The Sweetest Game

I know, I know, it was sort of a chicken-shit move, but the reality was that co-workers didn’t let people leave easily. They had a habit of creating chaos and parties and celebrations that never ended. It was all with good intentions, but I didn’t have time for that. I needed to get our belongings packed and moved out to Los Angeles as soon as possible. Jack and I needed a new home, and it was my job to find us one. Because that was what the wife of a major league baseball player did. She took care of her man.



As I walked up the street toward the subway station, I thought I’d be more emotional. I actually braced myself for the tears and soul ache that never came. I’d fought so hard with Jack about having my own career, and had taken such a strong stand when it came to what I dreamed and wanted. But right now, all I truly wanted was to be home with my husband. I knew I told Jack exactly that the other night, but that was before I’d quit, before I’d actually resigned from my job.



Passion was a fickle thing. It could make you think you’d die for something one minute, then force you to realize you’d be just fine without it the next. A year and a half ago, I would have sworn on my life that I couldn’t survive a single moment if I didn’t have my career. Take away photography, and I assumed my soul would wither and die on the spot, leaving nothing but a memory of what once was.



But life had a way of changing your priorities. Or maybe it was me that had changed, because I’d never felt more full of life than I did right now. And none of it had to do with my career.



It was in this moment of truth, as I stood in a darkening subway station surrounded by strangers and lonely musicians, when I realized that my home was wherever Jack was. And he was no longer in New York, so I no longer belonged here. It was a simple truth, yet utterly profound in its message. I was meant to land wherever he settled, like the ocean washing seashells onto the shore. Jack was the shell, in constant motion and movement, being tossed around from place to place by the ebb and flow of something more powerful than he. And I was the sand, gripping and holding on to him, comforting his tumble with each push and pull of the tide, yet always constant.



When I walked into the waiting subway car, I had a smile plastered on my face. This understanding … this awakening … filled me with more joy than I’d ever considered possible. The best part was the acute awareness I had been given. It was like a gift. My heart wanted to burst with the sheer happiness I felt in this moment.



Before, I’d honestly never thought that following Jack’s career would ever feel okay to me. I had figured that I would always be fighting to keep hold of something that I felt defined me in ways that were separate from Jack. But the thing was, Jack was a part of me, and choosing to keep our family together was an okay priority for me to have.



Not only was I the wife of a major league baseball player, but I was the wife of Jack Fucking Carter. And I wanted to take care of my man, the same way he chose to take care of me. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind that Jack would do anything for me if I asked him to. The thing was, I had nothing I wanted to ask. Not anymore.



My fears in our relationship had been settled long ago. The point I tried to prove to him, to myself, had been proven. It wasn’t giving up on my dreams to be there and support Jack. Somewhere along the line in our relationship, Jack and his life had become a part of my dreams too. Being with him fulfilled me in ways I’d only fought against before.



The simple truth was that it hurt a lot more to be away from Jack than it did to walk away from work. No one was more surprised by this revelation than me.



About an hour after I arrived home, the doorman called to let me know the packing boxes I’d ordered had arrived. Thankfully, he hauled them up for me and brought them in, stacking them higher than my kitchen table.



“Do you need packing tape, Mrs. Carter?”



I looked around and tapped the side of my head. “Probably. Do you have any I can borrow?”



He smiled, and his bushy eyebrows squished together like a giant gray caterpillar. “We have plenty. I’ll be right back.”



“Thank you, Thomas! Just walk back in,” I yelled.



Jack had been right. Trying to do this all alone royally sucked. I looked around at all the things we’d acquired over the years, and realized there was no way I could do this alone, and in a short time frame.



How did the other wives do this, especially when they had kids? They had to have hired help, right? An idea forming, I dialed Trina’s number and waited.



Thomas popped his head back in, dropped two tape guns on the table, and waved before letting himself back out. I mouthed “thank you” to him as Trina answered.



“I cannot believe you’re leaving me,” she said without preamble, her accented voice startling me as she dove right in without saying hello.



I sighed. “I know. I’m trying not to think about it.” Leaving Trina and Matteo was going to be hard. Maybe I could convince them to move with us? After all, we could use a driver in LA. As wonderful as it would be for us, I shook away the absurd idea.



“So, what’s the matter? I know you’re not just calling to chat this chubby girl’s ear off.”



“Trina, you’re seven months pregnant! You’re not chubby! You can’t even tell you’re pregnant from behind. Which, by the way, is why girls hate you.”



“Girls hate me?” she scoffed, horrified at the very idea.



“I mean. If they did. That would be why,” I said with a laugh.



“So, what’s up, lovie?”



“When I move, can I call you anytime I want so you’ll talk to me? You can read me the phone book, I don’t care. I am going to miss hearing your voice so much.”



Trina’s British accent was absolutely precious; I might have developed a girl crush on her for that alone. Plus, the words she used were adorable. Everything was “brilliant” or “lovely;” when she was really sad or upset, she was “gutted;” and I was still trying to figure out what she meant by “gobsmacked.” I thought it meant “shocked,” but I’d never been sure.



“Only until the baby comes and then I’ll probably put a hit on you if you wake me,” she said with a giggle.



“Deal. So, the real reason I’m calling is because I don’t know how I’m supposed to pack up this entire apartment by myself. I’m literally freaking out here, because there’s no way I can do this alone. How do the other wives do it? What do people do? Help me!”



“You must be joking. Cassie, tell me you aren’t sitting at home surrounded by a bunch of empty boxes wondering where to start?”



Turning my head slowly, I scanned our beautifully decorated apartment, looking at everything with a newly critical eye. Suddenly everything I’d carefully purchased and placed there with so much love looked like the bane of my existence. “Actually, I’m staring at a stack of boxes that still need to be built. Then I can surround myself with them and wonder where to start.”



She tsk-tsked me before adding, “That will take you months to do by yourself. You have to hire movers, luv. They’ll come pack your things and then drive them across the country for you. You just tell them where to deliver it all.”



I sat up straight, excited at the very thought. “They’ll pack for me? Shut the front door.”



“Shut the front door? I’m going to remember that one,” she teased. “But yes. You should call your contact in the Mets office and ask if they have anyone they recommend. They really should help you with this, Cassie, but I know that they sometimes won’t. If you hit a dead end with them, get the number for your contact person in Anaheim and beg them for help. One of the goddamn teams should help the poor wife who gets stuck doing all the shit work.”



I nodded, even though she couldn’t see me. “I know, right? It’s really insane to me that Jack gets traded while he’s on the road. He can’t come home. He has to leave with whatever he has packed, and then I’m supposed to handle moving our entire house across the country because he still has eight more weeks of baseball to play.”



“That was one of the things that always killed me with Kyle. I know that I was on the road a lot, but I didn’t have to take every modeling shoot that came my way. But those guys,” she paused, as if disappointed somehow. “They don’t get any time off for anything. Kyle used to tell me how sad the players on the team would get who were dads, you know?”



Huh? “No, I don’t know. Tell me.”



“Oh, just that the dads on the team were always really sad. He said they felt like absentee fathers all the time because of everything they missed. You know, like birthdays and holidays, and all the things that are important to little kids they always miss out on.”



“Yeah, I’ve heard a few of the wives say things like that before. It’s a brutal business. You have to really love the sport to want to play it that bad.”



My eyes landed on a mason jar filled with quarters sitting on a shelf. I stared at it while Trina’s voice filtered into my head, as my attention wandered slightly.



“And you have to really love the man playing it to want to stay with them through it all,” she offered, giving me a compliment.



“It’s either love or all the wives are crazy. Probably the latter.”



“Probably.” She yawned, which forced me to yawn in response. “Sorry. I’m exhausted. This last trimester is kicking my ass. I’m tired all the time.”



“You go. Thank you for the advice. I’ll figure out what I need to do tomorrow. I’m really tired too. I’ll blame you.”



“Sympathy tiredness?”



“Yeah! I’m tired for you and your baby through the phone,” I teased.



“Love you,” she said, then yawned again.



“You too. Night.”



Once you’re no longer a part of an organization, you cease being their responsibility, or their problem. The Mets offered me nothing in the form of help or suggestions, and when I finally got off the phone with my contact there, I wanted to cry. The fact that I’d left a message for her that morning, then sat around all day waiting for a response and she didn’t return my call until late that evening, probably had a lot to do with it.



I was so emotional lately, everything had me on edge. Of course, I blamed my overly delicate nature on Jack being gone all the time. But when a freaking tissue commercial caused me to burst into tears, I was convinced I’d gone crazy.



My cell phone rang and Jack’s dimpled grin flashed across my screen. “Hello,” I whined, wiping my nose with the back of my hand.



“Cassie? Are you crying? Why are you crying?” Jack’s warm tone instantly turned protective.



“Nothing, babe. It’s just this stupid commercial where this guy comes home from the war and sees his family and they don’t know he’s coming and he surprises them—” I cut off, tears falling in full force again.



“You’re crying because of a commercial? Did I hear you right?”



I sniffed. “Shut up, Jack. I’m crying because I’m emotional. You’re not here and I miss you so much. Our apartment is huge and we have a lot of shit and no one is helping me and all I want to do is be with you. But at this rate, I’ll be here until next season.”