The Dugout(40)

We both hang up and my phone blacks out, but then reminds me of my text message. Carson’s name pops up on the screen and my heart flips. Quickly, I open the message and read it.

Carson: You still up?

I can’t help it, my smile widens. Whenever I see his name, it happens, this sense of joy hitting my veins, and I’m immediately in a good mood.

Milly: Sorry, was on the phone with my brother. I’m clearly still up.

The little dots that tell me he’s texting back appear and I sink lower into my covers, letting the screen of my phone be the only light in my room.

Carson: Damn, I thought you were asleep and I woke you up. Glad I didn’t.

Milly: Nope. Just getting some little sister teasing in before bed. What’s up?

The dots appear again, then go away and then reappear. Is he trying to figure out what to say? Finally, my phone sounds off with his text.

Carson: I have a serious question for you…

A serious question? My skin tingles and my stomach bottoms out, mixed with excitement and fear. What could he possibly ask me that’s serious? Other than . . .

Milly: What’s up?

When he’s typing, I try to calm my racing heart, the excitement of what he might say consuming me. How could a guy possibly affect me this much? How could he turn my beating pulse into a rapid jackhammer with just one single question?

Carson: Favorite baseball movie, go!

Oh.

My excitement falls like a brick to the ground, shattering into a bunch of pieces. And this is exactly why I should stop watching those Hallmark movies, because they fill my head with false hopes. Here I am, lying in my bed, thinking that the guy of all guys would actually ask me out. Cory was so wrong.

“What’s wrong with him? You’re telling me he hasn’t made a move on my beautiful sister yet?”

“No, Cory. I’m his coach. A friend,” I mutter. I roll my eyes. I know Cory loves me, but he’s being ridiculous. I know. I might love baseball and pal around with the men, but I’m a romantic at heart and I want to know what it’s like to be asked out on a date, to be complimented, to be cherished. But I’m awkward and a lot of the time, guys can’t look past the girl who’s listing off stats to see the girl who loves love, the one who secretly played with Barbies while her brothers were gone and pretended Barbie and Ken found their happily ever after.

Sighing and succumbing to my endless rotten luck of forever friendship, I type back.

Milly: Is that even a fair question? If I had to go with JUST ONE, I guess I would choose Angels in the Outfield.

I smile to myself as I send the text. No self-respecting baseball aficionado would ever choose Angels in the Outfield as their favorite baseball movie, but I’m dying to see Carson’s reaction.

Carson: Uh . . . really?

I laugh out loud and type him back.

Milly: Yes! Every time they start flapping their arms, God, I get teary eyed.

Carson: . . .

Carson: I mean . . .

Carson: Teary eyed?

Another bout of laughter hits me as my smile stretches across my face.

Milly: I used to pretend I was an angel and would fly around the outfield with wings strapped to my back, while my dad was hitting balls to my brothers. I’d pull on their shirts, pretending to help them.

The dots appear and then they go away. They appear again, and then silence. I’m laughing so much that I almost don’t hear my phone ringing. One glance at the screen tells me it’s Carson.

I try to hold back my laugh as I answer, but it’s impossible.

“Hello?”

“Please tell me you’re kidding. Right, this is a joke? I mean, I respect movie choices, to each their own, but come on, Mills, you can’t possibly think that’s the best baseball movie.” His use of my nickname sobers me slightly, loving how it rolls off his tongue with such ease.

“It’s just so good.”

“Stop it,” he says curtly, causing me to bust up. “Stop it right now. I can’t have my coach making such blasphemous statements like that.”

“Am I losing all credibility?”

“Yes. Please tell me you’re joking.”

“I’m joking.”

He exhales and I can envision him relaxing his shoulders, his fear subsiding. “Thank fuck. We were going to have to really consider our working relationship.”

Working relationship. I try not to let the words bite, but they do anyway.

“So be honest, what’s your favorite?”

Shaking off the feelings of disappointment, I say, “Well, it comes down to this, a childhood memory that I’ll never forget.”

“Yeah? Lay it on me.”

“It was after playing ball with my brothers once. They were whipping the ball around and it was a little fast for me. I ended up catching the ball wrong, it bounced off my glove and hit me in the mouth, giving me a fat lip. I cried and ran into the house. They kept playing, which reinforced that I couldn’t quite keep up. I was really upset and my mom scooped me up and took me into my parents’ room where she gave me an ice pack and sat me on the bed. She turned on the TV, popped a movie in, and sat next to me, her arm around my shoulder. The movie was Field of Dreams.”

“Ah, such a good movie.”

“It is, but it’s what my mom told me while we were watching that gave me that first bout of hope I needed. Mind you, my mom was never super thrilled with my love for baseball. She wanted a little pal of her own, someone to have tea parties with and play dress up, but unfortunately for her, I was never that girl. I hung around the ballpark with holes in my jeans and a backward hat on my head, long braids cascading down my back. But that day, when she took me under her arm, she told me how brave I was, how smart I was, and that if I build my own field of dreams, the people will come. I will never forget those words and that moment, ever.”