"Oh, I do! I know there are two teams and nine innings. Three at bats and three strikes per batter. There's a pitcher and a hitter and some guys in the outfield. A home run means you round all four bases in one hit and a grand slam means you did it when the bases were loaded. And I know the games are approximately fourteen hours long." Longer when you're visualizing getting to fourth base with the guy sitting next to you.
"What made you go to a Red Sox game while you were in Boston?"
"I'm a curious kitten, Kyle. I like to see things I haven't seen before. Besides, I'd never been to Fenway and it's a bucket-list kind of stadium, right? And now that you've returned my camera I can go ahead and add Fenway to my blog post about Boston."
"Should we have done something else tonight?"
"No! This is great," I assure him before taking a bite of my hot dog. "I've never been to this stadium before either. If this wasn't a date I'd have brought my camera and taken pictures and turned it into a blog post. Plus, who doesn't love hot dogs?"
"You little romantic," he teases, bumping his knee into mine. "I could arrange a tour for you, if you wanted. You could get some behind-the-scenes pictures."
"Do you know a guy?" I raise an eyebrow. He's probably got a cousin who owns the Phillies.
"I might." He grins, like he's amused by me.
"That would be nice, thank you."
"You're welcome."
We sit in silence for a bit, watching the game and sipping on our Italian ices. I got cherry. Kyle got cantaloupe, which I totally gave him shit for, except I tried it and it was really good, so then I shut up.
I spot a giant KINGS logo next to the scoreboard. Right there with Toyota and Budweiser.
Yeah, he knows someone all right. No wonder we have such good seats—his company is a corporate sponsor of some kind.
"Hey, did you know there's a baby store right next to your condo?"
"You mean I could have just added a baby to the shopping list I give Mrs Lascola instead of going through all the trouble of knocking you up?"
"Ha ha." I elbow him in the arm. "It's literally right next door to your building. I noticed it today on my way back from Rittenhouse Square."
"Did you buy anything?"
"No." I shake my head. "It's kinda early for that, don't you think?"
"I wouldn't really know."
"Well, it seems early. They did have a blanket I was tempted to buy, but the sample was pink and we don't know yet if it's a boy or a girl and a custom order felt like a real commitment, you know?" Instead of waiting for him to comment I just keep on blabbing. "It had a rocket ship and a cat wearing a space helmet and I thought about just buying the one they had and giving it to Tubbs if we have a boy but then I wasn't sure what color Tubbs preferred so I didn't get it." Wow, that was way too detailed an answer. And crazy.
"That was nice of you to think of Tubbs," Kyle says after a long moment.
Yeah, he thinks I'm nuts.
13
Daisy
The next day my conference starts. Kyle drops me off at the convention center on his way to the office, but I only have about ten minutes of feeling like I'm on my own because when I register I'm handed a tote bag with a giant KINGS emblem on the side and when I look up I see an oversized banner identifying them as a sponsor of this event.
Family. Value. Convenience. Expect nothing less.
Staring at this banner I wonder if it's hard, living up to this kind of expectation? Kyle is still insistent that getting married is the right thing to do. I asked him yesterday if he was going to expect me to hide the baby until we'd been married for nine months and then pretend I had a fifteen-pound, three-month-old newborn. He told me to stop being ridiculous.
Anyway. I haven't exactly said yes, but I think I'm going to. I know it's nearly the definition of insane, but I'd be lying if I said Kyle's desire to lock this down wasn't a turn-on. He's so fucking confident that this is the best course of action. It might be a disaster, but the confidence is hot nonetheless. He said I'm overthinking it and to just think of it like an exclusive relationship.
Exclusivity with legal ties and contracts.
The conference is great. I attend a panel on Instagram filters and fine, I know it sounds silly, but I enjoyed it. The panel I'm presenting on is tomorrow afternoon and it's about website engagement. I'm not nervous—my years spent working for Sutton Travel leading tours have long rid me of any fear of public speaking. I'm on my way to meet my co-panelists when I bump into my arch nemesis.
Yeah, I didn't realize I had one before now either.
She bumps into me. Literally.
"Excuse me." I step out of the way, an apology on my lips even though it's not my fault. Her head is down, buried in her phone, and she's the one not watching where she's going. Then I see who it is. Margo. The list troll who wouldn't let me into the retirement gala shindig.
She looks up, eyes narrowing in open contempt when she realizes that she's bumped into me. "Oh, look, it's Kyle's fiancée no one's ever heard of."
I spy with my little eye a giant bitch.
"Good to see you again, Margo." I smile politely because I'm a woman and that's what we do. I fiddle with the lanyard I'm wearing, the one that identifies me as a social media influencer and event speaker. I use my left hand and hope that I'll somehow blind her with the reflection of the engagement ring on my finger. Because I'm a woman and we do that, too. "I'll tell Kyle you said hello." Margo's lanyard identifies her as a corporate sponsor, representing KINGS. Of course.
She doesn't miss the ring. I catch the brief flash of shock on her face before she schools her features and does her best to annihilate me with her words. "Oh, good. I'm glad he was able to recycle the ring."
Pow.
At least a dozen thoughts race through my mind all at the same time.
They were engaged.
She's lying.
He slept with her.
I knew that.
I knew that.
I knew that!
There's no way this was her ring. The mathematical chances of me describing the exact ring that Kyle had previously purchased for another woman have to be very very small. Yay for math!
I don't like her.
I really don't like her.
I wonder what Kyle saw in her?
I wonder if she's some kind of sex genie with mad skills in bed? Actually, no, strike that. I've got mad skills in bed. I don't care about her skills in bed.
I bet she doesn't swallow.
Oh, my God, stop thinking about this troll having sex with your boyfriend! No, not your boyfriend. Your baby daddy, fiancé, and possible future husband.
I wonder if my unplanned pregnancy has interrupted something between them? If he still wants her?
Well. Honestly, I'm doing him a favor because Margo is horrible. I know I've spent all of a combined ten minutes with her, but sometimes that's all it takes for someone to show you what a troll they are.
I must not school my features as quickly as she did because she snorts and smirks, clearly gleeful at having the perceived upper hand. My stupid expressive face has always gotten me in trouble.