Chapter Five
“So?”
Holding his menu, Jake glanced at his mother across the linen-covered table. “Have you decided already?” If he knew Helen Fitzgerald, she’d looked up the menu online and picked all her dishes hours ago.
She laughed out a huff. “I don’t care about what I’m going to eat.
What was it like out there? And don’t give me the canned responses you feed the press after every game.
It’s like cliché Mad Libs.” She dropped her voice to a gruff growl.
“‘It’s a marathon, not a sprint. Maybe we played a little too hard today. It is what it is. We gave a hundred and ten percent out there.’” Dropping the put-on voice, she added, “That’s mathematically impossible. I’m just saying.”
Jake had to laugh. “Look, if you had to answer the same questions from multiple people after every game, you’d start spouting that crap too.”
“Maybe.” She glanced at her menu, twisting a lock of her blondish bobbed hair around her finger. “I’m not sure what to order. I was planning on the scallop pasta with figs and goat cheese, but it might be too heavy. I never eat this late. It’s after eleven!”
“Eat whatever you want, Mom. I’m getting the steak.”
“Well, you’re a growing boy.”
They laughed and eventually placed their orders. Once a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon had been delivered, they sipped from their glasses and Jake buttered a thick piece of bread.
His mother cleared her throat. “Back to my earlier question. How do you feel after your first game as a Capital?”
“It was fine. You were there, you saw. We won. It felt good to homer, and I’ll take the two walks. Not a bad night.”
“I also saw the fans give you a standing ovation for your first at-bat. And the home run.”
“The fans are great. Absolutely. I really appreciate the warm welcome. I do.”
“You should, young man. And you’re catching tomorrow? For Marco Agresta’s brother? What’s he like?”
Intriguing. Jake blinked at the thought.
“Uh, he’s good. Has a great arm, and his control is quite impressive for a rookie.
There’s obviously room for improvement, but his potential is enormous.
He’s…” Jake swirled the wine in his glass.
“I get the feeling there’s an awful lot going on inside his head.
Puts a ton of pressure on himself, probably wanting to live up to his father’s and brother’s legacies.
I don’t know. He doesn’t say a lot. They tell me he’s got a temper. ”
“I’m sure you can teach him a thing or twelve. He’s lucky they brought you on board.”
Jake waved off the praise, but had to admit, “I think I might enjoy teaching him. I knew him when he was a kid, that first year when I was in Chicago. Talked to his sister today for the first time in years. They were really good to me when I didn’t know anyone.
It feels kind of full circle, catching for Nico now in the majors when I used to do it in his backyard. It’s nice, I guess.”
Helen laughed. “Oh, sweetheart. You don’t have to sound so surprised. I think it’s wonderful that you can take him under your wing.”
“Well, the pitching coaches will be doing the brunt of the work.”
“Don’t underestimate yourself. You’ll be on the field with him. They won’t. The catcher’s the most important player on the team, which of course is why my brilliant son is a catcher. They said you were too tall, but I knew you’d prove them wrong.”
Jake smiled. “Thanks, Mom.” Under the table, he straightened out his left leg and his aching knee, his lower back voicing its displeasure as well.
He’d popped his usual anti-inflammatories after the game, but should have taken longer to ice and go through his daily physio routine. But Mom had been waiting, and he didn’t want to keep her up too late. “You’ve put in decades of strong work as president and CEO of my fan club.”
“You bet I have.” She winked.
They talked about a bit of everything as they ate, and soon it was time to order dessert.
Helen told the waiter, “I’ll have to try the crème br?lée. And a decaf cappuccino, please.”
Jake closed the menu. “Just an espresso for me.”
Helen sighed loudly. “Surely you’re not going to let your mother eat dessert alone. You know, the calories don’t count if someone you love is eating them too.”
Jake had to laugh. “All right, all right.” Opening the dessert menu, he scanned the selection. “I’ll have the berry pavlova.” When the waiter had slipped away, Jake asked, “Did that argument work on Dad?”
“Every time. Now that I usually eat dessert alone, my girlish figure’s taken a hit. Well, I suppose getting old might have something to do with it too.”
“You’re as beautiful as ever. Don’t be ridiculous.” He frowned and swirled the last of his wine in his glass. “And you’re not alone. I mean, you’re busier than most non-retired people. I don’t know where you find time for all your activities.”
“It’s not that hard. Most people who say they don’t have time for things watch hours and hours of TV a day. And I’m alone, but not lonely. There’s a difference.” She smoothed her palm over the white linen tablecloth. “That’s why I’m such a nag.”
“You’re not,” he replied automatically.
Eyes crinkling with laughter, Helen shook her head. “The best part is that you can say it with a straight face.”
“What? You’re not a nag. Usually. Most of the time.”
“Only once in a blue moon, right?”
Chuckling, Jake thanked the waiter as he dropped off their drinks. The white foam on top of his mom’s cappuccino was shaped into a flower, and she smiled down at it, clearly tickled.
“Looks too pretty to drink,” she said. “Just like the Easter bunnies you were afraid to eat. ‘But Mommy, I don’t want to make them go deaf!’ You were always the sweetest child.”
“Yeah, for five minutes until I remembered how good chocolate tastes. Then it was bye-bye rabbit ears.” He plopped a cube of sugar into his cup with tiny silver tongs.
“But really, I’m sorry for nagging.”
“It’s fine. But like you said, you’re alone and you’re not lonely. Neither am I.”
“If you say so.”
He smothered the spark of irritation. “Mom, I’m not lonely.”
“Aren’t you?”
“No. I’m not.” Liar, a little voice hissed. “Some people aren’t cut out for relationships, and they’re happier alone.”
“Yes, that’s very true.” She opened her mouth to say more, but then smiled at the waiter as their desserts arrived, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.
When they were alone again, she cracked the top of her crème br?lée, the spoon making a satisfying thwack on the top layer of caramelized sugar.
“As I was saying, it is true that some people are perfectly happy alone. Happier, as a matter of fact. Aunt Carolyn, for example.”
“And you, after Dad. You never even tried dating, did you?” He toyed with his pavlova, pushing his spoon through the whipped cream on top of the flaky meringue.
“Nope. Your father and I had a darn good life together, but there’s something to be said for being able to turn the light on in the bedroom as late or early as I want.
If I don’t want to cook, I don’t. And I don’t have anyone making sarcastic comments from the sidelines if I want to watch a silly show about wedding makeovers.
I’d give it up in a heartbeat to have your father back, but since that’ll never happen, I’m enjoying the freedom of living on my own. ”
“Exactly. I like living on my own too. I’m much happier this way.”
“Mmm.” She swallowed a spoonful of thick cream.
The tables were well spaced for privacy, but Jake still glanced around to make sure they couldn’t be overheard. “I’m not cut out to live with someone. Sleeping together every single night, sharing the bathroom. Sharing everything. It’s a pain. You said it yourself.”
“I also said I’d do it all again in a heartbeat with your father. When it’s the right person, it’s different. At least it was for me.” Scooping her spoon into the white ramekin, she sighed. “I just wish you really were happy. About anything.”
“I’m happy.” Jake had a mouthful of pavlova, the chewy meringue and cream almost too sweet but for the raspberries on top. “Of course I’m happy.”
She reached out and squeezed his wrist briefly.
“You shouldn’t lie to your mother, you know.
It’s bad karma. But I’ll let you off the hook.
For now. Once you—” She peered across the restaurant beyond Jake.
“Oh, it’s a couple of your teammates! Banner and Lopez.
Those must be their wives or girlfriends. We should say hello.”
Unable to choke down his groan, Jake resolutely didn’t turn around. Maybe the guys wouldn’t notice them. “It’s late. I really need to get to bed soon. Let’s just finish dinner.”
Helen tried to laugh it off, but didn’t quite succeed. “You don’t want to introduce your friends to your mother?”
“It’s not that. It’s… They’re not my friends. We just met.”
“Yes, but you won’t get to know them if you don’t make an effort.”
“I’ll get to know them enough during the rest of the season. As long as we gel on the field, that’s what matters.”
Still holding her spoon, Helen blinked at him. “Why wouldn’t you want more friends?”
“I have plenty,” he lied. He could admit that he used to have far more. He ate another spoonful of pavlova, the meringue getting stuck in one of his molars. “I’m only here until my contract runs out. I don’t need to make a bunch of new friends.”
“But don’t you play better as a team when you care about each other? When you want to succeed together?”
“New York does just fine without braiding each other’s hair in the clubhouse. We’re pros. Obviously I’ll get to know my teammates, but we don’t all need to be pals.”
His mother watched him, her face drawn in unmistakable sadness. “Don’t you want to win?”
“Of course.” He shrugged. “It’s my job.”