Page 94 of Curveball
Through the back and forth, the laughter, the teasing, one thing is forgotten. Alejandro. His threats. And most—maybeworst—of all . . . that our marriage is a sham.
“Hey, everybody,” I say into the hubbub, and the voices go quiet. “There’s a rule about this marriage that we all need to abide by.”
“What’s that?” they all ask in unison, and even Max looks curious.
“This news stays between us, at least for now. No friends, no social media. No press. Consider it a secret.”
Silence. And then, the questions erupt again.
Chapter 31
Max
I’m thirty-seven years old and just spoke marriage vows for the first time. Do I know what to expect in the upcoming days? Hell no, I do not, and the waters may be treacherous. But I can hope for the best.
The first week of my marriage was more than I knew to ask for, with the total chaos of moving Palmer and Dylan into our home, and then Natalie and Adele returning and making our family complete. So complete, I suggested Adele take permanent residence in her suite at our home. She’s considering the idea.
My life is laughter, and teenage shenanigans, dinners at home—when I don’t have a night game anyway—and best of all, Palmer’s in my bed every night. So why does time pass so slowly when I need it to race?
The last eleven days have been endless, and even when we had a break in the schedule and I could zip home for a day, I ended up with a virus and spent the day in bed. Alone. At a strange hotel, because it wasn’t even the place where we usually stay.
Nothing but room service orange juice and a box of tissues for company, because my teammates were all lucky enough to not catch whatever I did. And smart enough to not come by for a visit and test that luck. Instead, they spent their day sending memes from the hotel pool and sharing funny videos while seeing the sights in the Bay Area.
When Bear started sharing clips from batting practice, I turned off my phone. Then, I turned it right back on, because Palmer had gone back to sending her either-or messages. They were mostly corny, but I’d gotten used to her idea of fun, and the connection took some of the sting away from our separation.
Palmer Girl: Do you fill your car when the tank still has gas, or wait till you’re on E?
Me: I don’t know
Palmer Girl: What do you mean? How do you not know?
Me: I have a guy
Palmer Girl: Of course you do *cue eyeroll*
But I may have unleashed the beast with my answer to her next question.
Palmer Girl: Are you a sharer or a hoarder?
Me: I don’t share your O’s. Does that count?
Girl left me on read for longer than usual before responding.
Palmer Girl: You want to uncork that, do you, from two thousand miles away?
And added a photo of Mike.
I didn’t understand, at the time.
Then, without warning, she transitioned her questions designed to learn more about me, to questions designed tolearn more about me.
Palmer Girl: Lace or cotton?
Me: Yes. Now for you - Boxers or Briefs?
Palmer Girl: Yes
Me: You don’t play fair
