Chapter Twelve #3
something at the ball field and then again with Christian after the game, so
he’s not eating alone. The post-game time is really important to us. It’s our
time. He plays every day, except for one or two days a month. Those days are
precious, but Christian needs to get his rest on those days, too. So, if we are
lucky enough to be together on an off day, we just stay at home, watch TV, and
cook or get carryout from one of our favorite restaurants. Our life during the
season isn’t glamorous. It’s a grind. However, there is no one I would rather
sit on a couch and do nothing with.
It’s Easter Sunday morning, and we’re walking out of church.
The game starts at one o’clock today, and Christian likes to get to the field
early for day games. In my mind, I’m like, “But it’s Easter Sunday, so
maybe he can get there a little later today. I mean, it’s only 8:30 in the
morning, right?”
I keep waiting for Christian to suggest that we do something
special, but when he doesn’t, I ask, “Hey, what would you like to have for
brunch before you head to the field?”
At the very least, I expect him to suggest our pancakes or
maybe a trip somewhere to eat, but he quickly dismisses the suggestion. “Ella
Rose, I have to go straight to the stadium. I’ll just eat something when I get
there.”
My mind immediately freezes because this was not the
plan. Easter is my favorite holiday, and I’ve been thinking about having Easter
brunch with my husband all week. Did I tell him that? No, but I assumed we
would do something special.
I literally don’t say anything else on the drive to the
stadium. If I do, I fear I will start crying, and that’s the last thing
Christian needs right before a big game. He’s doing so well here. He loves his
team, we love the city, and the city loves Christian, so I’m not going to ruin
his positive mood this morning. We only have one car in St. Louis, so if I go
to the game, I need to drop him off. We pull into the players’ lot at the
stadium, and he’s smiling.
“You’ll be at the game, right?”
I nod. “Of course.”
“Great. I’ll see you there.” He kisses me. “I love you, Ella
Rose.”
“Love you, too.”
As soon as the door closes, and Christian walks into the
stadium and out of view, I burst into tears. This is not at all what I thought
today would be like. I want to call my parents, but they’re at church. I want
to call Jen, but it’s too early in LA. Being a baseball wife can be really
lonely, and right now, I’m at my loneliest. I pull myself together enough to
drive home safely, but I’m hungry, and I don’t want to go back to the apartment
to cook anything.
I drive around the city with no actual destination in mind.
When I see something I want, I’ll stop. However, as I drive, I see families
pouring out of church in their Easter Sunday best, laughing, smiling, and
taking pictures. They’re probably heading to Easter brunch, and I cannot be the
party of one eating by herself in the corner.
Cue the waterworks again. It’s now 9:30, so my options are
limited, but then I see it. Like a black, white, and red beacon in the
distance.
Steak ‘n’ Shake.
Yeah, not a traditional breakfast, but that doesn’t even
matter. Nothing does. Not right now. Traditional doesn’t exist in my world. Not
in my career, my marriage, none of it.
I pull up to that drive-thru and order the most ridiculous
thing I can even imagine for breakfast: a Chili 5-way, French fries, and a
cookies-and-cream milkshake. I can’t even make eye contact with the cashier
because I’m a mess, and I’m sure I’ll see pity in her eyes. Instead, I pay,
grab my food, and then pull over to the edge of the parking lot.
And eat the saddest Easter Sunday breakfast ever.
I’m crying so hard between bites
of spaghetti, chili, cheese, fries, and gulps of my shake that I’m thankful no
one can see me.
Or maybe they can. My vision’s blurry, so I can’t tell.
“This is not what I signed up for!” I cry. “Why can’t
anything just be normal? Why can’t we just have a regular life?”
More sobbing, more eating.
I don’t know why this is the thing that breaks me, but it
does. The thing is it is what I signed up for. Christian was always
honest with me about it. It’s my own fault for thinking I could handle it.
There’s a good chance that I’m overly emotional after
getting fired from Workin’ for Laughs,
but right now, I’m going to blame my meltdown on not being able to go to Easter
brunch. I’ll be much calmer and reasonable later when I get to the stadium, but
for now, I’m going to eat this super-sized mistake with extra cheese.
I’ll deal with the fallout later.
As I’m eating, I realize I really should have stayed home,
made some tea, and enjoyed a pit--tea party in my pajamas.
“There’s still time for that,” I murmur around a mouthful of
fries.
Something’s got to give. Clearly, I was a ticking time bomb
that just detonated. I don’t like feeling like this. And as much as I know I’ll
be better when it’s time for the game, it’s not. Not really. I’m friendly with
the wives, but I’m close to no one…
Ugh.
Same song, different verse.
Yeah. Something’s gotta change.