Page 49 of Sliding into Love
I watch nervously as he rips at the ribbon and peels back the paper. The moment he sees what's inside, he goes completely still.
"Royce." My name comes out as barely a whisper this time. He pulls the stuffed mitt out, turning it over in his hands, examining every detail. "This is…"
"If you hate it, I can return it," I rush out. "I know it might be weird, given your injury and everything, and I didn't mean to?—"
I don't get to finish because suddenly Kenneth's arms are around me, pulling me into a tight hug. The mitt is pressed between us, and I can feel him shaking slightly.
"Thank you," he says, his voice thick with emotion. "God, Royce, thank you."
I hug him back, confused but relieved. "So you don't hate it?"
He pulls back enough to look at me, and I'm stunned to see his eyes are wet. "Hate it? Are you kidding? This is perfect. I love it."
"It's only a stuffed toy," I say, though warmth is blooming in my chest at his reaction.
"It's not just a stuffed toy." He looks down at the mitt again, running his thumb over the stitching. "It's... no one's ever given me anything baseball-related since my injury. My parents act like that part of my life never existed. My friends don't bring it up because they think it'll upset me. But you—" He looks up, meeting my eyes. "You saw this and thought of me. Of what I loved. What's still part of who I am, even if I can't play anymore."
"Of course I did." I reach up, wiping away a tear that's escaped down his cheek. It’s like my hands have a mind of their own. "Kenneth, your time playing baseball wasn't a waste or a time to forget. It shaped you. It's part of your story."
"I know, but most people don't see it that way." He clutches the mitt to his chest. "They see it as a failure. As the thing I couldn't do."
"That's their problem, not yours. You were an incredible pitcher, if my memory is correct. You loved the game. And just because your career ended doesn't mean that part of you died.You're still that person who fell in love with baseball. You just express it differently now."
"I'm keeping this forever," he declares, holding up the mitt. "It's going on my bedside table so I see it first thing every morning."
"You don't have to do that."
"I want to. I need to." He examines it again, his smile growing. "It even has a little baseball in the pocket. That's so cool."
"I thought so too." I'm trying to be casual, but seeing him this happy over a gift I picked out makes my chest feel too tight. "Carmen helped me wrap it. I wanted to give it to you in time for the holiday, but the timing was off and then I got sick."
"The timing is perfect." He sets the mitt carefully on my desk. "You're perfect. This is perfect. Thank you, Royce. Really."
"You're welcome.”
“This is already the best gift anyone's given me in years."
We stand there for a moment longer before Kenneth finally steps back. He immediately picks up the mitt again, like he can't bear to not be holding it.
"Should we look at those vendor contracts?" I ask, trying to get us back on track even though I'm smiling at how he keeps touching my gift, running his fingers over the stitching.
"Right. Yes. Work stuff." But he's still staring at the mitt, his expression soft. "Can I just say one more time how much I love this?"
"You can say it as many times as you want. It’s a bit odd to see you being a sap about a toy though."
"It's a treasure and I'm going to protect it with my life."
I laugh, shaking my head as I drop into my chair. "Dramatic."
We do eventually get to work, spreading contracts across the desk and going through the details for next month's promotional events. But Kenneth keeps the mitt next to his laptop,occasionally reaching out to touch it like he's making sure it's real.
"You know," he says during a lull in the contract discussion, "when I was a kid, I had this ratty old mitt my grandfather gave me. I used it until it literally fell apart. My parents wanted to throw it away, but I kept it in my closet for years."
"What happened to it?"
"My mother tossed it when I went to college. Said I was too old for childhood mementos." He picks up the stuffed mitt, his expression thoughtful. "I grieved that stupid glove for months. It felt like losing a piece of my grandfather, losing a piece of that kid who just loved playing catch in the backyard."
"I'm sorry you lost it."
