[2018] Confessions From the Heart

by TB Markinson

  I steered her to the iconic store on Yawkey Way. Inside, Kat meandered through the T-shirt offerings, bypassing the tank top options much to my surprise and disappointment. Soon enough, she glommed onto a white tee with a large red B on the front and blue fabric stripes on the sleeves.

  She rubbed it against my cheek. “So soft.”

  With shirt in hand, she headed for the hat section, grabbing one that had Fenway Park with the current year stitched into the front. “You need anything?”

  “I’m set.” I reached for the items.

  She yanked them back.

  “I asked you on this date. There’s no way I’m letting you pay for a thing today.”

  “But these are a gift for you.”

  I furrowed my brow. “I thought you wanted to wear them.”

  “For the game. But after, they’re yours.” She held the shirt up to me, ensuring it would fit. Someone stumbled into her, causing her to wrap her arms around me.

  I took advantage of the crowded space and gave her a quick smooch. “You’re sweet. I’m still paying.”

  Kat fought me, but I didn’t give up.

  A tourist with a Rebel Cannon strapped around his neck gaped as Kat and I played tug of war with the items.

  “Didn’t your mom teach you how to treat a lady?” Kat said.

  “Yes, that’s why I’m paying.” I pulled harder.

  “I go to the gym.”

  “My uncle taught me to box. Don’t force me to show off my skills.”

  She stopped fighting me for the items. “Fine! But I’m buying you a beer or something.”

  I kissed her cheek, a tad salty from the battle. “Deal. Tomorrow.”

  Kat started to pout but relented by saying, “At least that means I’ll see you two days in a row.”

  I jerked my head to the door. “Wait for me outside, beautiful.”

  I stood in line, which was seven deep not counting the kids running around, squealing, playing some sort of game of tag, while waiting for one of the registers.

  By the time I stepped outside, two guys in their twenties wearing NY hats flanked Kat. Smiling, I approached.

  “There you are. I didn’t think I’d see you again.” Kat’s eyes swept the masses. “These two were keeping me company. Did you know the Yankees have an eight-game winning streak going?”

  “Too bad that’ll end today. Here’s your Red Sox gear.” I gave Kat the bag, and she slipped the hat on.

  “You’re too beautiful to wear trash,” said one of the guys in a thick Brooklyn accent. He tried to remove it, but Kat slapped his hand away.

  “Clearly, we need to teach you a few things about baseball,” said the taller guy.

  “Yeah, like the difference between supporting a winning team and a bunch of losers,” joked Brooklyn.

  Kat smiled at me, waiting for my reaction.

  “Listen, gents, while I greatly appreciate you keeping my lovely date company while I was buying her gifts, we’re going to grab lunch, and then we’re going to watch the Sox kick some New York ass, ending your team’s streak.”

  They both stiffened, moving closer to Kat. The stockier one with thick wavy black hair and a Walter Matthau nose said, “Sabathia’s on the mound. He’s the hottest pitcher this summer.”

  Kat once again turned to me, her curious expression adorable.

  “This is the eleventh meeting this season, and we’ve won eight so far. Do the math.” I held my hand out to Kat. She accepted it, weaving our fingers together.

  One of the guys tugged her arm. “Gorgeous, don’t break my heart like this.”

  The other put his hands over his heart.

  “Sorry, boys. I know a winner when I see one.” She rested her head on my shoulder.

  We walked off into the crowd, heading away from our destination, but I didn’t correct our path until I was certain we’d put some distance between us and the New Yorkers. “I mentioned I know how to box, but maybe I should have said it’s my last resort.”

  She waved. “Please, those guys are no match for you. Aside from being New York supporters, they were sweet. Isn’t trash talk part of the experience?”

  “I think they had more on their mind than razzing a Boston fan.” I gave her a knowing glare.

  “Such as?” She playfully batted her eyelids.

  “Taking you home.”

  “And that’s not on your mind?”

  “Come on. I’m nothing like those jerks.” I tapped my chest.

  “Because you bought me a shirt and hat?”

  I peeked at her grinning face, seeing the humor twinkling in her eyes. “Come on, gorgeous. I’m starving.”

  We maneuvered through a herd of rowdy twentysomethings, mostly males wearing Sox shirts and hats, to the corner of Brookline and Lansdowne and popped into a sports bar.

  “Table for two,” I said to the hostess.

  “Sorry. We don’t have one available,” she said.

  “Actually, there may be a table outside,” a male waiter said.

  “Really? I hope so. I’ve never been here, and I have my heart set on the experience,” Kat said, her cropped top tugging upward a smidge.

  The guy’s Adam’s apple bobbled up and down. “Let me go check.”

  I eyed the hostess to gauge her reaction to the waiter butting in, but she was staring intently at Kat’s taut stomach, roving over the halter top’s challenge of containing the swell of Kat’s breasts. She turned her head, huffing. Jealous much?

  It took effort, but I managed not to laugh.

  “I bet it gets crazy here on game days.” Kat’s tone had the right mixture of innocent, flirty, naughty, and heartfelt. She really should teach classes.

  The girl didn’t look at Kat, but she nodded.

  “You must have some great stories. Have you worked here long?” Kat continued the charm.

  “Yep.” She bent down and fiddled with something on the back of the podium.

  “Great news, there is a table!” The guy practically hurdled over a potted plant, inadvertently shoving the jealous hostess out of the way, to get to the menus hanging from the podium. “I’ll take you there.”

  After being seated, I crossed my arms and leveled my eyes on Kat.

  “What?” she said, flipping her menu open. “Ooooh, I think I’ll get the blackened chicken sandwich with pepper-jack cheese, leafy lettuce, and beefsteak tomato on focaccia. What are you going to get?”

  “I’m going to take you over my knee.”

  She fluttered her lashes. “That sounds promising for later. Would you excuse me? I want to change my top in the bathroom.”

  I watched the twist of her hips as she made her way through the crowded seating area, and I wasn’t the only one enjoying the Kat show.

  Moments later, someone shouted, “Cori!”

  I turned, seeing Annie and Sheila on the opposite side of the roped off area. Standing, I hugged Sheila and then Annie. “What are you doing here?”

  Sheila let out a bark of laughter, and Annie stared at me as if I’d spouted a unicorn horn in the middle of my forehead.

  “Sorry, stupid question.” I waved a hand. “You want to join us?”

  “They wouldn’t let us in,” Sheila said.

  “Who are you here with?” Annie said, looking around for clues.

  I scouted over my shoulder right when Kat stepped outside, wearing the shirt, knotted in the front, showing off her stomach.

  “Let me send in the big guns.” I flipped around to Kat. “They wouldn’t let my friends in. Any chance you can work your magic again?”

  “Now it’s okay?” she teased.

  I placed both hands over my heart. “I’d be eternally grateful.”

  Kat patted my cheek. Flipping around, she called out, “Sir!” She made her way over to the guy who’d helped us the first time.

  Soon enough, two more wrought-iron chairs were crammed around the table suited for two. Kat sat on my r
ight, our chairs practically on top of each other. “It might be more comfortable if you sat on my lap,” I joked, taking a sip of water.

  “Or face,” she whispered in my ear.

  I choked.

  Sheila ignored my fit, saying, “So, you’re…?”

  “Kat.” She held out her hand, which Sheila shook.

  Annie, sitting as far as possible from Kat, gave a tentative wave as hello, immediately tucking her hands into her armpits as if she were five. Not a good sign.

  “This is Sheila and Annie,” I finished the introductions.

  “Oh, you’re the one who’s moving to Ireland,” Kat said to Annie. “How exciting? Do you speak Gaelic?”

  Annie explained even though her parents were Irish, Annie had never learned the language.

  Sheila offered, “From my understanding, the government is trying to save the language, but not everyone in Ireland is fluent.”

  The waiter came and took our orders.

  Over Annie’s head, I spied the Citgo sign, a Boston landmark, and thought about how it’d be weird not going to games next season with Annie.

  “Cori,” Kat said to get my attention.

  I turned my gaze to her, wondering how long I’d checked out. “Yes, sweetheart.”

  I heard a small intake of breath from Annie, which Kat picked up, judging by the lightning fast flicker of recognition in Kat’s eyes.

  “Why didn’t you tell me Annie’s preschool is looking for volunteers to teach the kids how to paint?” Kat said as if nothing momentous had happened and understanding this run-in wasn’t easy for Annie.

  I looked to Annie, shame washing over me. “Because I didn’t know.”

  Kat placed her hand on my leg. “I would love to help out if I can,” Kat said to Annie.

  Annie’s eyes landed on Kat’s hand. “Th-that would be great.”

  “Kat’s an amazing artist,” I said.

  “You aren’t so bad yourself.” Kat nestled her head against mine.

  “Cori?” Sheila squeaked, clearly not convinced.

  Kat nodded. “We’ve painted a couple of pieces together.”

  Sheila bobbed her head. “Oh, you painted Cori.”

  “Something like that.” Kat flashed me a beguiling smile.

  Annie squirmed in her seat, and I prayed Angry Annie wouldn’t make an appearance.

  Our food arrived. Kat and Sheila continued chatting, occasionally one of them engaging me. Annie ate with her eyes downcast. Fans started toward the gates.

  “We should get inside.” Annie tried to flag down the waiter.

  “Hey, I got this,” I said. “Why don’t you two get to your seats? Who knows how long it’ll take to get the guy’s attention?”

  Sheila stood, raising one leg over the rope. “Thanks, Cori. You two should come to the bar Monday for free drinks.”

  “Sounds like a fair trade. What do you say, Kat?” I asked.

  She nodded.

  Annie hadn’t budged from her seat. “You’re going to be late. You hate being late.”

  I shrugged. “No biggie. Besides, the beer’s colder here.”

  “What happened to your golden rule of not mixing baseball and chicks?” Annie dug one hand into her jeans pocket.

  I was relieved she hadn’t brought up Brooke, but still annoyed Annie called me out, I said, “Rules are made to be broken. Isn’t that what you’ve been telling me since we were kids?”

  Kat scooted slightly away from me.

  Annie leaned over and whispered in my ear, “I don’t even know who you are anymore. You’re ruining everything for a skirt!”

  I sucked in a deep breath to prevent the initial words of fuck off from flying out of my mouth. “Please, Annie. Not now. Not here.” I tried to keep my voice calm, but inside I fumed.

  Sheila yanked on Annie’s arm. “Come on.”

  For several painful seconds, Annie didn’t budge, her eyes burning holes into my forehead. “Whatever,” she spat out, rising to her feet and hopping over the rope.

  Sheila glanced over her shoulder and mouthed, “Sorry.”

  I waved to her and then smothered my face with my hand.

  Alone again, neither Kat nor I moved our chairs apart.

  “You okay?” she asked.

  I inhaled deeply. “I wasn’t expecting to bump into Annie.”

  “Fenway’s capacity is close to forty thousand. The odds weren’t great but not impossible.”

  I laughed. “Did you do research for today’s date?”

  Kat’s face softened. “I may have learned a thing or two to impress my date, who for some reason is nutty for sports.”

  “How uncouth.”

  “She has some pluses.”

  I shifted in my seat, my arm pressed against her. “Like?”

  Kat stared at the entrance, where Annie’s and Sheila’s retreating forms grew smaller. “What’s your plan with Annie?”

  I scrunched my brow. “What do you mean?”

  “Are you that much of an idiot? Do you think I’m a moron? Or do you just not want to talk about it right now?”

  I slanted my head, taking her in. “Option three, although, I think the answer to your first question is yes and a definite no to the second.” I threaded my fingers through hers. “We’re on a date, and according to the dating guide written for jocks, it’s a big no-no to discuss other broads when out with a classy dame such as yourself.”

  “Dame!” She chortled. “Okay, I won’t press you about Annie right now, but I don’t like getting between two childhood friends.”

  “Shall I thank the governor for a reprieve?”

  Kat rolled her eyes but dropped the subject. “You know I can get our bill like that.” She snapped her fingers.

  “And miss this?” I gestured to the people flooding by. “Best people watching ever.”

  “And the game?”

  “The last thing on my mind right now.”

  “What’s the first?”

  “You.”

  “In what way?”

  I flicked my fingers. “I’m enjoying sitting here with the most amazing woman I’ve ever known. My cheese quesadilla was gut-stuffing. I have a cold beer. We’re in the shadow of Fenway on a picture-perfect afternoon in the heart of Boston, the best city in the world. Life doesn’t get much better than this.”

  “I know how to make it better.”

  “I’m all ears.” I inched closer to her.

  “Let’s pay our bill, go to our seats, watch a few innings, catch a cab back to my place, and have mind-blowing sex.” Kat’s finger knifed the air. “Check please!”

  I reached for my wallet in my bag. “We can skip the game.”

  She leaned into me. “I know, but if I make you wait a few more hours, you’ll thank me later.”

  “Can I thank you some now before we go to the game?”

  “If you’re hoping for some nookie behind the Ted Williams statue, dream on.”

  “I’d never put the move on you near the Williams statue, where he’s placing a cap on a child.” I tapped my finger against my chin. “Now, The Teammates statue with Bobby Doerr, Johnny Pesky, Dom DiMaggio, and Williams is a whole other ball game.”

  Kat’s eyes darted upward. “Why do so many fall for your charm?”

  “You tell me. Now, if I remember the deal: a few innings and then sex.” I shoved three fifties into the waiter’s hand without even looking at the check. “Keep the change.” I crooked my arm. “Allow me to show you the way.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  The last Sunday in September, I pulled into Barb’s driveway. Killing the engine of my mom’s Mercedes, I peeked at Kat in the passenger seat. “You okay?”

  She nodded.

  “I know I said Barb isn’t a great cook but no need to gnaw on your fingers.” I tugged her thumb away from her mouth.

  Kat looked like she’d rather have dinner in a Roach Motel than with my family.
/>   “Everything’s going to be fine. You met Mom and Barb, and that went well, aside from you showcasing a sex painting.”

  She tried to bully her nerves with a lukewarm smile.

  I leaned over the gearshift to kiss her cheek. “You look great and smell even better. Jasmine?”

  She nodded and then latched onto my cheeks with her hands. “Don’t leave my side.”

  I laughed. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Kit Kat. The sooner we get in there, the sooner we can leave.”

  We found Mom and Barb in the kitchen, bickering in their way. “There’s no way you can wear that,” Mom said.

  I smiled at Kat.

  “Ah, Cori’s here. She can set you straight. Hello, Kat.” Mom gave Kat a quick hug. “Cori, what do you think of—?”

  I signaled time out with my hands. “I don’t want to get in the middle of a sister fight. No good will come from it.”

  “But,” Mom whined, “just this one—”

  I cut Mom off with a hard and fast “No.”

  “Are we interrupting?” Roger said with a smirk, coming into the kitchen with Dad.

  “Mom and Barb are trying to get me to settle a debate. Roger, I’d like you to meet Kat.” They shook hands. “And shorty here is my father.”

  Roger forced my dad’s head into his armpit, giving Dad a noogie.

  I shook my head. “I don’t know who’s worse, the nattering sisters or you two bozos.”

  Roger laughed. “You started it by calling him shorty.”

  “Stop acting like a hall monitor for once, Cori,” Mom said as if Roger hadn’t spoken at all. “Kat, I’m so glad you’re here. Cori wouldn’t be able to help solve our dilemma. Her ideal outfit is basketball shorts paired with a ratty hoodie. Would you wear a silk shirt with denim?”

  Kat thought for a moment. “Mixing fabrics is great, but I think it’s wise to choose different types that don’t contrast too much. I’d wear a linen shirt with denim.”

  “I wasn’t going to wear silk with denim!” Barb tossed up her hands. “No artist would make such a mistake. Right, Kat?”

  Kat didn’t have time to respond, since Mom bounced on the balls of her feet. “You said—”

  “You don’t listen. Dale, how do you—?”