Page 11 of The Broken Hearts Club

“But it kind of was?”

“I really did enjoy playing baseball, but my entire future was mapped out by the time I was seven. I randomly chose computer science as a major, but I never really asked myself what I wanted to do with my life, because that had been decided for me.”

Collie nodded. “Now your midlife crisis at thirty totally makes sense.”

I picked at a rough edge on one of my fingernails and admitted, “I’m not a hundred percent sure I made the right choice by becoming a digital artist. I love it, but sometimes I question whether I’m creative enough for this job.”

“I think it’s awesome that you went for it. Most people only dream of doing something like that, but you actually made it happen.”

I didn’t love talking about myself, so I redirected the conversation by asking, “What about you? What’s your dream job?”

“I know I should have an answer to that at my age,” he said, “but honestly, I have no clue. My dream was to get the hell out of my small town and move here. That’s pretty much it. I never thought very far beyond that.”

“Well, one thing at a time. Congrats on reaching your lifelong goal, and welcome to San Francisco.”

His face lit up in a bright smile. “Thanks, I’m damn glad to be here. And making a friend on day one has been like finding five bucks in an old pair of jeans.” I must have looked confused, because he added, “You were a nice surprise, Miller.”

The cat finally had enough of her new BFF. She climbed off Collie’s lap and walked about three feet away before sitting down, throwing her leg in the air, and licking herself, all while staring at me. I muttered, “Does she really have to maintain eye contact while doing that?”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

He changed the subject with, “You said something about a baseball game tomorrow. Are you watching or playing?”

“Playing. I’m on a team with a bunch of people from work.”

“Do you have a punny name?”

“Of course. We’re the Artful Dodgers. Get it? Because we’re a bunch of artists, and the Dodgers are a⁠—”

“Major league baseball team. Dude, I get it, right down to the random Dickens reference.” He shifted around so he was curled up on his side in the dog bed, with one hand propping up his head. “You can still play, even after messing up your shoulder?”

“Yeah. We’re not exactly going for major league pitching speeds here. Plus, even if I get sore, there’s plenty of time to recover between games.”

“Can I come along?”

“Didn’t you tell me all of five minutes ago that you hate sports?”

“That’s not exactly what I said. I don’t like attention-seeking high school athletes, and that’s because the jocks at my school were such a stereotype. They always went out of their way to pick on the scrawny gay kid. How was I even worth the effort?”

“I’m sorry you had to go through that. But for the record, not all of us jocks were bullies.”

“Well no, not you, because you were also the only out gay kid at your school. You would have had to beat yourself up. It’d be like, Fight Club, the early years.” I grinned at that, and he asked, “When did you come out?”

“When I was sixteen.”

“That’s bold, especially in a small town.”

“What about you, when did you come out?”

“I never had to. People started calling me gay when I was five. I didn’t even know what it meant at that point, and once I found out I was like, is that supposed to be an insult? All you’re doing is accurately describing me.”

“To circle back around to your original question, if you really want to come along to the baseball game tomorrow, you’re more than welcome. I guess I’m just surprised that that’s how you want to spend your first Saturday in the city.”

“If I go, I’ll get to meet a few people and see you in action,” he said. “That sounds way better than wandering around aimlessly without my van.”

“Then it’s a plan. You can come out with us afterwards, too. We go to this cool pub with darts, and axe throwing.”