Chapter 12
NOLA
The second Emma says that, Max gives me wide eyes and lips rolled between his teeth as he pulls out his phone.
Furiously tapping, he finds what he’s looking for and gives me a resigned sigh.
He flips his phone around and sure enough, there we are, a video of us at the bar.
I’m pulling the woman off of Max and lying my butt off for reasons I still haven’t decided.
I keep a neutral face even if I’m feeling anything but inside and look at my phone again. “Em, why are you on YouTube?” I stall, half listening to her as my brain decides the best way to explain this.
“I wasn’t, I swear. Grandma, please tell Mom I wasn’t on the internet.” Emma flips the camera to put my former mother-in-law in the frame.
“Hello, Nola.” She puffs the back of her hair and wipes some stray lipstick off the corner of her mouth.
When Elliott was alive, we got along as well as could be expected.
She really stepped it up when he passed and always makes sure Emma doesn’t lose touch with that side of the family, even as time continues to move forward.
Sending her up to Seattle is a no-brainer that Emma looks forward to and it gives me a chance to breathe a little.
“I promise Emma wasn’t on her phone until it kept making the chirping sound over and over. Her friends were texting her to say you and Coach were making the rounds on all those apps kids are on, so we looked. You two most certainly are trending.” She gives me a cheeky grin.
“Oh.” I bite my lower lip. “Shoot. Pam, Em, there was a misunderstanding and I’m figuring it out right now.”
“Why were you even with him tonight?” Emma asks, flipping the camera back to herself. Pam walks behind her, both of them studying me.
A little string of white lies is on the tip of my tongue when Max chokes on a chip and begins to cough.
“Mom! Who’s there?” Emma shrieks in panic and Pam chuckles knowingly.
“Oh, Nola. Call us later—we’ll stay up. I’m very curious to hear the story.”
The call ends and Max has apology written all over his face for the ill-timed spasm. He crosses the kitchen to help himself to a glass of water and gets the coughing under control before looking at me and saying, “Guess we should talk about our marriage, then.”
I crane my head back until I’m staring at the ceiling, fixated on a spot where the mud texturing looks like a baseball bat. “What’s the damage? Are there videos truly all over the internet?”
“From what I can see, we’ve made all the social apps and there’s even a meme, which is quick. I found us on ESPN as a side story, People Magazine online picked it up, and Page Six online has a throwaway paragraph about it, tucked around bigger sports news.”
“Why?”
“Because in the public’s mind, I’ve gone from MVP to loser to married and suddenly interesting again.”
I relax my body against the sink. “This can’t be good for you at all—I won’t let Principal Bennett fire you. I’ll go explain what happened—”
“And tell her what? How you gave me your number and asked me to dinner? And then what? I look like the guy who didn’t have good boundaries with parents. Besides, I was very much a willing participant here.” We sit in silence and I keep coming up empty for a solution.
“I got it.” His eyes light up and he gives me a half smile.
I’m not sure I’m ready to hear this. He’s way too sure of himself. “Okay?”
“This is going to sound insane and inappropriate but I’m ready to cash in my quid pro quo.”
My jaw drops, and I sputter a laugh. “I’m sorry and what? Are you suggesting we get married for real?”
He puts the glass on the counter and paces the length of the kitchen, ready to talk me through the plan he clearly has just concocted. “Yes.”
My jaw drops. “You’re kidding.”
“Hear me out. We both want to resurrect our careers and this is how we do it.”
He’s insane, but I’m curious. “Let’s say we do get married. I already claimed we are and anybody who cares enough to dig around will find out I lied and this whole thing will scream of a scam and blow up in our faces.”
Max stops and looks at me like I’m the silliest goose. “That’s an easy fix. All it takes is one little public statement about how we’ve been calling each other husband and wife for a while . . . ah, so romantic. I don’t care about language specifics. That will be my agent’s problem—”
I hold up my hand. “I thought you said you needed to get him to sign you again. Like it would require some effort on your part.”
He continues pacing the space. “Well, that will be easy. Aaron reached out to me a few weeks ago and is interested in representing me again—there’s been talk from some general managers that I’ve been missed.”
“If that’s the case, then you don’t actually need my help to resurrect your career,” I point out.
He runs a hand across the back of his neck and grimaces. “Aaron said it would help my image if I were in a committed relationship. It would help me appear grounded and less of a flight-risk to a team because now I’m playing for more than just myself.”
That makes sense, I guess. From what I read, he hadn’t been a serial team-hopper and wasn’t traded regularly, but I can only imagine with his ego he caused them some headaches over the years. “Fine, but how does being married help me?”
Max reaches the dining room table and turns around, heading toward the back door. “You get this.” He gestures to himself and I scoff. “Easy there, I’m kidding. What’s your wildest artist dream?”
To have my abstracts shown in the Museum of Modern Art in New York City.
I was so close once upon a time too, but the people who could’ve helped me get there have all moved on.
Getting my work in a place like that isn’t done on merit alone, and with each year I’m removed from that part of the art world, the farther that dream slips away.
There’s no way marrying Max Hutchings will get me there, though, no matter how confident he is feeling about this plan right now.
“I don’t need anything. I’ve got an amazing career—”
It’s his turn to scoff. “Liar, liar, pants on fire.”
Instead of saying anything more, he goes into the garage, emerging again with a step stool and lightbulb.
He replaces the burned-out bulb over the sink, and the light comes to life, brightening the kitchen.
Satisfied, he says, “That’s so much better.
Okay, back to business. Level with me, Nola.
You want to break back into abstracts, don’t you? ”
“Yes, someday. What I’m doing right now is fine.”
Max lets out a single laugh. “Look me in the eyes and tell me hotel art is really making all your wildest dreams come true.”
“It’s comfortable”—I take a turn to pace the kitchen—“and I like my clients. Besides, there’s always Stella’s portrait commission on the table, and that could help me down the line.”
“But us teaming up together could get your name back in front of the people who—”
I interrupt him by making a sound like a buzzer.
“Errrt. The art world has no idea you exist. Shocking, I know. I’ve built my own business and have a thriving list of accounts.
Besides, there are perks of working with the hospitality industry.
You know how many times I’ve had to pay for a hotel in the last eight years?
Emma and I have been fortunate to see all kinds of places around the world for dirt cheap. ”
This does not seem to interest him in the slightest as he waves it off. “Stella knows people in all the right places.”
“What does that mean?” My mind races with possibility and also how responsible adults don’t find themselves in these conversations.
“She’s got friends on the boards of museums all over. One phone call is all it would take to get you back in their good graces and get your abstracts recognized again.”
I don’t say anything and he continues. “You’d get bigger commissions and get to work less. That’s got to be a bonus, right?”
The pros are starting to really look better than any con. “If we do this, it means we have to live together, doesn’t it?”
“Like I said, I need to go for the family man vibe if I’m going to be picked up next season. Aaron told me I’ve got to be a repentant man who has settled down. Even you have to admit it would look weird if we were married but going to different houses at night.”
On paper, this seems simple, but the one thing keeping me from jumping in with two feet is Emma.
She should be here having this discussion with the two of us.
I don’t bring her up yet, though. There’s been a lot of back and forth and I need the solidified version, be able to listen for any holes, before I bring up my child. “Walk me through it one more time.”
He gives me a smile that lets me know he’s sure he’s about to close this deal.
“We get married. When I go in front of the commissioner to state my case to be readmitted to MLB, being married will work in my favor. It’ll give me a better image and I won’t be a risk anymore in their eyes.
I’ll be the doting husband, the loving stepdad, who has learned from his stupid ways.
I’ve already had two agents reach out in the last hour since your stunt to set up meetings for representation.
I don’t need them, but it’s nice to know I’m wanted again.
I’ll be baseball’s golden comeback kid and this time I’ll be able to retire on my terms. Even if I only play another season or two. ”
I run my hand through my hair. There’s a sentence that’s a hard stop. “You want to be married for two years?”
“No. I’d only need to be married to get signed with a team. Then we can quietly get divorced, I’ll get the pity card, and play the ‘I’m sad but focused’ narrative.” He helps himself to another Diet Pepsi from my fridge and leans against the far counter. “Thoughts?”
“And me?” I need him to spell out exactly what I’d get.