Out of Left Field

by Kris Hui Lee

  Santino tenses, his posture straightens, and he scowls. This is the Santino I’ve been expecting—the Santino who likes to give Cody hell, the Santino who’s arrogant and cruel and likes to throw brushback pitches at other players simply because he can.

  “Don’t pretend you’re the good guy here,” I continue. “I haven’t forgotten what you did to him. And to be honest, I don’t know why I didn’t punch you that night at the restaurant. God knows you would have deserved it for all the times you tried nailing Cody with a ninety-mile-per-hour pitch before you finally did.” Santino glares at me as if Cody himself is confronting him. “Try all you want,” I say, “but I won’t let you convince me that Cody is anything else than what I’ve known him to be my entire life.”

  I give Santino a few seconds to refute, but when he doesn’t say anything, I start back to the hotel.

  Should I be concerned that I just torched what was left of the bridge between us? Did we ever even have a bridge to begin with?

  Maybe. I don’t know.

  But all I can think about is how I wish I had recorded that conversation so I could send it to Cody and be like, “Hey, I just defended the shit out of you. Can we be cool now?”

  But I didn’t record it, so I do something really stupid.

  I call him.

  It rolls straight to his voicemail. For reasons that would take too long to explain, his voicemail message is Joey and Sara mooing for about thirty seconds. This gives me half a minute to decide whether or not I should leave a message, and if so, what to say.

  By the time the mooing stops, I’m still too chicken. I hang up.

  I spend the next half hour obsessively checking my phone, hoping that Cody will call or text me back.

  He doesn’t.

  • • •

  “Marnie! My favorite niece!” Abram plops down on the seat beside me. My stomach is now full of culinary masterpieces, and I’m ready to go home, but I’m the only one left at the table. Everyone else is either making a fool of themselves on the dance floor or making a fool of themselves at the open bar. Normally I’d join Nick in making fools of ourselves at the ice-cream bar, but I can’t stop thinking about how mad Cody is at me. I can’t even stop for ice cream.

  “I’m your only niece,” I remind Abram.

  “’Tis true, my friend,” he says. I’m pretty sure he’s drunk, if not off of alcohol, then off of being a newlywed. “Why are you sitting all alone?” he asks. He points to the tipsy adults gathered at the side of the room. “Open bar.” He points to the line of little children on the opposite side. “Open ice-cream bar.” He nudges my arm. “Have some fun! You deserve it. I heard through the grapevine—meaning Santino—that you won the game yesterday. Celebrate!”

  I give him a forced smile. “No thanks.”

  “You? Declining ice cream?” he says. “You’re clearly not having fun. You should’ve invited someone to come with you. We gave your family a plus one just in case. Say, how ’bout a nice guy who could coax you onto the dance floor? Geanna’s got some handsome relatives.”

  “Does she know that you can be an embarrassing dork sometimes?”

  He pats my back. “One of my finer qualities.” He leans his elbow on the table. “Now, come on, tell your old uncle what the problem is. He wants you to be happy, because he is happy, and because he’s paying a lot of money for everyone to have fun tonight.”

  “I’m just tired.”

  “Liar, liar,” he says. “I’ve noticed that you and Santino haven’t talked much. I thought you guys were on good terms.”

  “Were.”

  “He’s your cousin now. Don’t wanna start off on the bad foot.”

  I’d like nothing more than to tell Abram that his new wife’s son is a jerk. But it’s his wedding, and I don’t think it’s fair to start shitting all over it.

  “Speaking of Santino, where is he?” Abram asks. We both scan the guests and spot him on the dance floor. He’s slow dancing with Neha to a pounding Lady Gaga song.

  They’re swaying together on the side of the dance floor. Santino’s wearing his suit, and Neha has given up on her heels. Santino whispers something in her ear, and she starts laughing so hard they have to stop dancing.

  “Ah, yes,” Abram says. “The most adorable teenage couple the world has ever seen.”

  It’s hard to dispute that given the scene in front of me.

  “I don’t think princesses get treated better than she does.”

  Again, not hard to dispute.

  “You know how he introduced me to her?” Abram asks. “He said, ‘Abram, this is Neha, my bestest friend from here to the next galaxy. I’m going to marry her one day.’”

  “What?”

  “Yup. Exactly those words.” He laughs, shaking his head.

  So who is the real Santino? The guy who hits batters with ninety-mile-per-hour pitches? The guy who resents his mother for getting knocked up? The guy who treats his girlfriend like a goddess?

  Maybe he’s not just one of them but all of them.

  “He’s a pretty cool kid,” Abram says, nodding toward Santino. “I couldn’t have asked for a better stepson. You should really get to know him. He’s a good guy.” He stands up. “I hope you enjoy yourself at least a little bit tonight, Marnie. I’m off to slow dance with my new wife.”

  I nod and sigh. I want to enjoy myself too. “Hey, Abram?”

  He pauses.

  “If Geanna wasn’t pregnant, would you still be getting married to her?”

  He thinks about it for a moment. “I’d like to think so.”

  I don’t know what to say to this, so I just nod. He pats me on the shoulder again and then maneuvers through the guests onto the dance floor to take Geanna’s hand.

  Even from here in my seat, the two of them look so happy together. What I wouldn’t give for someone to explain to me at least a percentage of how love works.

  • • •

  At nine thirty, when I think everyone’s getting too tired to continue, the party revives itself. First, three new flavors appear on the ice-cream bar, and then the DJ picks up the beat, bringing us out of the slow lull of rock ballads and into techno dance music, which inspires Santino’s cousins to start a dance off.

  When my parents start dancing to Taylor Swift, it’s time for me to get some air. So I sneak back out to the garden, which is now lit up with ground lights and cute little gothic-esque lamps that seem like they belong in a fairy-tale village.

  I make my way back to the koi pond, where the water is lit by red and blue lights. I grab a few more food pellets and start tossing them in, watching all the koi congregate for a bite.

  “Hey.”

  Santino’s tie is loosened, and he’s undone the top two buttons of his dark blue shirt. At least he had fun after our fight.

  “Hi,” I say.

  He looks at the koi. “I think you’re going to make them all fat.”

  “They’re already fat.” I throw the rest of the food in my hand into the water.

  Santino sits on the edge of the pond. “Look, I’m sorry for what I said about Cody.”

  The name sounds weird coming from his mouth, as if it’s a struggle for him to say.

  “I just…” Santino says, clenching his fists. “I just hate the guy.”

  “I’m not interested in hearing a rant about how much you hate him.”

  “I hate him ’cause I’m jealous of him,” Santino says, which catches my attention. “He’s just so fucking good, like…how can any seventeen-year-old pitch like that? Eerghh. He pisses me off so much.”

  This must mean the egotistical facade that he wears is a show. He has doubts about his talent. He knows he’s not a god, as he would like us all to think.

  “So you don’t actually think he’s an asshole?”

  “Oh no, I do. I think he’s arr
ogant as all get out. But that’s neither here nor there.” He picks up a fish pellet that fell on the stone next to him and tosses it into the water. “If I had known you were so in love with him, I wouldn’t have said any of those things.”

  I swallow hard. “I’m not in love with him.” People have got to stop throwing that word around so frivolously.

  He gives me a semi-grin. “If that’s the case, then you shouldn’t talk so zealously about him. People might start thinking you are.” He leans back on one hand. “So do you accept my apology?”

  As far as I can tell, I don’t have much choice. I shrug. “Sure.”

  “You know, it’s a lot easier to forgive someone than it is to find the nerve to apologize.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “I mean, you’re afraid to apologize to Cody for lying to him, because you think he won’t forgive you. But trust me, he wants to forgive you as much as you want to be forgiven. How hard was it for you to accept my apology?”

  “Not that hard,” I say. “But this is different. I don’t really care that you insulted me or Cody. At least not as much as Cody cares that I completely betrayed his trust and our friendship.”

  Santino nods slowly. “Yeah, I guess.” He looks over my shoulder and waves.

  I turn and standing practically nose-to-window is Neha. She smiles at me and then makes a face at Santino.

  “So that’s your bestest friend, the one you’re going to marry,” I say.

  “You talked to Abram. Though I won’t deny it. She’s my bestest friend, and as far as I can see, my soul mate for life.”

  “I honestly would never have expected you to be such a romantic goo pile.”

  Santino grins proudly. “There are lots of things about me that’d surprise you.” He leans against the bridge railing. “So if you and Cody have known each other for so long, and you both have a thing for each other, why are you not, like, together?”

  “How long were you friends with Neha before you started going out?”

  He thinks about it. “Six years maybe?”

  “Then shouldn’t you know why we’re not together?”

  “Because you’re afraid it’ll ruin your friendship.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Sure, I get that,” he says. “But then it got to the point when not going out was ruining our friendship.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask, only to realize a second later that I know exactly what he means.

  “Whenever we were together, we danced around how we were both feeling, and eventually we stopped hanging out because we were afraid of what would happen between us.”

  “And then what?”

  “Then I waited and waited, thinking that she would be the one to make the first move. Months went by, and nothing happened. We hardly talked to each other, and then one day, I went to her house and told her, ‘This is stupid. Can we just make out already?’ And then we made out.”

  Bullshit. That’s too easy. “Is that really how it went down?”

  “That is really how it went down.”

  “Wasn’t that scary?”

  “Sure. She was scared, and I was scared, and we couldn’t both be scared, or else nothing would ever happen. Someone’s gotta give in.”

  The last person I’d ever expect to give me relationship advice is Santino Acardi.

  And yet…

  I look back at Neha, who is still standing at the window, now holding up a plate of cake.

  Santino stands. “Cake part two. Good idea. I’m going to get some.”

  I nod but don’t follow him.

  “You’re not coming?” he asks.

  “Nah, I like it out here.”

  “Okay, whatever.” He starts down the path but stops. “You know, my mom booked the place until one in the morning. She loves a good party. So there’s still time to invite Cody if you want. I mean, if you get tired of being alone and watching everyone else have fun.”

  I narrow my eyes at him. “I would think you’d want Cody to suffer. Since you hate him and everything.”

  “Maybe. But you’re my cousin. I want you to be happy, and I think you should have who you love.”

  Surprisingly, I don’t feel the need to refute either of those statements.

  “Was it worth it?” I ask.

  He knows exactly what I’m talking about. “Sometimes it is. Sometimes it isn’t. Just look at what happened to my mom and my biological father. Do I think that was worth it? It terms of my life, of course. In terms of my mom’s life, hell no. Her life was really hard after he left. How does anyone ever know if it’s worth it?”

  Santino’s eyes land on Neha, who is still waiting for him inside.

  “But,” he says, “when it’s worth it, it’s really worth it. You know?”

  I shrug. I don’t know. How would I?

  “It’s like baseball,” he says. “You play to win, and sometimes you lose, but that doesn’t stop you from playing.”

  This I understand.

  “Well,” Santino says, “don’t stay out here too long.”

  I watch him go inside. After a few moments, I follow in his tracks, but not to join the party. I need to find my family, I need to get home. Because it’s late, and there’s something I need to do tonight.

  18

  It’s nearly eleven o’clock when I step onto Cody’s front porch. I hang out with his mom’s potted plants for about ten minutes before I work up the courage to press the doorbell. A second too late, I realize I shouldn’t have rung the doorbell in case his parents are sleeping, but I can’t take it back.

  A few moments later, Cody peels back the curtains of the bay window, probably to make sure I’m not an ax murderer. The look he gives me doesn’t quite say ax murderer, but more annoying salesperson, so when he disappears from the window and the curtains fall back in place, I’m not entirely sure he’s going to let me in.

  But then the lock clicks, and the door swings open.

  He stands there in all his six-foot, brown-haired, brown-eyed glory. He’s wearing a red-and-white baseball henley and black basketball shorts. Nothing about him is any different than normal, but seeing him makes my stomach and heart and nerves all jittery.

  Now I wish I’d kept on my dumb dress. I’d debated using it to seduce him into forgiveness, but it’s not good to cut corners on an apology. There will be no stealing bases. I have to do this the right way. So I stuck with a pair of skinny jeans and a T-shirt.

  “Hi,” I say. Good start, Marnie. A plus.

  “Hi,” he says.

  He stares at me so intensely I can almost convince myself that he’s telepathically telling me to fling my arms around him so we can make out.

  But that’s likely wishful thinking.

  “Sorry,” I say, “it’s late.” Too bad apologizing for the time isn’t as easy as apologizing for everything else.

  He doesn’t reply, but he steps outside and closes the door behind him. At least he’s willing to hear what I have to say. Maybe Santino was right—maybe Cody has been waiting for me to do this.

  He casually leans against the door, still silent. I have to make the first move. Hell if I know what that is, so I just start talking without thinking. Normally this gets me in trouble, but I didn’t come with any more of a game plan (even if I should have).

  “Cody, I don’t know what to say, except that I’m sorry.” You liar, Marnie, there is tons more you can say. I take a deep breath and let it out. Like I’m about to throw the first pitch of a game. But this is arguably much, much more nerve-racking. “I was going to tell you about Santino, about his mom marrying my uncle, and him helping me to pitch—I really was. I mean, at first I didn’t because you were injured, which put you in a shitty mood, and I didn’t want to make you feel worse. But then you were more yourself, and I was going to tell you, but…” Now
here’s the hard part. “But then I started talking to Santino and… I don’t know. I sort of liked him. He’s not so bad. I know it kills you to hear me say that, but…he kind of reminds me of you.”

  I expect Cody to deny this, to yell at me again, but he stays silent, his expression impossible to read.

  “I mean, it was one thing for him to become my cousin—that was completely out of my control. But to like him? To want to be friends with him? I felt like I was betraying you—no, I knew I was betraying you. And I felt so bad. I didn’t want to tell you because I was afraid you’d be pissed. I still should have told you. And I’m sorry that I accused you of being jealous. I know you were only mad because I lied to you. I’m sorry that Santino hit you with that pitch and now you can’t play because you more than anyone deserve a chance to win the state title. And if I lose this for you on top of all the other stupid things I’ve done this week, it will make me the worst person ever. I’m really, really, really sorry. I’m a really shitty person, but I don’t want you to be mad at me anymore.”

  I blow through all that in one breath. When I finish, I suck in a gulp of air. And I wait. And wait. And wait for a reaction from him. It seems like eons before he pushes himself away from the door and steps toward me. His look seems to have softened, making me want to run my hands through his tousled hair and kiss him.

  Except I don’t move.

  He stares at me. “It’s eleven o’clock.”

  “I know.”

  “You must be desperate.”

  Hark! I think I recognize that teasing deadpan tone and that small twitch at the corner of the lips, trying to hide a grin.

  He’s quiet for a while, and then he sighs, releasing the tension in his shoulders. “Well, lucky for you, so am I.”

  “You are?” The tension releases from my body as well.

  “It’s like physically impossible for me to stay mad at you, even when I really, really want to.”

  He runs his hand through his hair, mussing it up. He sighs again, and then he sits down on the steps, inviting me to take a seat next to him. So I do—carefully calculating the exact spot that is not too close and not too far from him.