I have to tell Alyssa and Dez about this. I open our text chain.
Molly: Holy. Fucking. Shit.
Alyssa: What????
Molly: I’m at a dodgers game and I just ran into seth rubenstein!
Molly: He spilled beer all over me and I made him buy me $400 worth of sweatshirts?
Dezzie: What
Molly: IDK!!!!! I panicked
Alyssa: Ok, first of all, what is Seth doing at a Dodgers game?
Molly: They’re playing the cubs
Molly: And get this: he’s here with marian hart, who is dating JAVIER RUIZ
Dezzie: Wait. The Javier Ruiz who used to be married to that supermodel?
Molly: Precisely that javier ruiz!!!!
Alyssa: What is happening?!?!
Alyssa: Chaos in the universe!
Molly: I have to go clean beer out of my cleavage
Alyssa: Be nice to Seth
Dezzie: But not *too* nice, Molly
I shove my phone back into my regulation transparent plastic bag before I can disclose that I already told Seth I like him.
Obviously, when you discontinue communication with someone after they tell you they have a crush on you, the courteous thing to do is stay out of their orbit. You can’t reject someone and then jet pack around in their airspace, skywriting compliments with your exhaust.
Besides, there were one trillion other things I could have said when Seth asked why I would want to see Marian. Like “I don’t want to seem rude.” Like “I want her to set me up with a millionaire baseball player.” Like “You’re right, I don’t like Marian; never mind, good luck with the mustard stain.”
There must be something seriously wrong with me.
The problem is I really do like him. When I saw him my stomach did a flip-flop as acrobatic as the one performed by his pretzel.
I go to the bathroom, wet some paper towels to sponge off the beer warming in my belly button, and put on my new T-shirt. I smile at my reflection in the mirror. I love dressing up in team-centric apparel. I truly am a fan.
My mom grew up watching baseball with my grandpa, and our area of Florida is home to several MLB teams’ spring training grounds. Tickets are dirt cheap. After my dad left, we would go whenever we had the chance, sneak in a bag of microwave popcorn, buy a huge Coke to share, and spend hours losing ourselves in the rhythm of the game.
To this day, I love that feeling. The energy of the crowd is infectious, as reliable a burst of serotonin as an extra half-dose of Lexapro. I delight in the fans singing along to the songs that they play at top volume—“We Will Rock You,” “Seven Nation Army,” “Sweet Caroline.” Plus, when the Dodgers win, there are fireworks all throughout Echo Park.
I go back to find Emily and Gloria. Our seats are bad—we decided to come last-minute, and the nosebleed section was all that was left. They are squinting at the field, trying to make out what’s happening.
“You look cute,” Emily says.
I toss her a baseball cap. “Courtesy of Mr. Rubenstein.”
“Ahem,” Gloria says. “What do I get?”
I dig in the bag. “Want a sweatshirt?”
She narrows her eyes at me. “It’s one hundred degrees.”
I shrug. “But it’s a dry heat. And it’s free.”
She takes the hoodie.
“So, guess who Seth’s here with,” I say.
“Who?” Gloria asks.
“Marian Hart! She got tickets because she’s dating Javier Ruiz.”
Emily looks at me blankly, but Gloria leans in closer.
“The guy from the Cubs?” she asks.
“Uh-huh!”
“Are you making this up?” Emily asks.
