Page 23 of The Art of Catching Feelings

Chris knew that his father did. As a parent, he had to. But he also knew that his dad didn’t want to talk about it.

“You in the lineup tomorrow?”

“Day after.”

He was saved from having to explain by the microwave timer going off, and Chris leaned into the phone to make sure his dad heard him. “That’s my dinner,” he said. “I should let you go.”

“You eating right?”

He was eating okay—trying to get lots of protein, still making smoothies every morning like he had been for years. But he was eating alone a lot, grabbing a quick meal at the clubhouse or eating leftovers at home like tonight. He was eating to fuel his body but to give any credit beyond that would be stretching it.

“Yeah,” he said. “Chicken tonight. Love you, Dad.”

His dad grunted something that could’ve beenYou, toobefore hanging up.

Chris pulled up a stool to the kitchen island to eat his mealthere, like he did most nights. He’d bought the condo fully furnished—it had just seemed like less hassle that way—and the dining room table was this behemoth plank of raw concrete. It hadlookedbadass, and definitely fit the whole masculine modern aesthetic of the place, but he’d quickly learned that the textured material was an absolute bitch to clean. So he rarely used it, just like he rarely used the open living room that they’d told him would be perfect for entertaining, and he rarely used the balcony that they told him had the best view of Charleston Harbor.

He didn’t even want to think about how rarely he’dusedthe master bedroom. As in, never. He’d dated here and there, but never actually brought anyone back to his place.

He slid his phone closer, intending to open his music library and start scrolling through, trying to find a new walk-up song. But instead he opened his text messages, staring down at the last message from Duckie.I’ll be around.

That couldn’t be her real name—even a nickname. Who went byDuckie? It was a little weird that she wouldn’t just tell him what her name was, but he’d heard horror stories about what it was like being a woman on the internet. Maybe she’d had a bad experience on a dating app or something.

Not that they were doing anything close to talking through a dating app. For all he knew, she was dating someone already. He frowned, trying to remember if she’d mentioned anything either way.

It was late, but he typed out a message anyway, just in case.

I need a new walk-up song, it said.Any suggestions?

He took a bite of his chicken, and by the time he glanced back at his phone her response had come in.

D: I take it you can’t choose “The Way” or you’d be “breaking the rules.”

He smiled, wiping his fingers on a napkin before picking up his phone.

C: That would be a flagrant disregard for the rules. You can’t trick the universe by creating a situation in which you’d hear the song. This is why you’re not even allowed to download it, lest it get shuffled onto some playlist.

D: Okay, okay. “Lest it get shuffled.” Jeez, you’re strict. What are the actual rules of walk-up songs? Like can they have lyrics, how long are they, etc.?

C: Typically they play only ten seconds or so, long enough for you to come up to the plate. You can tell them to cue up to any part of the song. Lyrics are fine, but games are family events so obviously nothing crude.

D: Well, there go all my suggestions.

He let out a short laugh, realizing he’d been grinning through their whole exchange so far.

D: Give me some examples of the genre. I need to know the parameters.

He thought about what most guys on the team used. Randy’s was “Pa’ Que la Pases Bien” by Arcángel, Beau had chosen “Heads Carolina, Tails California” as blatant pandering, and their Korean first baseman had gone back to his roots with “IDOL” by BTS. The song choice didn’t have to be a big deal—lots of guys just picked something fun, something that got them pumped up. But given the way he’d been playing and the way Marv had instructed him to pick a new song, Chris was feeling a lot of pressure to make it something he’d live up to.

C: We didn’t have them in high school, but in college my first walk-up song was “People of the Sun” by Rage Against the Machine.

He looked up the video for the song and dropped a link so she could take a listen.

D: Okay, hang on.

She came back a few minutes later with a new text.

D: This song is badass. It makes you want to punch stuff for sure, but, like, in a good way. Why not use it again?

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