Tonight, I anxiously await Hamilton’s promised phone call. I cut Liberty’s bath time in half in hopes of laying her down before he calls. Of course, tonight would be first night, that she fusses at bedtime. Alma and I each take turns rocking her while standing and sitting. Finally, we lay her in the crib and walk away. Through the monitor we listen as she babbles until she fades to sleep only minutes before her normal bedtime.
I attempt to prepare myself for Hamilton’s teasing that the Cubs are going to knock my St. Louis Cardinals out of the post-season tomorrow night. As a life-long Cardinals fan, it hurts me to say that I really want the Cubs to advance. I want Hamilton to pitch in The World Series. I’m sure any other true-blue Cardinals fan would also want this opportunity for their best friend—it just sucks that it must play out this way. The Cubs and Cardinals rivalry began long before I was born.
Hamilton’s video call comes through after nine. I answer on my laptop at my desk.
“I thought you might not answer,” he teases.
“Are you kidding? It’s a win-win for me tomorrow night.” I laugh. “Either my best friend will pitch in The World Series or my favorite team will play in it.”
“Wow, I wish it was that easy for me.” I can’t imagine the stress he’s under as the starting pitcher in tomorrow night’s matchup. This game extends or ends the season for the entire team. Although baseball is a team sport, pitchers often catch the blame, thus the reason they are awarded a wins and losses stat.
“You certainly make it look easy when you are on the mound. Alma and I are nervous especially when it’s a full-count.” I smile knowing he does stress about his pitching before, during, and after games.
“I’ve completed my entire pre-game routine for the night.”
I know this means he eats his usual night before a game meal, he ensures his uniform hangs in his locker exactly as he likes it, and his ball glove will be tucked under his pillow for the night. This is his ritual that started in middle school that he still is superstitious about today.
“You’ve got this.” I know he will have a great outing tomorrow. He’s much more confident this season and his arm strength is stronger than ever. With each outing his confidence grows with the best defense behind him, and Cubs’ camaraderie on and off the field.
“It’s the biggest game I’ve ever taken the mound in. I’ve never faced a game in which a win means we move on and a loss means our season ends. There’s a lot riding on this game. Every pitch will be vital.” He runs his hands over his exhausted face. “It’s a lot of pressure for everyone. Your Cardinals will not make it easy for us.”
“Ham, you’ve wanted this game and The World Series your entire life. You’ve dreamt of bottom of the ninth inning, two outs, and a full-count with you on the mound. This is your moment. Trust yourself, trust your team, trust your coach, and trust your fans. You have homefield advantage. The odds are stacked in the Cubs’ favor.”
He chuckles while shaking his head. “Still my biggest fan, aren’t you?”
“Yes, and you know if I weren’t student-teaching in Columbia tomorrow, I would have found a way to be at the game.” I struggle with the guilt for not taking a day off for him. I want to be there, but my future career depends on my success during student-teaching. I hope he understands my reason for missing the game. And I hope he will understand my reasons when I introduce him to Liberty in the off-season that draws nearer with every passing day.
“When you win, I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to fall asleep.”
“One game at a time please. It will be a long nine innings—we must win these nine innings before we think about The World Series games.” His large left hand runs through his wavy, brown hair.
I remember how soft his waves felt in my fingers when his hair was much shorter over a year ago. I long to run my fingers through these even longer waves. I long for the day, after a shower with wet curly hair, I can see him and Liberty side by side. When wet, his hair forms ringlets like our daughter’s—they are alike in many ways.
Hamilton’s voice draws my attention back to our call. “Can you believe soon our friends may have a baby, a tiny human to be responsible for. I can’t believe we are old enough to be parents, can you?”
Hamilton’s words hurt. I am a parent and he is a parent—he just doesn’t know it yet. I will turn his world upside down when I share Liberty. I mentally shake those thoughts away. Today is not the day for this.
“Yeah, just think in December we will have three married-couple friends, Adrian’s pregnant, and by then Bethany might be, too. That will only leave Savannah, you, and me as the singles of the group.”
“Speaking of being single,” Hamilton’s face grows serious. “Have you been on any dates?”
Seriously? I thought we were sort of a long-distance couple. I thought when he kissed me and told me he loved me that he wanted me as more than a friend. Is he asking as my friend, or as someone interested in me? I find his question as confusing as his actions at Adrian’s reception. Our one night together confused me and even a year later, I grow more confused with each passing month. I have no idea where we stand. I don’t know if I am in the friend-zone or not.
I school my features as best I can. “With everything I’ve shared about student-teaching, lesson planning, tutoring, walking at night with Alma’s puppy, and Bible study when do you think I’ve had time to socialize or date?” I tilt my head to the side glaring his way. “How about you? Any new prospects in the arm-candy or trophy-wife area?” I throw his question right back secretly hoping he will confess his feelings for me and we might forget this game of cat and mouse he seems to be playing.
“Touché,” he raises his palms out towards me on the monitor.
Of course, his answer doesn’t tell me his plans or feelings. He doesn’t reveal anything. I could just scream—I’m so frustrated by his actions. Soon he admits his exhaustion and we end our call. I remind him he’s got this—he will do great on the mound tomorrow. I wish him good luck and say goodbye.
I hope he finds sleep faster than I do. I go over my lesson plans for the next day as my college-advisor will be observing me in the classroom. I ponder his reason for asking if I had been on a date. Is he contemplating a date with someone in Chicago? Is that his reason for asking? I feel more confused than ever. Will I ever know where we stand or what to do?
I’m excited to watch tomorrow night’s game. I’m excited both teams have made it so far this season. I hope for Hamilton to have the game of his life. I imagine him pitching in The World Series in mere weeks. So many great things are occurring all around me, yet I focus on the darkness in my life. I don’t like keeping a secret from Hamilton. It festers and grows inside me stealing the happiness I should be feeling on a daily basis. With my rambling thoughts, sleep evades me for several hours.
Later, I dream of a life Hamilton and I might have had if I told him I was pregnant from the start. Hamilton insists that Liberty and I attend the Wild Card Playoff Game. Ever superstitious he insists the two of us attend every important game during his career. In my dream, Hamilton reads a Cubs Baseball children’s book while tucking in Liberty. As she sleeps he speaks to her of being his good luck charm.
Before the game, I see him at his locker. Family photos of the three of us, of Liberty playing with a rosin bag on the Wrigley pitcher’s mound, and Liberty in his arms with Cubbie Bear at his side line his locker shelf. Hamilton kisses his index finger then presses it to the photo of Liberty before exiting the locker room.
I wake to pee at 4 a.m. interrupting my dream prior to the end of the game. I enjoy my dreams of our little family of three. They give me hope for our future life together if Hamilton doesn’t hate me for my keeping the secret. I wish I had more of these dreams. I enjoy that I never want to wake up from.