Page 207 of Left on Base

She nods, wiping her eyes, a tiny bit of hope creeping in. “Medical redshirt. I like the sound of that. Maybe this isn’t the end of the world.”

I give her a gentle nudge. “Nope. Just the start of a new play. And don’t forget, you’ve got the best donut delivery service in the NCAA on your side.”

She laughs, for real this time.

Seethat girl walking into the cozy little Thai spot near the University of Washington campus? The one with that quiet confidence, like she’s meeting herboyfriendfor dinner and not surviving an 8 a.m. Sports Media class she definitely regrets signing up for? That’s her. No longer confused about her love life, though the 8 a.m. lecture? Still a mystery.

And look who’s already waiting for her at their usual booth—Jaxon, hunched over his phone, dark hair falling into those intense blue eyes, looking like he’s tracking the stock market when he’s really scrolling ESPN.

The restaurant is a warm little haven, lanterns hanging low, casting flickering shadows on the teak wood walls. The air is thick with lemongrass, coconut milk, and sizzling chili peppers. The hum of quiet chatter mixes with the occasional clang from the open kitchen where woks sing their fiery songs.

I slide in across from Jaxon, already eyeing the crispy spring rolls and the steaming bowl of tom yum soup between us. Before he can protest, I snag a spring roll. “I need food. I need something to soak up the emotional whiplash of today.”

He grins, tired but genuine. “You and me both, girl. How’s Callie holding up?”

I sigh, picking at the fresh basil garnish on my pad thai. “Better, I think. We talked through some stuff. She’s still scared, but at least she ate half a maple bar and let me open the curtains. Progress.”

“Good.” Jaxon nods, eyes softening. “She’s lucky to have you.”

I nudge his foot under the table. “I know. I charge for emotional labor in donuts.”

We settle into a comfortable silence, the clinking of chopsticks and soft Thai music filling the space. After a few bites, I ask, “So… how’s Jameson holding up?”

Jaxon snorts, half-laughing, half-exasperated. “Dude’s been playing Minecraft like it’s a full-time job. Built an entire compound—walls, moat, tower, the works. Says he’s ‘training for a life of total isolation.’ I think he’s trying to out-hermit the Unabomber, minus the manifestos.”

I laugh. “Is he at least letting anyone into his Minecraft lair?”

“Nope. Put up a sign: ‘No girls, no drama, no babies allowed.’ Tried joining his server, got kicked out for ‘emotional baggage.’”

I snort soup through my nose and grab a napkin. “That’s kinda sad.”

“Honestly, I felt left out. He wouldn’t play with me.” He fake-cries and I laugh, raising an eyebrow and he shrugs. “He’s being a bitch. He plans his entire life and didn’t see this coming, you know? Bro even plans what he’s eating for the week. He’ll come around. Just needs to dig a few more tunnels.”

I laugh, but he’s right. Maybe Jameson needs Minecraft and isolation. We lapse into quiet again, just the two of us, the low buzz of the restaurant, the comforting scent of coconut and chili, the knowledge that no matter how messy things get, we’re still here—spring rolls, pixels, and all.

Later,staring at my bowl of green curry, I ask, voice low, “Do you ever think about how life would’ve been if I hadn’t miscarried the baby?”

Jaxon blinks, surprised by the weight in my question, then sighs. “Yeah. Sometimes.”

I nod, swirling the last bit of sauce around my spoon. “What do you think about?”

He bites his lip. “I don’t know. Like, what life woulda been like.”

“Do you think it would have messed your life up?”

“No. I could’ve still played baseball eventually, and I think you could’ve still played softball. We would’ve maybe taken some time off, taken a redshirt year or something, and focused on the kid. I think we would’ve figured out a new way of doing things, and the baby would’ve been our new future.”

Did you fall in love with him? I smile. “I think I just fell in love with you again.”

“I know, right?” He dips his spring roll in peanut sauce. “I’m impressing myself right now.”

I smile, feeling that familiar warmth of someone who gets it. We went through the worst together and had some rough patches—you saw them—but here we are at this little Thai place.

Just then, the door swings open and Fork Guy storms in, tiara slightly crooked, eyes wild with purpose. “Ah-ha! Found you!” he declares, plopping down beside us and juggling three napkins like they’re sacred relics. “Listen up, comrades. We need to talk about Jameson.”

Jaxon raises an eyebrow. “What now?”

“He’s spiraling. The Minecraft fortress, ghosting, ‘No babies allowed’ signs—it’s a cry for help. I’m organizing an intervention. Full-on, emotional support siege.”

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