know that the longest MLB game in history lasted 8 hours and 6 minutes?

Holy Shit. An eight-hour game? Who the hell would stay around for that? There couldn’t have been many fans left in the stadium.

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