The Last Inning

The cat watched from the windowsill, her yellow eyes tracking the storm gathering outside. Maya pressed her forehead against the cool glass, feeling the humidity make the hair at her temples curl frantically—much like her thoughts.

"You're going to miss it," David said from behind her, his voice tight. "The game's starting."

Maya turned slowly. David sat on their beige sofa, remote in hand, the baseball pre-game show flickering across his face. They'd met at a Dodgers game seven years ago. She'd been wearing a cap to hide her disastrous post-breakup hair. He'd offered her his spare when hers blew into the stands below.

Tonight, everything felt different.

"I need to tell you something," she said. Her heart hammered against her ribs. "About last night."

David's thumb froze over the volume button. He didn't look at her. "The consultant from Chicago?"

"Yes."

"Nothing happened."

"Something ALMOST happened." Maya's voice cracked. "And the worse part is, I wanted it to."

The cat jumped from the sill, landing silently on the carpet, and wound between Maya's legs—a traitorous little comfort-seeking missile.

Lightning split the sky outside, illuminating David's face in stark relief. For a moment, he looked exactly like the man she'd fallen in love with: tired but kind, hurt but trying.

"You always said baseball was a game of inches," she whispered. "We've been playing defense for so long, David. I don't know who's winning anymore."

He set down the remote. The television crowd roared, but he seemed not to hear it. "I cancelled my trip next week. The Chicago project—they gave it to someone else."

"Why?"

"Because I knew you'd be here alone. Again." He finally looked at her, his eyes shining. "Because seven years ago, you were the best thing that ever happened to me, and somewhere along the way, I started treating you like a certainty instead of a gift."

Another flash of lightning. The power flickered and died, leaving them in gray half-darkness.

Maya sank onto the sofa beside him. The cat jumped up and settled between them, purring loudly against the sudden quiet.

"Almost," she said, leaning her head on his shoulder. "We almost lost it."

"Bottom of the ninth," David murmured, wrapping his arm around her. "We're still at bat."