Page 20 of The Road to Home Base
“People like me?”
“Baseball newbies? Not sure what to call it. Your reactions are all genuine. It’s refreshing. I can see what Rome is talking about now.”
My stomach pinched. “Why? What did he say?”
Joe snorted and wagged his finger. “Morettis don’t snitch, my friend. Sorry, not sorry.” He stood up and clapped his hands. “Let’s get some food. I’m starved.”
We dined inside on chicken fingers and braised short ribs, an odd but delicious combination. Joe walked me through some of the strange things that occurred during the inning, like something called a force-out, in which Rome was involved. He gave me more context about the Brawlers/Riders rivalry, including recent history of wins and losses between them. I asked if they would face each other in the playoffs and he gently but firmly corrected me to call it “postseason,” and that they don’t talk about that until it’s a sure thing. I understood that. It’s why I asked Rome if I could tell him good luck.
Ricky hadn’t been like that, but I knew other athletes were. In fact, Ricky was the opposite. He was so cocksure of every fight and smack-talked everyone every chance he got. I remembered the day he started to talk like that with me. Another warning sign that I failed (or purposefully ignored) to see.
Joe and I sat outside for the remainder of the game. I came to know him better. He had a wife and two little kids. They livedin Concord and his commute into Cambridge made him want to tear his hair out. Joe was one ofmanyin the Moretti clan and I learned that the whole family had a compound somewhere in Rhode Island. Well,hecalled it a compound, but it sounded like the family owned a series of houses on the same street. Two of them were owned by Rome—one for his parents and one for him during the offseason. Then there was the other side of the family still over in Sicily. Rome’s father and Joe’s father both came to America in the seventies while their sister and third brother stayed back in Sicily. Each of those kids had three or four of their own and I also learned that Rome had two older sisters. He was the baby, just like me.
As the Riders’ score continued to climb and it became apparent they would win, Joe’s attention turned more toward me. He asked about my own family, which I somewhat shied away from. There was sordid history there that sat on the opposite end of the scale compared to the Morettis. He noticed but declined to pry further. He didn’t know my brother personally but had been around him a few times given the nature of their jobs.
The game ended at the top of the ninth when the Brawlers failed to score enough runs to win. Joe suggested I stay back for a little bit to let the traffic die off and that I might as well enjoy the luxury of the suite. It was pushing half past eleven but I didn’t mind—I had always been a night owl. I had the chance to shoot a text to Rome. I knew he secluded himself after a game and wouldn’t mind if he ignored me.
Me:You are incredible. Really, I mean that. Just incredible.
I knew those words could be seen in another light. And maybe I did that on purpose. It’s just what I felt the need to say in the moment. I sent another text to let him know he had an amazing cousin and then thanking him again for inviting me towatch the game.
No handshake from Joe when we left the stadium together. Instead, he gave me a hug, which I considered a big win. I drove home replaying the bottom of the fourth again. I marveled at my own ability to truly care about the game. Yes, I had a focus on Rome, but the New Englander in me came alive and insisted I whooped and hollered for what was in my DNA.
I got home and cranked the A/C. The August heat didn’t abate at night in Massachusetts. I had finished chugging a glass of water when my phone dinged. Dread settled in my stomach like the stone pit of a peach. My lips went dry despite the water that just passed them. Ricky usually texted this late. I couldn’t bear seeing another message from him. Devin told me to block his number…
It was Rome. My emotions pivoted and the worry vanished in a flash, but trepidation quickly took its place. He was stepping outside of his routine. Forme.
Rome:Does this mean you’re coming to the next one?
Me:When is it?
Rome:We play in series, silly. Remember? Maybe Cousin Giuseppe needs to work on his trivia…
Me:It’s tomorrow then? :( I’ve got a night shoot. Is there a third one the following night?
Rome:Four game series, so yup :) You free that night?
Me:I am indeed.
Rome:Come to the game. And then afterward come back to my place?
I stared at the phone without responding. Our texts had been rapid fire until that moment.
Too fast. Too fast. My mind repeated those words. Why else would he want me to go back to his place after a series?
No. He wasn’t like that. He wanted to go slow, just like I did.
Rome:I need to kick your butt in Mario Kart again ;)
Playful. He probably read (correctly) into the lapse in response time.
Me:Are you sure? Don’t get me wrong I def wanna hang. But don’t you have a routine that you do after games?
Rome:Eh, it’s okay to bend the rules sometimes, especially when it’s worth it.
Swoon. Iactuallyswooned. Had to put my phone down to catch my breath. After tonight’s game, feeling invigorated by the way he played, the charge in the air from the rivalry, all I wanted to do was watch him play again. And here, one of the star players of the Riders was telling me I had value in him deviating from a process that kept him at the top.
Me:As long as it’s worth it, I am more than happy to oblige.
