Page 26 of Pitching for Keeps
She squeals and runs down to hug me. "Best! Wedding! Ever!"
"You got married. That makes it the best wedding ever."
"And you got back together with Jay! And someday engaged! With grass clippings as evidence of your love!"
"We're never telling that story."
"We're telling everyone that story!"
We head back to the reception, where I definitely keep the jersey on over my dress, where I catch the bouquet (Megan absolutely aimed), where I dance with my dad and he says he knew something was up when I asked him for MiLB TV for Christmas "for background noise."
And later, when I'm back in the guest room, carefully folding the jersey, I get a text.
Jay: Made it to Sacramento. Threw a bullpen session. Ted says I looked loose.
Me: That's good.
Jay: Also, the grass clippings? Most romantic thing anyone's ever done for me.
Me: Most creepy, you mean.
Jay: Most perfect. Like you.
Me: Smooth talker.
Jay: I'm serious. I want that future. The whole thing. You at my games, me at your marketing presentations, probably some arguments about my slider grip.
Me: Your slider is fine. It's your changeup that needs work.
Jay: See? Perfect.
Me: I love you.
Jay: I love you too. Even the crazy parts. Especially the crazy parts.
Me: Good. Because I'm probably going to keep collecting grass.
Jay: I'm counting on it. Hey Tracy?
Me: Yeah?
Jay: Someday starts now.
I smile at my phone, then at the jersey draped over my chair, then at the baseball still sitting on the dresser—the one signed with his college number.
Someday starts now. And I can't wait.
EPILOGUE
JUST ABOUT TWO YEARS LATER
I've been sittingon our couch for twenty minutes, trying to figure out the perfect way to tell my husband I'm pregnant. You'd think after two years together—one year married—I'd have gotten better at big announcements. But no, I'm still the same Tracy who once tried to hide her baseball obsession behind a color-coded wedding binder.
The positive pregnancy test is tucked inside a brand new baseball glove sitting on our coffee table, which seemed like a cute idea this morning but now feels a little silly. Maybe I should have gone with my second idea, which was writing it on his pitch chart. Or my third idea to have the Stars announcer work it into tonight's lineup.
Okay, that last one would have been excessive. Probably.
"Trace? I'm home!" Jay's voice carries from the entryway, followed by the familiar thud of his equipment bag hitting the floor. "Please tell me you didn't cook. I love you, but after last night's 'experimental chili,' I think we should?—"
