Page 71 of Lucky 22

That’s not too much to ask, right?

My first week in St. Louis is wonderful.

Mostly.

It’s a lot of working around his schedule—and his scheduleis brutal. To say that my husband lives, breathes, eats, and sleeps baseball isan understatement. And because we are living together now, I’m seeing things Ididn’t see before.

For one, he’s a much pickier eater than I ever realized. I’mliterally learning exactly what he eats—down to the brands he prefers—so I cancook for him. I even reach out to his mom for some recipes.

On the flip side, he makes us breakfast every day, so… Whocan be mad when you get pancakes every morning?

Pancakes aside, the conversation Christian and I had rightbefore I experienced my first baseball season comes to mind.

“Okay, here’s the thing that is…well…most people onlysee the fun and glamorous side of the game. They think it’s all sitting in thestands and cheering with the wives and girlfriends and families and thenhanging out and celebrating after it. But it’s not. It’s a longseason—especially if we make the playoffs—and sometimes it’s going to be verylonely for you. Once spring training starts, all the time we’ve been spendingtogether is over.”

It was different when I was filming, and we were togetherfor only short periods of time. Now that I’m here—and I know I’m going back toLA for some auditions soon—I truly understand what he was trying to tell me.

Every day is like Groundhog Day. We sleep in for aslong as Christian can because he needs to rest his body as much as possible.When we get up, he makes us pancakes and bacon, and we watch TV for about anhour. Then he begins his game-day routine with an Epsom salt bath and stretches.Then he cooks the lunch he will take to the field with him to eat later. Heleaves for the field no later than 1:00 p.m.

After he leaves, I go to the grocery store and get somethingto cook for dinner, then I go to the stadium for the game. I usually eatsomething at the ball field and then again with Christian after the game, sohe’s not eating alone. The post-game time is really important to us. It’s ourtime. He plays every day, except for one or two days a month. Those days areprecious, but Christian needs to get his rest on those days, too. So, if we arelucky enough to be together on an off day, we just stay at home, watch TV, andcook or get carryout from one of our favorite restaurants. Our life during theseason isn’t glamorous. It’s a grind. However, there is no one I would rathersit on a couch and do nothing with.

It’s Easter Sunday morning, and we’re walking out of church.The game starts at one o’clock today, and Christian likes to get to the fieldearly for day games. In my mind, I’m like, “But it’s Easter Sunday, somaybe he can get there a little later today. I mean, it’s only 8:30 in themorning, right?”

I keep waiting for Christian to suggest that we do somethingspecial, but when he doesn’t, I ask, “Hey, what would you like to have forbrunch before you head to the field?”

At the very least, I expect him to suggest our pancakes ormaybe a trip somewhere to eat, but he quickly dismisses the suggestion. “EllaRose, I have to go straight to the stadium. I’ll just eat something when I getthere.”

My mind immediately freezes because this was not theplan. Easter is my favorite holiday, and I’ve been thinking about having Easterbrunch with my husband all week. Did I tell him that? No, but I assumed wewould do something special.

I literally don’t say anything else on the drive to thestadium. If I do, I fear I will start crying, and that’s the last thingChristian needs right before a big game. He’s doing so well here. He loves histeam, we love the city, and the city loves Christian, so I’m not going to ruinhis positive mood this morning. We only have one car in St. Louis, so if I goto the game, I need to drop him off. We pull into the players’ lot at thestadium, and he’s smiling.

“You’ll be at the game, right?”

I nod. “Of course.”

“Great. I’ll see you there.” He kisses me. “I love you, EllaRose.”

“Love you, too.”

As soon as the door closes, and Christian walks into thestadium and out of view, I burst into tears. This is not at all what I thoughttoday would be like. I want to call my parents, but they’re at church. I wantto call Jen, but it’s too early in LA. Being a baseball wife can be reallylonely, and right now, I’m at my loneliest. I pull myself together enough todrive home safely, but I’m hungry, and I don’t want to go back to the apartmentto cook anything.

I drive around the city with no actual destination in mind.When I see something I want, I’ll stop. However, as I drive, I see familiespouring out of church in their Easter Sunday best, laughing, smiling, andtaking pictures. They’re probably heading to Easter brunch, and I cannot be theparty of one eating by herself in the corner.

Cue the waterworks again. It’s now 9:30, so my options arelimited, but then I see it. Like a black, white, and red beacon in thedistance.

Steak ‘n’ Shake.

Yeah, not a traditional breakfast, but that doesn’t evenmatter. Nothing does. Not right now. Traditional doesn’t exist in my world. Notin my career, my marriage, none of it.

I pull up to that drive-thru and order the most ridiculousthing I can even imagine for breakfast: a Chili 5-way, French fries, and acookies-and-cream milkshake. I can’t even make eye contact with the cashierbecause I’m a mess, and I’m sure I’ll see pity in her eyes. Instead, I pay,grab my food, and then pull over to the edge of the parking lot.

And eat the saddest Easter Sunday breakfast ever.

I’m crying so hard between bitesof spaghetti, chili, cheese, fries, and gulps of my shake that I’m thankful noone can see me.

Or maybe they can. My vision’s blurry, so I can’t tell.

“This is not what I signed up for!” I cry. “Why can’tanything just be normal? Why can’t we just have a regular life?”