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XX - Gun
I SMILE and pull the covering off the sandwich and pick it up.
It’s delicious.
Gunnar’s sandwiches are my favorite; one of his favorite things to do is to experiment with different sandwich ingredients. Sometimes his concoctions are successful, while other times the both of us would be green in the face and spitting out the contents in the trash. I take a bite of the sandwich and moan in happiness. He accidentally came up with this one during the off-season last year, roast beef, Muenster cheese, sprouts, and cream cheese on sourdough bread was my favorite of his creations.
I sink my teeth into the mixture of textures again and chew in a content and satisfied silence while looking around the space. Gunnar said that he rented this huge house to see how it would feel living in a larger space and since I have been here, I haven’t taken the time to actually bask in it.
I finish my sandwich, my glass of water and set it in the sink. I have some time before I should get ready and head to the stadium to watch the practice game. We currently live in one of the high-rise buildings overlooking the ball field in downtown San Diego and while I love our two-bedroom condo, it would be nice to have a little more space. The second bedroom, which is our office, has a pull out couch, but couch pull out beds are never comfortable. And what about if we choose to have children down the line, or have more than one guest overnight. We will definitely need to have more room. I stand by the French doors that lead to an entertainer’s dream backyard and lean my forehead against the cold window. I would like a backyard, a green space to have a dog eventually to let run around in the backyard.
I smile and envision Gunnar in the backyard playing catch with a smaller version of him with a dog chasing after the ball they toss back and forth. With Gunnar grilling at the BBQ and a bunch of our friends hanging out too. Or the same picture, with a miniature version of him and me running and laughing around the space.
My cell phone ringing breaks me from the haze of my daydream and I turn to the counter and answer.
“Babe?” Gunnar’s voice asks.
“The one and only.” I say dryly.
“Sarcasm. Nice. I see that you must be feeling better, did you get my sandwich?”
“You mean my sandwich?” I tease.
“Yes.”
“I did. Thank you for thinking of that. What’s up?”
“You coming this afternoon?” he asks anxiously.
“I am, everything okay?” I ask with concern.
“Everything good. I just um, left my cup at the house, and I kind of need it, you know just in case I have to play today.” he says in a low voice.
“Why is your cup here?” I ask.
“I washed it last night and think I left it in the washroom. Can you do me a solid and bring it with you? I swear, it’s clean, so don’t afraid to touch it.” He teases.
“Like I’ve never touched your package before.” I tsk.
“See you in a bit then.”
“I’ll see you with your cup in a bit.”
EIGHT
GUNNAR
A FEW OF the pitchers and I practice for the game this afternoon with Bellows and one of the farm boys. I catch a pitch right in the groin and felt like the world went black. It was then that I was aware that I left one of the most essential pieces of a catcher’s equipment at home, my cup.
Thankfully, Sawyer appeared about thirty minutes before the start of the game with my cup twirling on her finger for everyone to see.
The whoops and hollers that the players gave was comical, and while I should be embarrassed, the fact that my woman was twirling my cup, reflected to these idiot farm guys that she was mine.
I hated that part of her being here at Spring Training, not all the players knew who she was and who she was to me, so luckily this time I didn’t need to push around any novice, instead my lady did it for me, non-verbally.
Whistles echoed through the dugout as Bently, Masters and Bellows latched onto the chain-linked fence to point and call out to me as I walk up to Sawyer.
I grab the cup out of her hand; wrap my arm around her waist to pull her to me.
