Keeping Score

by Alyssa Kale

  “Lee, you just can’t win when it comes to women. This is why I told you to lock it down, focus on the game, and let the shit settle.”

  Ever since I was moved up from the minors, Marion Spencer has made it his priority to offer me wisdom and words of advice to keep my name out of the gossip rags. Cocky and sure I knew more, I ignored him last year. When a pretty blonde shimmied up to me, declaring her undying affection, I fell for it hook, line, and sinker. Amber thought she caught a big fish getting ready to make it to the majors with not only fame but money.

  When it all came to a head and I almost lost not only my position but the respect of my family and friends, I knew it was time to start listening to what Marion said. Sometimes, when he’s offering advice, I hear a narrator in my head say, “Marion Spencer’s Words of Wisdom,” followed by a chime. It’s like my subconscious has deemed Spencer worthy of his own show. At least when it comes to my imagination.

  “I wasn’t doing anything other than saying hello and offering an apology. Except, I barely shook her friend’s hand before I got my ass handed to me. That woman’s tongue lashing sent me running.”

  “Maybe I’m wrong. She sounds great.”

  Rolling my eyes, I turn my attention back to my meal and change the subject. “How’s the family? Little Man ready for Uncle Brax to come over and teach him how to hit a ball?”

  “Yes. I swear he has no idea how much that request wounds me.”

  My change of topic seems to work, and we continue on with our meal, talking about the Spencer family, the rookie pitcher we picked up last week, and even the weather. The weather talk is mostly about how fucking hot it is and why we chose to give our lives to a sport that involves standing under the blazing Texas sun.

  After closing out our tab and saying our goodbyes, I climb into my car. Sliding behind the wheel, I wait for the air to kick in and the Bluetooth to connect. As I do, something across the parking lot catches my eye.

  Sophie.

  She’s laughing and holding onto her friend as they cross the lot. This is a different version of the woman I met with puffy, red-lined eyes and the one who lashed out at me tonight. Carefree and happy, I have to admit, this version is just about perfect.

  Starting my car, I pull out of the parking lot and turn toward my house. Spencer was right, I need to keep my distance from women. There’s no way I could recover from scandals two years in a row. While I don’t get any indication that Sophie is the type to create drama, it would be best to keep my distance. Besides, I’d have to do more than attempt a quick “sorry” in a sports bar to win her over.

  A week later, I pull into the player’s lot and throw my car into park with one goal in mind—two tickets for the best seats in the place. The first baseline, obviously. Next week, we’re playing a league rival, and it’s always fan favorite. It’s an apology that is more fitting for this baseball player than an awkward hello in a bar. Too bad it’s taken me close to a week to come up with the gesture.

  After scribbling a quick note to be sent with the tickets, I pull out my phone and double-check the address to the magazine. I’ll admit; I did search online for her address but came up empty. While I would have preferred not to send the tickets to her place of work, I’m relieved that her personal information isn’t easily accessible to any weirdo.

  Once I’ve finalized the information for the courier, I head out of the office and toward the locker room. We’re about six hours from game time, and I need to get my head in the game. My mind is clearer than it’s been the last few weeks, and I have a feeling tonight is going to be a great night for the Aces before we load up for a string of away games.

  6

  * * *

  SOPHIE

  “Don’t be mad, okay?”

  “I make no promises,” I grumble.

  “Because I don’t want you to wallow, and I know you hate apartment hunting, I took the liberty of looking up some for you.” Kendall rushes through the last part of her statement, and I can only smile. “I’ve narrowed it down to four.”

  This is the one part of this breakup I’ve dreaded more than going back to Jared’s to get my belongings. It’s been over a week of crashing at Kendall’s, and while I know she’s okay having me there, I can’t keep sleeping in her bed. My drool on her spare pillow isn’t helping her social life.

  “You didn’t have to do that, Kendall.” Honestly, I should probably just move in with my dad. I don’t even have my own pillow, for goodness sake.

  “I know I didn’t, but I had some free time and did. Our first appointment is at five-thirty p.m. Meet me at my place and we’ll ride together.”

  “Just don’t get your hopes up. Unless it’s the perfect location with the cheapest rent, I’m not sure it’ll be a successful night.”

  “Well not with that kind of attitude. See ya in a few hours. Love you!”

  Before I can respond, the line goes dead, and I turn my attention back to my computer. The truth is, I can afford to furnish a place as long as the deposit isn’t too high. I’m a thrifty shopper by nature, and since I was only contributing to utilities and food while living with Jared, I have a decent savings account.

  Over the next few hours, I alternate between editing photos and jotting down items I’ll need for my own place. I have two columns going. Must-Haves and Wants. The must-haves are mostly things like a bed and coffeemaker, while the wants are particularly important things like a diffuser with an assortment of oils, and a plant. Jared hated my love of scented oils, and a plant will give me something to keep alive.

  Deep in thought on the different scents of oils that will make me happy, I don’t immediately hear the person tapping on my cubicle. “Excuse me. Are you Sophie Thomas?”

  “I am.”

  Accepting the envelope from his hand, I set it on the desk and sign his digital screen. Without another word, the courier turns on his heel and walks away. Lifting the envelope, I look for any sort of return address but come up empty. Only my name and Clarence Monthly are scrolled across the front.

  I grab my letter opener and slice open the envelope. Peering inside, like a snake will suddenly appear, I’m relieved to see a piece of paper with a paperclip. Slipping the paper from the envelope, I see two Aces tickets are clipped to it, but it’s the handwritten note that has my attention.

  Sophie,

  Sorry for being a jerk. Not just the first time we met but the second.

  Hope you enjoy these tickets to Saturday’s game.

  I’ll be looking for you in the stands.

  -B

  Wow. Two tickets to an Aces game. How did he know I liked baseball? Or did he not know and just took a wild guess? It doesn’t matter; it’s the perfect gesture, and I’m excited. It’s been years since I’ve been to a game. Some of my first memories are of my dad and I attending Aces games with me dressed in head-to-toe Aces gear, eating a hot dog, and cheering on our home team. My dad grew up a fan, and I had no choice but to follow suit. My mom was more than happy to allow us that alone time. She was not interested in sports and preferred to spend the time reading a book or getting a pedicure while my dad and I were at the ballpark.

  After she died, so did my dad’s love of attending games. He still supports his favorite team, and I try to watch at least a few games a month with him on television, but it isn’t the same. I don’t give myself a moment to second-guess myself and pick up my cell.

  I tap Daddy on my favorites list and wait with giddiness as the line rings. Going to a game will definitely keep my mind off the crappy status of my life. Besides, I’ve never known someone playing before. Even if he is an ass—or was an ass. I mean, this is a pretty cool gesture. These seats are great—first base, right above the dugout—and my dad could really use some cheering up.

  He answers on the second ring. “Hey, sweetheart, what’s up?”

  “Hi, Daddy. What are you doing Saturday night?”

  “I don’t have any plans other than staying home and reading some Tom Clancy. I’
m on that new Jack Ryan book.”

  My dad and his Jack Ryan man crush. I like to tease him about spending all his free time with a fictional character. Then he tosses it back at me and the fact that I’ve always been the girl with at least two books on my nightstand.

  “Fun, I’m glad you got back into reading again. But—” I pause, creating a bit of drama for effect. “—what if I told you I had tickets for Saturday night’s Aces game?”

  “I’d tell you that Jack Ryan can wait. Are you serious?”

  Relief consumes me. I wasn’t sure if he’d be happy at the information or feign indifference, so I didn’t invite him immediately.

  “Yeah, I’m serious. I had a photo shoot with Braxton Lee the—”

  “—first baseman,” he cuts me off, his excitement obvious with the stammering he’s doing. I love it.

  “Yes, that one. He’s going to be featured in the magazine in a few months and surprised me with a pair of tickets.”

  Dad lets out a whistle. He must know that if a player gave me the tickets, these won’t be the nosebleed seats of my youth.

  “That’s awesome, Soph. Wouldn’t you rather take Jared?”

  Taking a deep breath, I steady myself and break the news. “About that… we broke up.” I try to sound sad rather than pissed off, but my dad hears the anger in my tone anyway.

  “What did that shithead do?”

  “I caught him cheating on me.”

  “That. Bastard. I always knew he wasn’t good enough for you. You deserve better than him.” He’s now the second person to tell me this. Was I really that blind to Jared’s ways? “How about I drive up there early Saturday and we can go grab an dinner before the game? At that wings place near the ballpark?” Just like old times. Before Mom died.

  “Yeah, Dad, that sounds awesome. How about you pick me up at Kendall’s around four? I’ll send you her address.”

  “Works for me. Love you, sweetheart.”

  “Love you too, Dad.” I hang up with a smile on my face. I haven’t seen my dad in a few weeks and have missed him. Jared’s kept me busy with one social event after another the last few months, and we haven’t had as much time together as I’d like. Besides, when a girl has a broken heart, or at least a pissed off one, she just wants her daddy.

  Another upside to this breakup—other than apparently making my best friend and father happy—is not having to dress up and play the part of arm candy while Jared schmoozes potential clients. I could daydream of all the things that will be different now that I’m no longer with Jared. At least the version of him now. The man I fell in love with has been long-gone. Thoughts of the time he convinced me to backpack through Europe bring a smile to my face. Those were the days I thought we would be together forever. Traveling and photographing the world.

  I hadn’t realized how much of those younger versions of us we lost along the way. Maybe it’s time for me to reacquaint myself with that girl.

  By the time I call it a day and climb into my car, heading toward Kendall’s apartment, I’m exhausted and not looking forward to apartment hunting. I’d much rather don my pajamas, eat some carbs, and watch Friends with my bestie.

  Kendall is waiting for me when I walk in the door. “Hey, beotch,” she greets.

  “Hey, hooker,” I reply with one of our many pet names we’ve given each other throughout the years. It’s just how we roll. I confirm the time on my phone. Normally, Kendall arrives home from work around five in the evening, so I’m surprised she’s already changed and parked on the couch. “Did you get off early?”

  “Yeah.” She sighs. “The system crashed after I talked to you. After two hours, the boss man sent us all home for the day.”

  “Lucky you.”

  “Yup.” She laughs. “We have a couple of hours before we have to leave. I was just going to watch a few episodes of Friends. You in?”

  “Hell yeah, I’m in,” I say as I take off my shoes, and we both make ourselves comfortable on the sofa.

  Four episodes later, we’re in the car. Kendall gets our favorite 90s boy band playlist going, and we sing—if one can even call it that—all the words to every Backstreet Boys and NSYNC song that comes on.

  Driving toward the first apartment, I notice we’re in not that great of a neighborhood. It’s on the south side of the city, where a lot of crime and gang violence seems to take place. The apartment complex itself looks pretty rundown and not well maintained, considering the grass is overgrown and there are weeds on the cracked sidewalk. It’s probably going to be a no, but we look anyway.

  When we walk into the first-floor apartment, the smell hits us like a ton of bricks. Cat pee. Everywhere. It’s so bad our eyes water, and neither of us wants to step one more foot farther into the apartment. We thank the lady but politely tell her this isn’t the place for me.

  “Yeah, that was a total no. They made that place look fantastic online,” Kendall says.

  I didn’t see the images online, but I reply, “It smells like the person who just moved out had a hundred cats.” We both laugh.

  The next two places don’t smell like cat pee, thank goodness, but neither of them is right for me. The second one was another first-floor apartment under a family with three kids. Three wild kids. Which, don’t get me wrong, I love kids, but the noise those three were making in the apartment above is not something I want to pay for. And the last one was nearly an hour out of the city—with no traffic. I’m not up for that kind of commute every day.

  On the way to the last one, we swing through the drive-thru at our favorite fast food place and grab two orders of chicken nuggets.

  I’m scrolling through my social media accounts on my phone and enjoying my chicken nuggets, when Kendall pulls back into her complex’s parking lot.

  “Wait, I thought we had one more to look at?”

  “We do. It’s here,” she replies.

  “Oh, well, that would be cool, but didn’t you say there is something like a two-year waiting list or something?”

  “Oh, there is. But I talked to the manager this morning and maybe asked him to consider your application.” She smiles slyly.

  “I don’t have an application.”

  Kendall giggles, and I roll my eyes. This scenario does not surprise me at all.

  “Sneaky, sneaky.”

  My best friend simply shrugs.

  “Wait. Why didn’t we look at this one first?” I ask.

  She side-eyes me then smirks. “I didn’t want to assume. And as much as I want you to be my neighbor, I also know you need options before you commit to this.”

  Climbing from her car, I follow her as she types something on her phone. Crossing the courtyard area from where Kendall’s apartment is located, we meet a portly gentleman at the base of the stairwell.

  After a quick greeting, he leads us to a second-floor apartment, and while I don’t want to get my hopes up, it really is perfect. Two spacious bedrooms and an updated bathroom with both a shower and separate tub. I don’t necessarily need two bedrooms, but I can use the second for a dedicated office space.

  The manager runs through a list of the recent upgrades and features. I fall a little in love with the beautiful gray oak laminate throughout the space and brand-new stainless-steel appliances. The color scheme is neutral, even the walls are painted a creamy gray I think they’re calling greige now, and it’s gorgeous. It’s really everything I could want in an apartment. Granted, it’s not the beautiful condo I had with Jared, but this would be all mine.

  “It’s lovely, but I can’t imagine it’s in my price range.

  He stuns me with a number that’s within my budget.

  “It’s perfect. I’ll take it,” I say to the property manager without a second thought.

  “Eeep!” Kendall squeals. “We’re going to be neighbors! It’s going to be like college all over again, kinda.”

  I happily sign the paperwork and confirm move-in dates and various complex policies. As we leave the apartment and make our way t
oward Kendall’s place, I feel a calmness in my heart. This feels right. And while I have this feeling, I should do something I’ve put off long enough.

  “Hey, what do you think about going over to Jared’s right now and trying to get my stuff?”

  Kendall looks at me with her now signature sly grin. “Let’s do it.”

  7

  * * *

  SOPHIE

  Kendall chatters about nothing on the drive to Jared’s condo. I’m quiet as she talks. My excuse is good ole nerves. Knowing my bestie, she’s trying not to add to my anxiety, and instead of talking about what we’re about to do, she covers topics from the latest pop culture gossip.

  I realize now that the condo has never been home to me. The house I grew up in, the one with memories of my mom and my childhood, that’s home. Kendall’s apartment, a close second. A place where I feel like myself and that who I am is enough should be home.

  The condo I shared with Jared has always been his. From the sleek modern furniture to the blank walls. Blank. Not a photo, or shelf hung, to bring warmth to the space. Nothing in his place is inviting or homey. It’s part of the reason I know we can just show up and get my things. There isn’t much there for me to claim. I snort a laugh, drawing Kendall’s attention from the road.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “I’m a photographer, and none of my work is hanging in the condo. How sad is that?”

  “Not sad. Dumb. Jared is an idiot. He had a chance to be surrounded by your greatness and beautiful photos, and he chose to be a dipshit.”

  Her assessment makes me laugh, and the nerves I had fizzle away. Tonight is his regular poker night—also known as the only time life is breathed into the place. The first time Jared told me he was going to start hosting poker once a week for his college buddies and a few colleagues and I needed to find somewhere to go, I never questioned him. It was the perfect excuse to have a girls’ night with Kendall and binge our favorite shows.