“You’re right,” she said to Jack as she popped up from the sofa. “This is stupid. I’ll go hit up the Boy Geniuses, see if one of them will come.”
“No.” He must have spoken a little too vehemently because all eyes swung to him. It was just that he was imagining the lust-addled programmers falling all over themselves when she arrived seeking company. They would probably devise some sort of mock medieval tournament to decide who got the honor of taking her to the game. “I can’t spare any of them right now,” he lied. “We’ve got a huge project under way.”
“So that’s why I just saw Spencer in the kitchen building a Lego Death Star?” Cassie teased.
Caught out, Dax sighed. “I’ll go. Just give me a sec to go back to the office and close down.”
“Because you’re not needed for this huge project,” Cassie said.
He shot her an irritated look. She was usually so good-natured. Why was she busting his ass today?
Amy leaped to her feet, saving him from having to respond to Cassie’s barb. “Okay! But hurry. I don’t want to miss the national anthem.”
…
“So what’s with the national anthem?” Dax asked an hour later, when they slid into their seats just in time for the opening strains of O Canada.
Amy shushed him and paid attention as a middle school choir sang. Oh, it got her every time, the start of a ball game. The anthem, the anticipation, the sense that anything was possible—even if the Jays were playing the dreaded Yankees and would almost certainly get their asses handed to them.
After both the Canadian and American anthems were over and they’d sat down, she leaned over and explained. “I just like the ceremony of it all. Arriving in time for the anthem is part of my routine. It’s like how some people can’t stand to miss the previews in movies. I feel like the game really starts when everyone shuts up, puts down their phones, and pays attention. That hardly ever happens in the world.”
Dax’s stomach growled loud enough that she could hear it. “And does your routine include snacks?”
“Yes! That’s why I always buy aisle seats. These aren’t the greatest because I only bought them this morning, but aisle seats are essential for maximum snack access.”
“Well, I haven’t been to a baseball game since I was a kid, and we always sat way up in the five-hundred-level nosebleed seats. So I have to say, your ‘not the greatest’ seats are kind of impressing me.” He stood. “You want anything?”
“I don’t go for my first snack until the bottom of the second.”
“Is that a rule?”
It did sound kind of stupid when she thought about it.
When she didn’t answer, he went on. “Yes. I see. Transmitted from on high and carved into stone tablets.” He adopted a booming tone that was a parody of seriousness. “Thou shalt consume no hot dogs before the second inning.”
“Fries. I’ll have fries.” Leave it to Dax to upend her routines. “But not from the regular concession stands. The ones from Quaker Steak & Lube. It’s in section 143. With mayo on the side.”
“Fries from Quaker Steak & Lube with mayo on the side. He grinned and bowed. “Yes, my lady.”
Then he was gone, and she was left a little breathless. The pageant spread out before her as the Jays took the field was familiar, comforting, but she also sort of felt like she was watching the scene through glasses that amped everything up. The colors seemed hyper saturated, the shouts from the crowd volleyed with more vehemence than usual, the organ was extra jangly, evoking a manic circus. It was an unsettling but not necessarily unpleasant sensation, like she was Dorothy waking up in Technicolor Oz.
Something was happening. It wasn’t just the baseball game. Since the non-wedding, everything was just…more. The cauterizing blade of heartbreak, yes, but also everything else. Food tasted amazing, lights seemed bright. The sharp ping of loneliness as she lay on Cassie’s bed contrasted with the beautiful little apartment that sheltered her. She sometimes felt like she was a pendulum, careering between extremes. There was no middle ground, just agonizing beauty, giddy despair.
But she liked it. It wasn’t sustainable. She was self-aware enough to recognize this as a transitional period. But for now, she welcomed every color, sound, emotion, experience. Because this intensity, this immersion—this was new. This was not something she was used to feeling. And there was some comfort there. Her heartbreak was real, but she was already beginning to see that she would be okay. Because nothing had ever been like this when Mason was around. Everything had been fine. Acceptable. Enjoyable, even. A cheer arose from the crowd and a glance at the field showed the Jays’ first batter had hit a home run at the bottom of the first. She looked down at the impossible emerald green of the Astroturf. There had never been colors like that. Though she remained sitting while everyone around her jumped to their feet, she felt the thrill. No one had been doing the wave when she was with Mason.