A Life of Inches (15 page)

Chapter Twenty

May 14, 2007

Though it took a few months longer than my agent thought it would, I landed the job up in Flint, Michigan. The first thing I did after accepting it was to buy an engagement ring. Tonight, during dinner, I’m asking Molly to marry me. The team can wait for me to arrive until tomorrow.

As I drive to the restaurant, I’m struggling to keep my eyes on the road and off the ring. I swerve to the left and off the rumble strips lining the highway.

I call Claire, Molly’s assistant, to make sure all the plans for tonight are still in place. Before Claire can even say hello, I ask, “Did she leave yet?”

Claire groans. “Yeah, you spazz. She took off a few hours ago after she got some urgent call from California.”

“Are things that bad?”

“Don’t get me started. Molly’s been grinding, burning the candle at both ends just to stay on top of things. I thought Molly stole me from her mom so I wouldn’t have to deal with the senator’s never-ending workday, but now it’s like déjà vu all over again.”

I think back to the affair Molly’s mother carried on at her office. “I hope it’s not exactly the same as working for Senator De Leon.”

Claire says, “Just do me a favor and get her mind off politics tonight, will you?”

“That’s the plan.”

I’ve made reservations for a fancy restaurant in the newest hot neighborhood in Cleveland. With traffic playing another round of hurry up and wait, I should have just enough time to beat Molly there. The proposal will be simple and straight to the point. For once in my life, I want a night devoid of games and drama.

The engagement ring screams modesty for two reasons. First off, I’m a manager for a minor league baseball team and the centerpiece diamond alone cost more than my salary suggests I spend. Second, and more importantly, it’s the perfect choice for Molly. Sure, the diamond won’t turn heads, but it sits on a custom crafted platinum band with roses engraved around it.

Tonight my parents celebrate their anniversary, which will make asking her to join my family a little more special, even if my father still won’t speak to me. My mom and, though I never thought I’d see the day, even Molly’s mother have both given their blessings. I’ve faced off against some of the best hitters of our time, so I ought to be able to ask one simple question of the woman I love.

Entering the elegantly lit restaurant, I follow the host to a semi-private table. I order a bottle of wine, and start tapping my fingers. In the dugout, when I get nervous, I fill my mouth with a handful of sunflower seeds, but somehow I don’t think it will be appreciated if I start spitting shells on the spotless waxed marble floor.

By the time I’ve mastered playing ‘When the Levee Breaks’ on my table drum, Molly finds our table.

“Sorry I’m late. I—”

“Claire told me today was bonkers.”

Her hair looks damp and hastily put in place. She must’ve hit the gym and showered there, because her neck bears a couple red splotches from the combination of scalding hot water and the harsh towels they provide.

Molly digs in her purse. She seems erratic, distracted. “Well, yes, things are blowing up, but I’ve been through this enough times to handle the chaos. I don’t know, my stomach is upset and I feel drained.”

Unbuttoning her coat, Molly reveals an uncharacteristically flashy pink top with ruffles running from her neck to her midriff. Never good with compliments, I fumble for words to give this moment justice.

Finally putting her purse aside and giving me her full attention, she beats me to the punch. “You clean up nice for a ball player.”

To put in perspective just how enchanting I find Molly, I’ve known her over twenty years and yet I still can’t help staring when she flashes her unfiltered smile.

Buttering up Molly with some buttered bread, I ask, “Care for a glass wine?”

She nods, worry-lines crease her forehead. “Can they bring us each a bottle?”

I motion to the waiter. “Sir, we’re going to need some guidance. I need a red, as dry as they come. What would you recommend?”

When I first decided where to pop the question, I wrote a practice proposal out, but the vibe wasn’t right. In the end, I decided to say what I felt and let the chips fall where they may. After dinner, we’re headed to Molly’s mother’s house to share in the good news. My mother will also be there, waiting to congratulate her future daughter-in-law. The absence of both our fathers will be awkward and bittersweet.

Unable to impress her with my knowledge of the elections she is aiding, I shoot for political humor instead. “I’d tell you your outfit is beautiful, but who knows if you got it from a legal source, or from some lobbyist trying to earn favor.”

She rolls her eyes, but her grin appears playful.

I clear my throat and loosen my tie. “I took the liberty of ordering in advance.”

A surprised expression crosses her face. “I didn’t realize you knew how to say chicken fingers in French.”

The waiter heads toward our table with our first course, saving Molly from a good comeback. Inside the soup tray hides the ring. I stand up to meet the waiter by Molly’s side as he lowers the steaming tray in front of her.

Anticipation boils over as the waiter lifts the cap off. “For years, Molly...”

I trail off as steam warms my reddening face, the thick scent of garlic announcing the hearty soup du jour. I stutter an awkward comment about the food and sit back down.

Another waiter approaches our table, and it clicks. They must’ve switched the trays. If I’m right, this waiter is about to unveil an engagement ring right in front of me. Panic takes over and I move to save the situation.

Alarmed by my sudden movement, Molly also pops out of her seat just as the second waiter arrives. She knocks into him. Horror-stricken, I watch as the lid flies off the tray, flinging the ring into the air. My instincts, mixed with quick reflexes, kick in. Pushing past the wait staff, I dive toward the flying platinum band.

I follow the course of the ring right into my outstretched palm, which closes around it like a lazy pop-fly that died in strong lake effect winds. With a grunt, I crash onto the marble floor and slide a few feet as several curious patrons glance my way. Flashing my trademark sheepish grin, I stand and, displaying the ring out for the world to see, I make my move.

Molly can now see what I’m holding, but it’s clear by her expression that she hasn’t quite put two and two together, yet. An unexpected crowd gathers around us, but not even a parade crashing through the restaurant can stop me from saying what I came here to say.

“Molly,” I begin, kneeling in front of her and stretching the ring toward her hand. “I can’t offer you the world. I can only offer you myself, which I do, right here and now. I accepted the job in Flint this morning and I can’t imagine leaving without you. Molly, I love you with a passion I never thought possible. Will you be my wife?”

Gasps and sighs erupt from the onlookers. The first waiter seems to be choking up with emotion, but now that I’ve said what I came to say, I’m calm as a clam.

With Molly in my life for good, we can grow together and start a family together and follow our common dreams as one. While apart, we have both carved out lives of our own, so together we will reach new heights as—

“No, Ryan. No.”

My stunned gaze latches onto a necklace stretching for its life around the neck of a large woman seated at the table behind Molly. It’s a string of white pearls worth more than I’ll make this year. As Molly’s words silence the crowd, I can’t take my eyes off it. Doing so and making any eye contact with Molly would shatter me into a thousand pieces. As the shocked silence lingers, my knees begin to ache and the desire to throw the ring as far away from me as possible grows stronger. Before I drop my gaze from the overweight woman’s neck, I wonder if my jeweler will trade in this ring for a pretty pearl necklace. Doubt it.

Molly sets her hands on my inner elbows and helps me stand. Silence returns. I can’t feel my legs beneath me.

“Ryan.” Molly’s serene voice can usually calm me down during my angriest moments, but my blood pressure skyrockets with each word spoken. “I planned to tell you tonight that I accepted a position in San Francisco. This week, the San Fran Chronicle is running a column alleging some terrible things that will make life difficult for the city’s mayor. They need me there to help get her campaign back on track as soon as possible. I’m leaving first thing in the morning, so I wanted to talk to you about us. “

I don’t speak. I can’t speak.

“I thought I was clear when we started this whole thing that as long as you’re traveling all over the country with your team, I can’t be tied down and stuck waiting for you. I have a life, too. A life that I put on hold for a while for us to be together—but once again, you’ve made baseball your first priority. These elections could decide so much in our nation that I can’t sit idly by and watch the wrong people take office.”

My words come out in a whisper I don’t even recognize. “Are you expecting me to buy this bullshit you’re shoveling right now?”

Anxious, the waiter tries to step between us and speak, but I’m not having it. I give a look of warning so severe he stops dead in his tracks.

I continue, a little louder. “Are you trying to tell me that I left you with no choice? You show up at my home, with no notice, after years of rejection, and I accept you without a second thought. And now that you have some opportunity to forward your career out west, you’re going to try and blame my job for affecting our relationship?”

Incredulity fuels each word as I make every effort to hold off the anger seeping into my body. To my left stands an off-white pillar, covered by several fake vines, that I may need to lean on for balance if I can’t catch my breath.

Another waiter, hairier and bolder than the first, steps in between us. “Perhaps this isn’t the best place for this.”

Looking around at the stunned faces, I try to comprehend what’s happening.

Molly is talking, but in my shame and confusion I miss the first few sentences. “—a good man, but right now I need to do this thing in California. Our country needs the right leadership, and like it or not I’m a part of the future of America. You have baseball again, so what do you need me hanging around for anyway?”

“Hanging around? Is that what we’ve been doing? Molly, I love you. Why can’t we just be enough?”

Molly appears pale, shaken, which given the circumstances isn’t a big surprise, but she also looks uncomfortable and overwhelmed. Why I should care how she feels as she pushes away is beyond me, but I still don’t understand why she’s doing this.

“You’re living in a dream world, Ryan. Neither of us is ready to give up on our lives yet. Ryan, you and I are a great couple, but I’m never going to be a housewife, content to wait all day for you to get home. I have goals, ambitions and beliefs that I have too much conviction in to just sit back and let them die, just like you.”

“And if I leave baseball to come with you?”

Molly sighs. “Ryan, I’m not asking you to quit baseball. I’m asking you to quit on us. Let me go. If we’re meant to be, it’ll happen.”

From a table nearby, a mustached gentleman exclaims “Jesus” under his breath. His wife smacks his shoulder and gives him an admonishing glance from underneath her feathery hat.

I look down at my hand to assess why it hurts. Turns out, I’m squeezing the ring I bought to bond myself to the woman I love forever. It never even crossed my mind that she wouldn’t say yes.

“Go then,” I croak.

As I exit the restaurant, I hear Molly calling my name, but I don’t turn. What else can I say?

I knew going into our relationship that Molly had issues with commitment and that I was a naïve fool to think she would never get the urge to pursue her career again on a national level. I guess I was just too happy to see the writing on the wall. I’ll never give up on Molly, but I do have to admit that, for an instant, I was scared she would ask me to walk away from baseball. Does the game still hold so much power over me that I’d hesitate to drop it for true love?

If I have to pose myself that question, it seems to be answer enough.

Chapter Twenty-One

One Hour Later

“Woodie, old pal, I’m headed your way. I need some advice. See you in a few minutes.”

Finishing the voicemail, I hang up and speed down the highway. Lucky for me, Woodie’s team faces Akron. The Rubber City stands just forty-five minutes south of Cleveland, so Woodie decided to commute from his house rather than stay in the hotel with his team. I’m glad to have an ear to bend and, if needed, a shoulder to lean on.

Lake Erie stretches beyond the horizon to my left as the city falls behind me on the right. Above me, a mass of seagulls search for crumbs. Along the dock, a few brave souls attempt to pull perch and bass from the choppy waters below.

Now that the dust has settled and the shock of rejection is wearing off, I wonder if I’m just too selfish to give Molly up again. It wasn’t so long ago Woodie was asking me for support in dealing with the same situation. Was Mrs. De Leon right, all of those years ago, when she called us a triangle of fools?

I wave to the security guard as I pull into my best friend’s private neighborhood.

As the evening sun tucks behind Woodie’s house, I recognize Molly’s car in the driveway. In a split second, all self-doubt evaporates and blinding rage takes hold. So, it appears Molly does have someone else she’s stringing along; it’s just not poor Mitch. Maybe it wasn’t a coincidence at all that Woodie decided to spend time at home. My headlights alert the silhouette I see through the large bay window of my arrival. Woodie exits his house, squinting in the glare of my headlights. Molly apparently doesn’t care enough to come out and say hello.

Before Woodie can react, I burst out of the car, holding a baseball bat in one hand and an attitude in the other. Woodie’s desire to protect Molly sends me into a frenzy. Does he not realize how ridiculous he looks, considering how many times I’ve been the one protecting Molly from him? Anger gets the best of me and I let the bat fly through the bay window.

“Ryan, what the hell are you doing?” Woodie asks, ducking behind an SUV to avoid the glass shards.

The sun continues to drop as I stand, fists clenched, in Woodie’s driveway. His vintage brick mansion, acquired after signing his last contract, makes my apartment look like a matchbook. Was I foolish to believe Molly would spend the rest of her life with me when she could claim this?

“After all the shit we’ve gone through together,” I say. “You guys are still up to these old tricks.”

Woodie’s expression of rage softens into furrowed brows of confusion. Something dawns on him as the sun sets. My friend holds up his hands in front of him, palms extended in surrender. “Ryan, slow down. Molly’s not here for me.”

“Good thing you can admit that. I guess I’m still just under her spell.”

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “I mean, Molly is sick. She needed help. She’s—”

Woodie cuts off his explanation as a creak from his front door announces Molly decided to grace us with her presence us after all. Half of her face hides in shadow and the other half betrays guilt. She has strung me along long enough, and I won’t let her play me for a fool again tonight. Moments ago, I felt guilty for walking away rather than making a scene, and here she already pushed me aside to advance on Woodie.

“Molly, how on earth can I be surprised to find you here? Our sad little situation just got a whole lot clearer for me.”

Molly says, “Ryan, I—”

I kick the driver’s side mirror on my car, and it cracks halfway off. “Shut up. I can’t listen to any more of your lies. All this time we played lovers was just to bide time until Woodie was available again, eh? That about the size of things?”

Woodie advances, but I stop him with a showing of my clenched fists.

When he makes it clear he’ll stay put, I point at Molly. “Want to hear something crazy? I was actually excited for you when you fed me that bullshit about heading west and needing to be alone. How ridiculous is that? Even as you’re telling me you want to split, I was rooting for your success.”

Woodie tries to interrupt my tirade, but I’m having none of it. “Down the road, when Woodie flies off the handle again, don’t come crawling back to me. When your mom goes out and sleeps with another married woman, don’t call me. When you realize you’re old and lonely and that you’ve pissed away your whole life messing with our heads, don’t even think about using me again, because I’m done with you.”

Yes, I came here to express myself, but I didn’t know just how much I hated these people until right now.

Woodie takes two steps toward me looking like he means to smash me into as many pieces as his shattered bay window broke into. Only two things separate us, a car and decades of friendship, though at this point, I’d put more stock in the car preventing a fight.

Woodie’s cheeks are beat red. “Ryan, you’ve got this all wrong—”

“Screw you, Woodie. I’m not here to break you guys up or even stand in the way. I just want to make it clear that I’m done with this—”

Woodie punches the roof on his own car. “No, screw you, asshole. Molly and I aren’t together. I’m done with that dream. So whatever is going on here, I swear, I have nothing to do with it.”

Molly wraps her arms around her stomach, as if our words have punched her gut and cleared her lungs of air. She’s pleading for both Woodie and I to calm down. Her flashy dress waves in the wind along with her extra curly hair. I remember her shampoo smelling different, earlier in the night. Why would she be changing all of these things if she wasn’t sneaking around with Woodie?

The answer, clear as day, hits home when I add in all of her recent late nights at the gym. “Is it Mitch again?”

Molly sobs. “It was a mistake.”

I roll my eyes and growl as I tense from head to toe. “Stop your sniveling. I can’t tell you how mad I am, because right now, all I feel is relief that I won’t ever be forced to second-guess your love anymore.”

Molly’s whole body shakes as she screams, “Ryan, you don’t understand. Things have changed.”

I shoot her an incredulous expression. “Since dinner?”

It’s scary to think just how off her rocker she must be at this point, to think a few words from her mean I’ll just crumble back into her arms.

I back toward my car. “No honey, not this time.”

Tonight I’m severing all ties, burning all bridges, and making a clean break from my “friends.” So, without a second thought, I say one of those things that you just don’t say to people you care about. “Molly, I left it all on the line just for a chance to love you, and you rewarded me by sleeping around. Maybe it’s good your dad isn’t here to see you grow into the whore you’ve become.”

There’s more I could say, but her stunned silence and the absolute hate billowing to the surface of her expression lets me know I’ve made my point.

I turn away.

Woodie calls out, “You ass, that’s over the line.”

Heavy footfalls announce his advance. My friend’s exasperation reflects off of my car’s driver side window as I open the door.

“Ryan, you dick, wait. Molly is pregnant.” Woodie snaps as I rev the engine.

My stomach launches into my throat as my breath escapes my lungs quicker than when my father punched me in the gut. I press the brake down to the floor and glance at Molly, still sobbing. She looks so fragile and all of the warning signs: the sickness, the fatigue, the emotional rollercoaster begin to make sense.

Woodie places his hands on the roof of my car and leans in. “Look man, she showed up about fifteen minutes before you got here. She was a wreck and said she needed to use my bathroom. I guess it took your fight at the restaurant to finally clue her in as to what was happening to her lately.”

I grab onto my keys, pause, and then drop my hand back to my clutch. “Well, good thing she has Mitch to take care of her.”

I peel down Woodie’s long, winding driveway. The latest gathering of the triangle of fools ends on an ugly note. Molly is crying, Woodie is screaming, and I’m headed to the bar to end my sobriety.