Seventh Inning Stretch

The divorce papers sat on the kitchen counter, right next to the takeout containers neither of us had bothered to throw away. Emma's iPhone was there too—she'd forgotten it in her haste to leave, or maybe she'd left it on purpose. Another way to keep talking.

I'd been checking it for three days.

The notifications piled up: work emails, Instagram likes, messages from friends asking if she was okay. And then there were the ones from him. The baseball coach from our daughter's summer league. Fifty-two messages over three weeks.

*Can't stop thinking about you.*

*The way you laughed at the game Saturday.*

*I'll leave my wife if you leave him.*

I turned off the phone and pushed it across the counter. My hands were shaking.

Outside, the neighborhood Sunday baseball game was starting up at the park down the street. The crack of a bat, distant cheers, someone shouting "play ball!" We used to take Sarah there every weekend. Emma would pack snacks and sunscreen. I'd explain the rules, point out the players' stances, teach her to keep score on her phone.

Now Sarah was with Emma's sister for the weekend. They'd gone to the shore. I'd been invited but declined. Too soon. Too raw.

A calico cat jumped onto the windowsill—Emma's cat, technically, though she'd left her behind when she moved into the apartment. Miso stared at me with those judging yellow eyes, then meowed like she knew exactly what kind of pathetic creature I'd become.

"You too?" I said aloud. "Everyone leaves."

She jumped down and wound between my legs, purring anyway.

The iPhone buzzed. A message from Emma: *Can I come by for my phone?*

I typed back: *Come at 7.*

Then I walked to the closet and dug out the old baseball bat from my college days. The wood was smooth, warped from years of use. I carried it to the backyard and took a stance like I was twenty again, imagining pitches that weren't there. Swing. Miss. Swing. Connect with nothing but air.

My phone buzzed again. Emma: *Should I bring dinner?*

I stared at the message until the screen went dark. Then I went inside, put the bat away, and set two places at the kitchen table.

Miso followed, meowing like she understood everything and nothing at all.

Some games go into extra innings. Some things, you keep swinging anyway.