remember.”
“I appreciate you thinking of my economic circumstances,” I said, “but you know how baseball players are about their superstitions. If I want to have another good year, I have to stay here and fight with grandma. It’s like Rocky and Apollo Creed.”
“Alright, Shizzle, have it your way. I just want you to know you’ve pitched yourself into a better situation and you have options.” He paused, anticipating I might say something. I didn’t. “Well, go give Grandma hugs and kisses for me, and if you change your mind, you know where to call me.”
“Will do. Thanks again for the offer and have a merry Christmas.”
Adam cut me loose. I closed my phone, set it on the table, and continued flipping through the circulars as I tried to rationalize what I’d just done. Instead of taking a first-class flight to tropical sunshine, I’d be working through holiday madness at Circuit City. My stomach turned at the thought of lost wages. I could just see myself, Winter Ball check in hand, cartwheeling into the bank to cash it. I could see myself in a resort, slurping drinks from coconut husks, smoking cigars with a drug lord who promised to “solve” all my grandma problems if I just kept winning. Then I looked at my reflection in the windows of my grandmother’s kitchen and realized I was going nowhere except work in about twelve hours. There was no beach, no cigars, no tropical drinks. I was a prisoner in a cell of shag carpeting and plastic-covered furniture. My agent had just tried to spring me and I volunteered to stay behind. What the hell was I thinking?
My phone buzzed. The vibration sent it scooting across the table where I snared it and answered, “Hello?”
“Hi, honey, how are you?” It was Bonnie.
“I’m good, you?”
“I’m fine. Just wanted to call and hear your voice before I started work.”
I smiled and plopped my head on my hand. “I’m glad you did,” I said.
“Did you talk to Adam?”
“Yes. We just finished.”
“And?” She hung on my response.
Bonnie was the reason I was staying around. The only reason. If I had tried to explain that to Adam, he would have slapped me through the phone, and rightly so. I was turning down the first life-changing chunk of cash I’d ever been offered for a girl I met on an Internet dating website four months ago. For God’s sake, where did I think this was going to go?
But there it was, whispering in the back of my head, that voice, that silly, irrational, not-to-be-listened-to voice that knew Bonnie would say yes if I asked her to marry me right now. The thought had bounded through my head almost every waking moment these last few months, tempting me with ideas about futures and happiness and smashing cake into faces. It brought me dreams of a life not lived on Grandma’s floor, where words like virginity were no longer cause for my mom to pry or my teammates to laugh. It even controlled my hand to unconsciously take hold of Cosmopolitan magazine when the words “How to Know You’ve Met ‘The One’?” were plastered across the top. Lately, that little voice had been screaming at me, every time I looked into my grandma’s irritated face, every time Mom explained she was going to come back because my dad promised to get help. Every time I looked into Bonnie’s soft brown eyes. Maybe Bonnie was a chance to build a refuge? Or maybe it was just another soon-to-be-killed baseball romance? I had to know.
“I said no.”
There was a silent stretch while Bonnie considered what it meant. “That means I get to keep you for a few more weeks! Oh honey, that makes my day.”
She didn’t know it, but her reaction just made mine too.
“Bonnie, I’d like to talk with you about something I’ve been thinking about lately. I was wondering what you thought—”
“Hello, Miss Abigail. You look beautiful! Is that what you’re going to wear on the big day?” said Bonnie, extra cheery. Then, returning to me, she said, “I’m
“I appreciate you thinking of my economic circumstances,” I said, “but you know how baseball players are about their superstitions. If I want to have another good year, I have to stay here and fight with grandma. It’s like Rocky and Apollo Creed.”
“Alright, Shizzle, have it your way. I just want you to know you’ve pitched yourself into a better situation and you have options.” He paused, anticipating I might say something. I didn’t. “Well, go give Grandma hugs and kisses for me, and if you change your mind, you know where to call me.”
“Will do. Thanks again for the offer and have a merry Christmas.”
Adam cut me loose. I closed my phone, set it on the table, and continued flipping through the circulars as I tried to rationalize what I’d just done. Instead of taking a first-class flight to tropical sunshine, I’d be working through holiday madness at Circuit City. My stomach turned at the thought of lost wages. I could just see myself, Winter Ball check in hand, cartwheeling into the bank to cash it. I could see myself in a resort, slurping drinks from coconut husks, smoking cigars with a drug lord who promised to “solve” all my grandma problems if I just kept winning. Then I looked at my reflection in the windows of my grandmother’s kitchen and realized I was going nowhere except work in about twelve hours. There was no beach, no cigars, no tropical drinks. I was a prisoner in a cell of shag carpeting and plastic-covered furniture. My agent had just tried to spring me and I volunteered to stay behind. What the hell was I thinking?
My phone buzzed. The vibration sent it scooting across the table where I snared it and answered, “Hello?”
“Hi, honey, how are you?” It was Bonnie.
“I’m good, you?”
“I’m fine. Just wanted to call and hear your voice before I started work.”
I smiled and plopped my head on my hand. “I’m glad you did,” I said.
“Did you talk to Adam?”
“Yes. We just finished.”
“And?” She hung on my response.
Bonnie was the reason I was staying around. The only reason. If I had tried to explain that to Adam, he would have slapped me through the phone, and rightly so. I was turning down the first life-changing chunk of cash I’d ever been offered for a girl I met on an Internet dating website four months ago. For God’s sake, where did I think this was going to go?
But there it was, whispering in the back of my head, that voice, that silly, irrational, not-to-be-listened-to voice that knew Bonnie would say yes if I asked her to marry me right now. The thought had bounded through my head almost every waking moment these last few months, tempting me with ideas about futures and happiness and smashing cake into faces. It brought me dreams of a life not lived on Grandma’s floor, where words like virginity were no longer cause for my mom to pry or my teammates to laugh. It even controlled my hand to unconsciously take hold of Cosmopolitan magazine when the words “How to Know You’ve Met ‘The One’?” were plastered across the top. Lately, that little voice had been screaming at me, every time I looked into my grandma’s irritated face, every time Mom explained she was going to come back because my dad promised to get help. Every time I looked into Bonnie’s soft brown eyes. Maybe Bonnie was a chance to build a refuge? Or maybe it was just another soon-to-be-killed baseball romance? I had to know.
“I said no.”
There was a silent stretch while Bonnie considered what it meant. “That means I get to keep you for a few more weeks! Oh honey, that makes my day.”
She didn’t know it, but her reaction just made mine too.
“Bonnie, I’d like to talk with you about something I’ve been thinking about lately. I was wondering what you thought—”
“Hello, Miss Abigail. You look beautiful! Is that what you’re going to wear on the big day?” said Bonnie, extra cheery. Then, returning to me, she said, “I’m
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