Chapter 25 Maxford
MAXFORD
“Gramps, where do I take Jasmine for dinner after the game?”
“You’re seeing her again? That sounds like it’s getting serious.”
“It’s our fourth date and a Friday night, so it’s gotta be somewhere nice but I don’t want her thinking I’m going to marry her.
I’m not. I’m twenty-five.” Seth Larsen slaps his hat onto his head and gives me a friendly punch.
“I need to come off like I’m long-term material without actually being it. You know?”
“Keeping it classy, I see.” We leave the clubhouse and head out onto the field at Verizon Park for warm-up. Late spring in Seattle has been dreary and gray, but today is one of those rare ones full of pure sunshine and blue skies. The weather makes me think of Boise, which makes me think of Nola.
I wonder what she’s doing today. Emma probably has STEM Club, and afterward, I’m sure they’ll go hike the foothills or visit Stella for Bingo.
When I called my grandma yesterday, she told me Roger has given up his position as caller to Emma.
Turns out she’s reveling in the new power that comes with shouting out numbers which have the potential to award senior citizens $20 per game.
I need to ask Emma about it later when we have our nightly FaceTime.
Once I was cleared after my concussion, Nola and Emma headed back to life in Idaho and I went back to playing ball.
Gratefully, that week off didn’t damage my game too much, and I’ve only made gains week over week.
Even better, after Nola called me out on my crap with my mood, I’m working on being cognizant of when things start to bring me down.
I’m in weekly therapy to not slide into old patterns, especially with how I react to setbacks.
Violet was quick to point out she’s been asking me for years to do this for myself, and it took my wife getting on my case once to make it happen.
While work and self-improvement are going well, the downside has been the lack of Adler time.
For spring break, they met me in Houston for Open Day’s three-game series.
A few weeks later, they made it to Seattle for a fast and furious twenty-four hours.
It’s not ideal but we both knew what we were getting into when we made this pact.
And Nola’s become something of a baseball wife celebrity—a known entity in the WAG world.
Seattle Magazine did a big spread on a selection of the wives and girlfriends of this year’s Seafarers, and Nola was invited.
True to form, she didn’t share too much, though she did reveal we were newly married and talked about her day job being an artist. That was enough to make her Instagram account balloon overnight and now any time we’re spotted, the female fans who used to fawn over me have taken to lavishing their interest on her.
The first time it happened, I didn’t know how it would go over but I married a pro.
She’s gracious, she’s kind, she takes the photos and laughs politely.
Thinking about this right now makes me miss her so much, an ache forms in my chest. This has never happened to me before—I don’t let women get close to me. And since our chat over sushi, she’s been more vocal in her feelings for me. I love it.
Larsen’s still talking about taking Jasmine on a fourth date and I can’t even remember a time in my life I’ve gone on a fourth date.
Baseball had always been the driving force—ever since we moved in with Stella and Grandpa—and it hasn’t left room for much else.
One, two dates tops, was easiest. It also never occurred to me before that anything was missing in my life.
Then I met Nola.
The ache grows deeper.
We have tonight’s game, and a game at noon tomorrow, then we head to Colorado for a four-game series.
I’m eyeing a twenty-four-hour window where I could potentially squeeze in a very fast Boise visit next week.
The team travel director has already arranged flights to and from Denver, but maybe I can get him to change mine, or I can book my own ticket and surprise them.
“Earth to the old man. Any suggestions? I am looking for a good steak and potatoes place. Some views maybe. No fancy music, though.”
I shoot him side eye. There’s a lot of younger me in Larsen and if I have the chance to steer him in the right direction, I’ll feel like I’ve done my job. “Don’t ask for advice and then call me an old man. Respect your elders.”
“Come on, where should I take her?”
“Doesn’t matter what you want, you should take her some place she would like.”
He’s still beyond clueless about the city and unapologetic about it, a real piece of work, but there’s potential. And he’s a fantastic short stop, which is really all that matters to me. We stop near second base and he rolls his shoulders. “Okay. Where?”
“The Pink Door.”
“What’s that?”
“Italian.” I don’t bother to expand on the cabaret shows and trapeze artists that provide entertainment. Not exactly the romantic setting he’s going for, but I’ve heard good things about the food and that should teach him to think twice about calling me old.
Our centerfielder jogs up to us from the dugout and tosses me a ball. “You didn’t tell us your lady was coming today, Gramps. My girlfriend is going to be mad that she didn’t know Nola was coming, so they could have gotten seats together. Did I tell you—”
I don’t hear the rest of his question. I scan the stadium seats over near the dugout past third base. There she is. Like a drink of cold water after a long hike in the summer heat. She’s all mischievous smiles as she watches me sprint toward her, jumping the railing to scoop her up in my arms.
Lavender.
Home.
She’s my home.
Twirling her around, we both break into happy laughter and when I set her down, she smooths the front of her wrap dress.
It’s a similar style to the one she wore to Thanksgiving at Stella’s place, but instead of navy, this one is a floral print, and I love it.
She brushes back her hair from her face and says, “Surprise.”
“What are you doing here?” I can’t wipe the grin off my face. There’s a fairly good chance it’s going to be stuck like this permanently for the rest of my life.
“The lightbulb over the kitchen sink burned out.”
A new laugh rips out of me, a boisterous and loud one that draws attention. I notice out of the corner of my eye a few people pulling out their phones and I don’t care. Nola’s here and she’s sassing me straight out of the chute.
“That’s all I’m good for, huh? Being your handyman?”
“Maybe.” I release my hold on her and she relents.
“Fine,” she huffs. “We missed you. I missed you. The house is boring and lonely without you now and Emma had a half day today, so we grabbed a flight. Surprise.”
“Best kind.” I step back and look around me. “Where is the kid?”
Nola points a few rows back to where Emma’s sitting between two people I assume are her grandparents. She stands and waves with both hands. I wave back and laugh again.
“How long are you here?” I ask, looking back to the field where I know I’m needed.
“We leave Sunday mid-morning to make it for my parents’ anniversary dinner that night, but whatever time you can give me between now and then, I’m yours.” She says it like that’s the only thing in the world that she wants to be: mine.
In a swift movement, I dip her. My lips catch her surprise and I kiss her good.
People around us erupt in cheers and it all goes hazy as I deepen it.
Her hands cup my face and she pulls me closer.
When I finally lift her, she pretends to be embarrassed and plays it up for the crowd.
We are both not the same people we were six months ago.
Yes, she kissed a stranger at a bar, but that’s when I was the resident curmudgeon and she was the hesitant, rule-following type A. She carried out a dare and ran away afterward. Now she holds onto my hand, letting our fingers slip apart as I move for the railing.
“Gramps, nobody wants to see geriatric love!” Larsen shouts from the field. The guys around him snicker.
“I gotta go teach these boys some respect,” I say. “See you after the game.”
During the bottom half of the first inning, I’m the first up to bat.
I walk up to the batter’s box and shake my hips, hitting my batting helmet twice, before taking my stance and giving a practice swing.
The move has always been for Stella, to let her know I’m thinking of her as she watches from home, but today, it’s more than that.
I do it because I’m happy. That’s when it hits me.
I’m happily in love with my wife. That realization gives me a boost, and I hit an easy double on the first pitch thrown.
“I think you’re a good luck charm.” I lean back against the railing and turn my face up to the sun.
Its warmth washes over me. The ferry releases a prolonged horn blast, signaling our departure from Pier 50.
There’s a jolt and we start gliding over Elliott Bay.
A toddler near us shrieks in utter glee.
We’re standing at the bow, Seattle to our backs and our destination, Bremerton, an hour to our west.
Nola leans on the railing next to me and glances over at the water below. “How do you figure?”
“Easy.” I tick the reasons off my fingers.
“We won last night’s game, we won today’s, I hit a home run in both first-at-bats, and we’re on our second day in a row of sunshine.
I’m never letting you leave.” My attention turns from the cloudless sky to her studying me in a way that says she’s got a lot on her mind. “What are you thinking?”
“I’m feeling a little guilty we left Emma at her grandparents’ because she loves ferry rides.” She gives a one shoulder shrug and I know her well enough to know that’s not the full story but I don’t push.
Last night, after the game, we grabbed burritos from this little food truck that sits outside the ballpark.
Sitting on a rickety picnic table, Emma was overhyped by both the win and staying up way past her bedtime.
It was endearing how she talked me up to her grandparents—explaining how I wasn’t only the world’s best third baseman but I was also her former P.E.
teacher. They were kind and asked me questions.
There was an awkward moment when I asked if the Adler girls were ready to go home and Emma loudly announced, “I’m having a sleepover with Grandma Naomi and Grandpa John, but Mom’s going with you so you two can kiss all night. ”
We did.
The next morning, we got up early and had omelets before going to the ballpark together.
Walking into the stadium hand in hand, my brain slipped from the anchored reality I try to stay grounded in on game days.
It was hard not letting my fresh feelings for Nola run away with me and picture moments like this being our normal life together.
After the game, I asked if there was anything she wanted to do today and she said she wanted to ride the ferry to Bremerton.
“Has Emma ever done this before?” I ask.
“Only a million times,” she says with a smirk, leaning into me.
“You seem sad?”
“It’s just a mom guilt thing I can’t explain.”
I pull her against my chest and we stand there, letting the sea air ruffle our hair, spindrift falling over us. Her breathing slows, and it’s the best feeling in the world, knowing I make somebody as comfortable as they make me. This is all I need for the rest of my life.
“You’re a great mom, you know that, right?”
She hums and tips up on her toes to give me a kiss. “Have you ever wanted to be a dad?”
“I feel like this is a trick question.” I say it lightly, and we both chuckle, but it’s a legitimate statement.
We’re mid-thirties. I love her. I’m not sure if she loves me back, but she’s asking this, so I’m hoping it’s a good sign.
However, she’s done the mom thing and the baby thing and I’ve heard Violet talk about how much harder it is to become a mom when you’re in your mid-thirties.
Not just getting pregnant but the delivery too.
Then caring for a baby when you’re older and more tired seems rough.
When I don’t say anything more, she clarifies. “I’m not judging. I’m just curious. You’re great with Emma and I didn’t know if that’s because it’s Emma or if it’s because you inherently like kids and would want one or two . . . someday.”
The wind’s picked up and the spray washes up more frequently, so we move down the ship to the starboard side and ready ourselves to see Bainbridge Island halfway through our hourlong ride. We both stare out at the bay and I think about how to answer her question.
“Am I allowed to be holding the truth stick?”
She grins. “Oh boy.”
“When I got drafted, I thought I’d do the baseball thing and then there would be time for a wife and kids later, like when I was thirty.
I’ve watched guys on my team try to juggle both and it’s looked impossible.
There was always drama with the WAGs and when you get traded, it’s hard on families.
” I take a breath. “Now I’m getting this second chapter to play ball, I’m thirty-five, and I don’t know that I want to have a newborn in a few years.
You can call me selfish but I don’t want to get up in the middle of the night with a screaming, colicky baby.
And I most certainly don’t want to be sitting at junior’s high school graduation amongst a bunch of Gen Z parents when I’m ninety years old. ”
“You’d be closer to fifty-five than ninety,” she corrects me, “but I get what you’re saying.”
“Do you want more kids?” I’m hesitant to know and potentially burst this perfect bubble we’ve been existing in.
She thinks about it for a second, as if the answer isn’t on the tip of her tongue.
“When I was twenty-eight and Elliott had passed a year earlier, I was so sad I’d never have another child.
Growing up, I’d wanted at least two, like Belle and me.
But I’m far enough removed from it that I’m okay letting Emma grow up and move on with her own life while I’m still young and fun and able to see the world after she’s moved out. ”
“Do you think she’d be sad if we didn’t give her a sibling?”
“No way. The longer she’s been alive, the more I’ve realized she’s only-child energy. I love my daughter but . . .”
“She’d eat the baby,” I say matter-of-fact.
Nola wastes no time agreeing. “Pretty much. She loves being the center of my attention and it is too late to dethrone her.”
“You’re okay with that? Changing how you’d pictured your life?” I clarify.
She checks me with her hip. “Are you?”
“I think my life has turned out way better than I’d pictured it when I was eighteen.”
“Mine too.”