The Seventh Inning Stretch

The baseball game dragged into the seventh inning, much like our marriage had dragged through the last three years. Sarah sat beside me, her new Dodgers hat pulled low over her eyes, shielding not just from the sun but from me. The cotton hat was the same powder blue as the one I'd bought her on our first date, back when baseball metaphors felt charming instead of cruel.

"You're not even watching," she said, her voice flat.

I was watching, actually. I was watching the way her fingers traced the rim of her plastic beer cup, over and over, like she was trying to smooth down something rough. I was watching the storm clouds gathering beyond left field, purple and bruised, promising something.

"I'm watching," I said.

A crack of **lightning** split the sky — white, jagged, impossible to ignore. The crowd gasped. The players scattered. But Sarah just sat there, hat still pulled low, still tracing that cup.

"Remember when we went **swimming** in the ocean that night in Santa Cruz?" I asked, though I hadn't meant to speak at all. "When we got caught in that storm and ran back to the car soaking wet, laughing like we'd never be dry again?"

She turned to me then, and I saw it: the same exhaustion I felt. The same question hanging between us — how had we become people who sat in uncomfortable silence at baseball games, waiting for something to happen?

"I remember," she said. "I remember thinking you were going to propose that night."

"I was going to."

"I know." She stood up as the first raindrops began to fall, cold and sudden. "I've been waiting three years for you to ask again."

The rain came harder then, a sudden downpour that sent thousands of fans scrambling for cover. But we just stood there, getting soaked, the baseball field emptying out, the scoreboard flashing meaningless statistics. She took off her hat and shook out her hair, and I realized I'd never stopped loving her. I'd just forgotten how to say it.

"Ask me," she said over the sound of the rain. "Ask me now."

So I did, right there in the seventh inning, in a rainstorm at a baseball game that would never finish, and somehow it was exactly right.