Page 96 of I Saw You First

“I don’t think that’s in the cards.”

“Goddamn it, after all the hard work I’ve done to fix shit for you, you’re just going to give up?” He turns back to the computer.

Fourteen minutes later, the Performance Center door opens, and Abbey steps out. Fourteen minutes. That’s it.

“I’ll be in touch,” Pharaoh says. “Take care, Abbey. You bring a lot to the ballpark.”

“Talk to her,” Jeremy says. “You won’t see her again.”

I scoff. “I’m going to Ridgehill, not Mars.”

“Talk to her.” Then he’s up on his feet and sprinting over to Abbey. “Hey! How’d it go? Can you step into the Dugout for a minute? I’ll be right there.”

“What—I—” she stammers as he disappears into the computer department. She stops short when she sees me in the Dugout.

“How’d it go?” I slide a few reports into my messenger bag. This is it. I’m packing up. I’ve made it to AGM, and I’m this close to getting my own store and finally, for what it’s worth, showing my dad what I’m made of.

“Great,” she says. Is she—are those—tears? Is she upset about the interview or about me leaving? “Do you need something?”

Yes, I do. I take a step forward before I can even think about what I’m doing, but she holds up a palm in the universal stop gesture.

I can keep this professional. I can keep my hands off you, even though I crave the feel of your skin under my fingertips, the taste of your kiss, the sounds you make when⁠—

I clear my throat. “I wanted to say goodbye and let you know that I’ve lo—I’ve enjoyed working with you. You’ve got a bright future ahead of you, here or in Boston or wherever your path takes you.”

I cringe inwardly. That sounds straight off a cheesy greeting card, and not at all what I want to say. I want to thank her for a million things, tell her how much she means to me, but I can’t find the right words.

“Goodbye, Wil,” she says. “Best of luck in your new role.”

She turns to go, but I take hold of her hand and pull her in for a hug. She’s rigid, unforgiving, but I don’t let go, and eventually, she melts into me like I didn’t break her heart.

“Oh, darling,” I whisper. I can’t help myself.

She pulls away and leaves me in the Dugout, but not before I see the tears streaming down her cheeks. I pack up my messenger bag, wave goodbye to Donnie, and am out the door without a backward glance.

TWENTY-EIGHT

“SEETHER” BY VERUCA SALT, 1994

ABBEY

The email from Pharaoh arrives the day after my interview: Dear Abbey, I want to thank you… blah blah blah… quite impressed… It’s with a fair amount of distress, then, that I must share with you that we have offered the position to another candidate.

Well. That’s that.

Not two hours later, my application for merch manager at Rochester disappears. As in, when I checked the status earlier this afternoon, it was there, marked In Progress, and now it’s missing. When I click on the job to apply again, an error message says I’ve already applied.

I’m all turned around. I can’t understand why none of my applications have gotten any further than a phone interview. As I often do when the daily Hometown grind gets me down, I find Sam in the warehouse for one of our chats.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Am I that transparent?”

He smiles. “Abbey, you couldn’t hide your emotions if someone gave you a sheet to cover them.”

“Or a shovel to bury them in the backyard!” Eric calls from somewhere.

I sit down at Eric’s desk and tell Sam about the missing application. “It’s like I’m living in a Twilight Zone episode.”