13. Bri

13

brI

The morning dew was a thick blanket over the fresh, spring grass. Most of the team was already out on the field, tossing softballs back and forth to warm up. I set my bag in the dugout, kicking off the wet sand that had already settled into the grooves of my cleats.

"What's up, Shaw?" Cleo nodded from the other end of the bench.

I looked over at them and shook my head. "Begging for these games to be scheduled later in the day." Knowing I was past my youth, I stretched out my tight legs and bent in half. My aching back pulled tight, sending a guttural groan to my throat. Maybe I did go a little hard on the wood chopping yesterday.

Once my legs were good and loose, I grabbed my glove and a worn, yellow ball before heading out of the dugout. As I passed Cleo, they pulled me in for a rough hug, patting my back as they teased, "Not happening. The rest of us have lives."

Giving them a playful shove, I jogged out onto the wet grass toward the rest of the team. Cleo stayed by the dugout entrance, waiting for me to get into position. After waving hello to all of my other teammates, I took a spot across from Cleo and stretched out my arms. Humid air filled my lungs as I breathed through my tense muscles. I was well past the age where I could just run out onto the field and play without fear of injuries.

And I couldn't afford an injury this early into the season. For a recreational softball league made up of teams across the Hudson Valley, these women and enby's took each game seriously. So much so, that we often had practices during the week to bolster our roster by increasing our collective play time.

Once I was ready, I chucked the ball toward Cleo. Letting the wind carry the yellow leather across the distance, I didn't worry too much about adding spin to the throw.

The ball met Cleo's glove with a satisfying clap . As they tossed the ball back, I asked, "Anything new with you?"

Cleo shrugged. "Not really. The shop has been really slow lately."

"That's a shame." With each sentence, our volley continued, the ball methodically passing between us like a talking stick – ensuring each person got a fair amount of speaking time.

"What about you?" Cleo asked, waiting for my throw.

I couldn't stop the sigh from escaping my lungs, accidentally veering the ball off course. Cleo jumped for it, a grunt escaping their chest as they caught it. "Sorry!" I winced as I watched them land.

"Bastard!" Cleo teased as they jogged back to position. "I hear Sarah Greenwood's been all up in your shit."

I rolled my eyes. "And how would you have heard that?"

Shrugging, Cleo turned the ball in their hand for a moment before throwing it back. "Book club can be very eye opening."

"Fucking Zoey." It was always the sister. After a moment, I relented. "Yeah, she asked if I would make a custom piece for a client of hers."

Cleo's eyebrows lifted, standing up straighter as their glove closed around the ball. "Really? But you haven't done that in years."

I was suddenly conscious of the pairs around us pausing their conversations. The deafening silence was not subtle – if there was one thing I knew about this town, it was that everyone was a gossip, and I wasn't sure I wanted to be the subject of everyone's conversations this week.

Luckily, before I had to come up with a response, the coach called everyone back into the dugout. Jogging over to Cleo, I wrapped an arm around their shoulder as we headed back. Their hair was up in a tight bun, but the loose hairs at the base of to tickled my arm as we walked.

Safe from prying ears, I continued in a hushed voice. "She wants to turn a tree from the property into a massive dining table for the lake house renovation on Spring Road." I sat down on the bench and took a sip of water. "Apparently, this rich lady, Victoria, requested me specifically. From what I can gather, it was part of the reason she chose Sarah to be her designer."

Cleo's forehead wrinkled as they sat next to me. "Wait, Victoria… Bradley? The app developer?"

Watching the opposing team take their positions on the field, I nodded. "Yeah. Google says Pop was the app store's most downloaded app for like a month or something."

Cleo held up their phone to me. Sure enough, on their home screen, the pink and lavender app had a home. "This shit is awesome. It's everything sapphics could ever want. There's a dating function, news, community events, message boards – it's basically an online, sapphic headquarters."

"So I've heard." I leaned back in my chair. Victoria's power and influence was inescapable.

A gruff call of "Batter up!" ripped through the air, momentarily pausing our conversation. I took a deep breath as our first batter headed onto the field. We were likely going to get creamed out there, but I tried to remind myself that this was supposed to be for fun.

Punching my arm, Cleo pulled me back into our conversation. "This is great news. She has crazy connections. She could probably get your work in front of any art dealer in the world. You have to do it."

I laughed. "Cleo, that's not the problem. I'm retired."

"But wasn't the lack of money part of it?" Cleo stood from the bench as the coach gestured that their turn at bat was coming.

Shaking my head, I stood, moving to the fence while they practiced their swing just outside the dugout. "I mean that was a part of it, but that's not all of it. And I don't know that I want my comeback to be some rich lady's table."

"Cleo, get a move on. You're on deck." The coach rolled her eyes.

Nodding, Cleo started moving toward the dugout exit. But they called back to me. "Maybe it's not really about Bradley. Maybe it's more about what you can do for Sarah."

Before I could argue with them, Cleo walked out onto the field.

Our conversation continued like that for the rest of the game, one of us dragged out onto the field while the other anxiously awaited more details.

They had a point. Sarah had been a great friend to me over the years – putting aside her very fair absence while raising three kids.

After a sprint from third base to home plate, Cleo returned to the dugout out of breath and wiping sweat from their forehead. I passed them their bottle so they could chug some water.

"You know what else is weird?" I blurted out as soon as Cleo sat down.

Cleo whipped their head around to look at me. "Really? Not even ‘Nice run, you may have won us the game'?"

Laughing, I patted Cleo on the back. "Well done."

"What else is weird?" Cleo said between gasps for air.

"I felt like she was… checking me out." The words felt silly coming out of my lips in a low whisper. I'd only ever heard Sarah talk about guys. But the way she looked at me felt hot.

Cleo's eyebrows lifted. "Really?

With a shrug, I looked out on the field where one of our teammates got out. "I couldn't really explain it. But it just felt like she had wanted me all of those years and was just now figuring it out.

Cleo could sense my confusion. They'd known Sarah almost as long as I had. We'd all seen her relentless adoration of Jason over the last decade.

Eventually, they leaned back onto the bench and laughed. "I mean, maybe she's opened her mind up to some new options? She got married to her quarterback boyfriend right out of high school. Most of us didn't figure out our queerness until college at the earliest."

They weren't wrong. Even I struggled to understand my feelings for Sarah back then. I knew I loved her and wanted the very best for her. Despite Jason being a nice guy, I knew someone – maybe even I – could be better. To some extent, Sarah withdrawing from the friendship had felt like a reset for me: a chance to let those feelings fade so our friendship could survive.

But just the thought of her being interested in me brought all of those old hopes back.

I pulled out my phone and looked at her text again as Cleo got up to refill their water. Looking at the texts, I knew I owed her an answer. But I still hadn't figured out where my mind was.

Maybe another chat will help.

I typed out a message and hit send:

Hey. I think I need to talk it through one more time. When can I see you?

I set my phone in my lap and waited patiently. The field was switching over, and the New Winford team was about to play the field. Just as I was about to set it on the bench, a buzz radiated from my phone. It was a speedy response from Sarah:

Kids are out of the house tonight, if that works. We could do pizza?

A blush immediately took over my face. I quickly sent a text confirming and ran out onto the field. Each stride felt lighter. A part of me knew she would convince me to make the piece. And most of me liked that.