Three Years Later

Giggling from the third base side pulls my attention away from the conversation I’m having with my two best friends.

I see them, those red curls bouncing wildly around her head as she runs clumsily towards her Uncle Owen’s arms.

“Looks like he is going to take to the Daddy role just fine.” Chloe speaks up at my side as she rubs Minka’s growing belly.

Minka smiles, almost with tears in her eyes. “The hormones have me a little crazy right now.”

I giggle. “Don’t I get it…I remember freaking out or bursting into tears at the smallest things when I was pregnant with Nia.”

Nia. Our daughter. The light of our lives. Her name means purposeful in African, and purposeful is defined as the act of being determined or resolved. And was she ever determined.

At just three-years-old, our redheaded curly Q does whatever she puts her mind to, almost with a singular focus. She’s fearless and strong, like me, but also calculating and assessing, like Clint. And if for some reason she can’t achieve her goal, Daddy will do it for her. Because she has Clint wrapped around her finger so hard it’s not even funny.

She’s got my foxlike features with Clint’s aqua eyes, and of course my hair. If it wasn’t for the baby fat, I would swear she was as whip smart as any adult I know. Sometimes I see that devilish smirk mirrored back at me and I think, “This is what I get for raising hell all those years.”

There is no better job than taking care of our daughter, though. I discovered my passion for animals long ago, but never did I think there would be something else in this world that I would take to so passionately. When I’d first gotten pregnant, I was scared out of my mind. With Clint’s help and learning together, we’d grasped what it took to be good parents. Or at least I thought we were good parents. Sure, we were a little unconventional, and goofy more than we were serious, but our family was a happy little unit.

We’re still living in Virginia, but we bought a house a year ago. We found an old, craftsman style in a neighborhood we love. I insisted we fix the thing up ourselves, because of course I’d never settle for one of those cookie-cutter builder’s homes. Now it was home, a place we spent most every night playing with Nia on the floor of the living room. And then after she went to bed, Clint and I practiced at making more babies. Recently, he’d been begging for another. I was close to giving in.

Things at the preserve were better than ever. We’d just gotten two new tigers in, whom Nia loved to call Simba and Nala — we were on a Lion King kick these days. Even better than my work and how well the preserve was running was seeing my dad, Jackson, with his granddaughter. He was smitten, and when they were together, inseparable. Nia gazed at him as he talked, in awe of every word that came out of his mouth.

And Clint is helping kids to gain the confidence and self-esteem they need to feel comfortable and get healthy. I admire him more every single day. He’s still my best friend, my support system, and a tiger in bed. Have I mentioned that our sex life is incredible?

“Daddy!” Nia gives a huge shriek and I turn as Clint walks up from the dugout. Oh yeah, I forgot to mention his other job.

This season, Clint was asked by his former coach at Grover to be the pitchers’ coach. Having been a catcher, he knows the psyche of a pitcher, knows what will work and when. They couldn’t have picked a better man. Because not only does Clint love baseball, but he loves these players. He’s stood in their shoes, knows what it’s like to juggle a sport, school and a social life. And for my benefit, it’s damn sexy to be able to call him Coach.

“There’s my girl!” He catches Nia mid-jump and swings her around. She might love me, but Clint is the one who hangs the moon. As in awe as she is of her grandpa, her father is her knight in shining armor.

Clint walks to me, that sexy swagger igniting everything south of my waist. Another great perk about him being a coach? I get to see him in those white baseball pants again.

He fist bumps both Owen and Miles as he walks up to them with Nia in his arms. Our baseball superstars. Miles is still in New York, and fresh off a World Series win last year. I can see the massive team ring sparkling on the hand opposite his wedding ring.

Owen isn’t too sore about not being a champion this year, though. He already has a Series ring from two years ago. Plus, being awarded the Cy Young this year was a pretty good second.

He grabs the back of my neck, bringing me in for a kiss that is familiar and yet makes my knees weak. “And there is my wife.”

Oh, yeah, about that. Clint had been asking me since the fifth month of my pregnancy to marry him. I’d always refused, not wanting the fact that we were having a baby together to cloud our judgement. I knew plenty of people who were not married that were completely happy. And I knew plenty of married couples who were miserable as shit.

It was only recently, when Nia had started asking about mommy and daddy’s marriage. She’d overheard the word married at one of her playgroups, and was hooked on the notion ever since. I knew then that I had to do something about it. I didn’t want my girl growing up thinking Clint and I didn’t love each enough to put that silly label on it. It didn’t mean anything anyway, just a piece of paper. I could easily do that if it made my daughter happy.

And so I had done something about it. On our New Year’s trip to Las Vegas, as Clint, Owen and Miles sat at the blackjack table, I took Minka and Chloe to help me pick out a white dress. They’d both already had their extravagant weddings, Minka’s in a park in our hometown complete with twinkling Christmas lights overhead and vintage wooden tables filled with succulent blooms. Raquel had helped her plan absolutely everything. Chloe and Miles got married at a venue on the Hudson River, with a spectacular rooftop view of the entire city. And of course they’d performed a choreographed tango at the reception.

Me? We all knew my wedding would never be that traditional. I’d surprised Clint by asking him and the boys to meet us in one of the small ballrooms at the casino. Waiting for him was his bride, in a white mini-dress, and Elvis ready to recite vows to us.

Everyone had cried, especially Clint after he’d been so patient all of that time. We’d laughed a whole lot too. I couldn’t have thought of a better way to commit myself to the man I loved forever.

“Nice win, Coach. Who’s taking you home tonight?” I winked at him as our friends joined us.

They’d come to watch Clint’s last home game of the season. Sadly, Grover wasn’t making the championship this year. But on the upside, Clint had taken the rookie freshman pitcher and molded him into something great this year. The kid had a real shot at the majors, and buzz was already starting about how great of a coach Clint was. We all stayed after the game, after everyone was gone…I think the guys wanted to reminisce about their glory years on this field.

Owen put his arms around his wife’s shoulder and nuzzled her hair. Minka was due any day now with their first baby. She was already such a mom, I was surprised it had taken this long. I called her every single time Nia even coughed, checking with my on-call nurse to make sure my kid wasn’t sick.

“Come on babe, can we get one too?” Miles put on his puppy dog face and pouted at Chloe.

She wanted to wait, we’d had this talk the three of us girls many times before. Ballerinas only had a shelf-life of so long, and she didn’t want to take herself out of the game by getting pregnant. I respected that, she worked too hard to cut her career short. But I just hoped she’d decide to be done sooner rather than later. Having a child was the best moment of my life, and Chloe deserved that too.

She gives him a wink and kisses his cheek chastely.

“We can play catch?” Nia hugs Clint’s neck tight, silently begging with those big baby blues. Of course her father and her uncles aren’t going to say no.

“Catch? We can play a whole dang game!” Owen plucks her out of Clint’s arms and runs toward home plate.

He plops her down as I get her little wiffle ball and bat out of the bag I brought. Like after every home game, I knew she would want to play on the big boy’s diamond. Her imagination and drive are enormous.

I walk over, handing her the little bat and throwing the plastic ball to Owen while eyeing him. “Don’t hit my kid.”

I give her a fist bump as I walk away. Clint lines up behind her with Miles jogging over to first base. Nia steals her daddy’s hat, plopping it on her little head and winding up, getting into an adorable batting stance.

My best friends and I trade smirks, holding each other’s hands like the lifelines they’ve always been.

And then Clint stands, his big booming voice echoing through the empty stadium.

“Let’s play ball!”