Emily's Reasons Why Not (20 page)

At lunch with Reese we talk and laugh and he scratches me. I remember all the reasons why this man had touched my heart.

Things I like about Reese: (1) He pulls out my chair. (2) He asks me what I am having and then orders for me. (3) He puts his fries on my plate before I have to ask for any. (4) He laughs at my jokes. (5) He asks me about my family, job, Grace, and Reilly. (6) He remembers that I must have dessert. (7) He tells me he likes the way I smell. (8) He never looks at other women. (9) He’s here. (10) He’s trying.

We leave the restaurant, and dark clouds spark with touches of lightning. By the time we are walking to the Rover it begins to pour and we stand for a second under the awning wondering if we should make a break for it. “Wouldn’t it be great if we got a rain day? Just one day to rest, do something other than go to the field,” he says, looking at the clouds.

“Wow, for someone who is living the American dream, that almost sounds like a complaint.” I reach out and touch the wet drops with my upturned palm.

Crash! Lightning strikes somewhere in the distance and I pull my hand back.

“One, two, three …” he counts. The thunder
RUMBLES
on top of us. “Getting closer.”

Part of the awning drips on my shoulder and he pulls me into him. “No complaints here,” he says, looking down at me. “I love the game,” he continues. “You know that. But it’s my job. My job is to go out there one hundred and eighty-seven days a year, not counting spring training, and give it all I have, which is the only way you can respect it or earn its respect.”

I smile at him. He looks ten years old, talking about the love of his life, baseball.

“It would just be nice if every once in a while we’d get a rain day, and I could do what I want at the spur of the moment.”

“Like what? What would you do, Mr. Callahan?”

“I’d go to the beach or play golf, or go to the zoo, maybe …” He looks down at my face, which is mesmerized by his entire being.

“Or just lay in bed with you in my arms all day and watch movies.” And he kisses me.

RIP … the awning tears and spills water onto us. We make a break for the Land Rover.

We shake water off of our clothes in the truck. He kisses
me again, only this time it feels like forever. When he starts the engine of my truck, I turn on my favorite Alana Davis CD and look at him. “The zoo, huh? We’ll have to go there sometime.”

“How about next week? They have a great one in Chicago.”

And just like on the highlights, he hit it out of the park.

GRACE, REILLY, AND
I make our way down to the “premiere level” of Dodger Stadium, heading toward the visitors’ dugout with our hot dogs, popcorn, and beer.

I stop and check out the tickets as Reilly checks out the players.

“Wow, they have nice asses.” She eyes Shawn Green, who is up to bat for the Dodgers. “Which one is he?” Grace questions, sitting and passing me my beer.

“That one. Number twenty-six. There, on first base,” I point.

“Cute,” Grace says. “Although I find it ironic that we know everything about him and we have yet to meet him. Don’t you find that odd, Reilly?”

“He’s really cute!” Reilly says, nudging me. Grace eyes her as if they are planning some type of intervention. Reilly’s tone changes. “Yeah, odd Emily.”

I ignore them both, as I refuse to turn this into another session with Dr. D.

Ahhh, at a baseball game with my girls, watching the love
of my life play first base. The inning finishes and he runs to the dugout, pauses for a second, and looks in the stands. He smiles right at me and gives me a tilt of his head. He stands there long enough to make sure I see him. I give him a little smile and he goes into the dugout!

Everyone within five aisles of the dugout turns and looks at me. Grace and Reilly die! My heart seriously feels like it is going to explode.

“Okay, that was smooth, very smooth,” Reilly says.

“Too smooth.” Grace shoots Reilly the look.

I set down my beer. “Okay, say it. Just get it over with. Both of you.”

“Say what?” Grace puts on her therapist voice.

“That you think this is a mistake. That you think he’ll break my heart. That he has a girl in every city. That he’ll constantly be leaving me. That I’ll be second to baseball. That he’ll one day have to quit and go through some midlife crisis at thirty-five and date the beer-cart girl at the golf course.”

They both sit dumbfounded, staring at me.

“Well, yeah, that pretty much sums it up,” Grace nods.

“Very succinct,” Reilly adds, looking at me, almost impressed. “Oh, but wait, you forgot that you will have wasted another two years, dropping you off past your mid-thirties, and you will be single again.”

“Look, I got it. Okay, obviously it’s already in my mind. It’s all there. I am a little scared, but I can’t be afraid to love him again. I can’t, and if I don’t at least try, how will I know?”

“We just love you and want you to be happy,” Grace says.

“And if he breaks your heart, AAAGAAIINN, we’re here for you.” Reilly holds up her beer. “To baseball, Em’s favorite new pastime.” We all tap plastic Dodger cups together.

The girls dropped me at Reese’s hotel, where I had conveniently left my truck. I wait outside near the valet stand, watching the team bus pull up to the Ritz-Carlton. Reese walks off and heads into the hotel without seeing me. I give him a slight whistle and he turns, grins, and heads my way. “You wanna get a beer?” he says.

“No. I just wanted to say thanks for the tickets.” I nod at the valet, who runs to get my truck.

“You’re going? Why? C’mon, have a beer with me.”

I shake my head with an “I don’t think so” look as the Rover rounds the driveway.

“I just really wanted to say thanks and well, it was great seeing you.” The valet holds open the driver’s-side door as Reese walks around to tip him for me, but then he gets in. I stand dumbfounded for a minute. The valet rushes around the front of the truck and opens the passenger-side door, but not before giving me a wink. I sigh and climb into the truck.

“Let’s go home,” he says.

That night in my bed Reese and I make sweet, sweet love. He treats me like I am a Dairy Queen soft-serve on a hot summer day. “You know,” he says after leaving me trembling, “I’m not going anywhere, promise.” With the candlelight dancing off my red velvet drapes and Sam asleep on his cozy blanket on the floor, life seems perfect lying in Reese’s arms.

We kiss and kiss and kiss, and you know what? I believe in him, in me, and in us. Everything just falls into place like they say it does when you meet the right guy. And for the first time I’m not scared of him hurting me.

He leaves on that Thursday morning for Chicago and then it was the All-Star break and he was going home to Arizona. We’re going home to Arizona.

The Western stars are aligned and we can actually spend some quality down time watching the purple, yellow, and pink sunsets over the blooming floor of the desert. I couldn’t wait to be in his house. I couldn’t wait for him to meet my family. I feel like I am bursting from every corner.

We rent a car at the airport and arrive around 6:00
P.M.
at his house, which is sweet and not too big, yet big enough. It’s decorated nicely, yet could use a woman’s touch. That night we head to Albertson’s and push a grocery cart together. I know it sounds small, but it is the small things that I have been longing for in my life. Each aisle is a new discovery about one another.

He likes Frosted Mini-Wheats, I like Frosted Mini-Wheats. He likes Almond Joys, I like Almond Joys. I like skim milk, he likes 2 percent. Okay, you can’t win them all. But actually doing something this ritualistic, coming home, putting the food away, is a dream come true. Reese is BBQing his “famous” pork chops and I am actually making my scrumptious apple pie. I feel, well, I don’t know. Domestic.

After dinner we lay in his oversized king bed watching
Forrest Gump
. He looks at me and does his best Gump impression.

“Emily and I are like peeeas and carrooots. She’s my best friend. She’s my only friend.” My heart officially opened.

We made love that night with his French doors open and a warm summer breeze blowing in after a thunderous monsoon. It smelled like him and me and the desert after the rain, which is beautiful and completely reminiscent of home for me.

7:45
A.M
. and Reese heads to the batting cages before it gets too hot to hit a few. He kisses me as I roll over in a sleepy haze and says he’ll be back at 9:00
A.M
. with breakfast and coffee.

I hear the door slam, jump up, and look at my tired face in the mirror. MUST FIX. I jump in the shower, shave, loofah, and slather. Blow-dry, light makeup, new jammies, and back into bed. Ah, must appear to be perfect woman for perfect man. I look at the phone, wanting to call Dr. D. to prove my point, that Reese isn’t a complete dick, that maybe it can work. But will it? Okay, I also want to get a little perspective and may have been a little harsh on him in my last session. Why am I compelled to call Dr. D.?

I dial. Big mistake. I begin to explain my revelation of the smell of the desert and shopping for Frosted Mini-Wheats, but I am subtly reminded by Dr. D. of Reese’s failures in the past. Failure to commit. Failure to open his heart, other than to baseball. Failure to love me more than himself. He tells me to go back to easy-breezy girl. Throw on the brakes. Keep my heart in check. And right when I want to hang up on
him, Dr. D.’s tone changes to almost, well, warm …and he finishes with, “Just give it just a little more time to let him prove that he is worthy of someone as special as you, Emily.”

I hang up thoroughly confused. Luckily, I am saved. Reese is back with Starbucks and Krispy Kremes in hand …

Damn Dr. D. What does he know, other than the fact that I am special? Hmmm. But the damage of Dr. D.’s words is done. That night after going to dinner at Jillys and shooting pool, Reese and I lay in bed watching the All-Star game. He’s still slightly annoyed that he wasn’t picked, but he hasn’t had the best season due to a shoulder injury in spring training. As I lay there listening to the perils of baseball, I get to thinking,
Maybe Dr. D. was right. I’m not listening to my own reasons. Maybe I need to slow down. Maybe for once in my life I need to breathe. To be just slightly more objective, protective, and just a little less willing
.

So I did. And like a wash of bravery, I remember how I felt when I left Reese’s apartment in San Diego a year and half ago. It didn’t make me mad at him. It didn’t make me bitter. It just gave me the slightest inner edge. A freakin’ miracle. For the first time in my life I put it all in perspective and pulled the emergency brake. I
was
learning.

But Reese knew. He sensed the smallest glimmer of protection. Just the slightest hint of guardedness, as if somehow I had moved the outfield wall just out of home run reach … he was going to have NO part of this. We lay there kissing.

“What’s wrong with you?” he says as he delicately brushes the hair off my face.

I roll off of him and lay to the side.

“Nothing, everything is good, really good.”

“I know you and something’s up.”

Reason #4
:
Never listen to a man who says he “knows you” when he doesn’t. He knows what he wants to know
.

I want to believe he can see into my soul, but you know what, he can’t. He has no idea of the tears I have shed. The days spent wanting to call. The hours spent in therapy trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with me.

“I think we should talk,” Reese says with all seriousness in his eyes.

See, I knew it was coming the … “talk,” which is never a good talk …particularly when the man initiates the talk.

“What is it that you want from this?” Reese says, not giving away any idea of what my answer should be.

“I don’t know. I am just taking it one day at a time. Easy-breezy.”

“That’s not going to work for us,” he says, propping up on his elbows and flipping off the game.

NOTE: He turned OFF the game.

“If there is anything I learned in the last year, it is that we need to give it our all. I mean, I am not quite sure where it will take us and I’m not making any promises, but I know I don’t want to be with anyone but you and I don’t want to worry that you are back in L.A. with anyone else. I just think we need to be committed to trying this.”

Did he just say “committed”?

The man whom I longed to commit to. The man who juggles the hearts of five women in five different states. Can he change? Has he changed? All questions to save for therapy.

“What’s changed, Reese? I mean, I am okay with this now, but how do I know that in a couple of months when the honeymoon period is over you won’t be gone?”

It’s an honest question.

“I’ve changed. I wasn’t ready. I am now. I know what I want, and it’s you.” He kisses me gently.

“There are no other women right now that I need to know about? No one you’ve been dating, chitchatting with,
e-mailing?
‘Cause let’s just talk about it now,” I say as if opening Pandora’s box.

“No one. There’s no one but you.”

I am not sure at what point I believed him. But I did. He had so much honesty, sincerity, goodness.

“Trickery,” Grace says, packing boxes in my kitchen. “It’s Trickery 101.” Grace, Reilly, and I wrap my dishes in newspaper as Josh comes through the door with two bottles of champagne. “Where’s the new homeowner? Congrats on the new beach casa, Kitten.” He hugs me.

“Thanks. Remind me of that when I am taking two Xanax a night to stop the anxiety of being a small-business owner with a mortgage. Jesus, renting and working for ‘the man’ was so much less worry.”

“But so much less money and fun,” he says, popping the cork. “So what were you dollies chatting about?”

“Can a leopard change his spots?” Reilly says, taking a glass of champagne and lighting a cigarette.

“Whose kitty are we talking about?”

“Reese Callahan. AKA RC Cola … not even Coke or Pepsi, but RC imitation Cola …” Grace says.