When I place the box on the floor, a poof of dust flies off the lid. A curious Leno trots by and sneezes. I push him away as I dig around for the old Dodgers jersey I know is in here. I kept it because it was signed by their pitcher and I was told it’d be worth something someday. But it was never my intention to sell the jersey for a few hundred bucks. This thing is already priceless to me simply because it belonged to Decker.

I finally find the jersey under a bunch of his life insurance policy papers and lift it out of the box. I unfold it out and, of course, smell it. There’s nothing lingering on this one, though I had hoped that there was.

The jersey is absolutely perfect for tonight, albeit a little wrinkled and big (hey, she said oversized, right?).

Howdy, partner. I’m downstairs whenever you’re ready, says the text from Brian.

Give me just a sec to lock up. Be right there, I respond as I quickly shove the rogue policy stuff back in the box, toss the jersey on, and throw my hair into a casual ponytail just like Casey instructed. I may or may not have nailed sporty-yet-cute, but I am dressed for a drama-free night at the ballpark.

Outside my apartment building, I spot the only parked car with its flashers on about twenty yards up the block. Brian rolls down the window and greets me with a smile and a wave. I greet him with a slice of cake wrapped loosely in tinfoil.

Brian is also wearing a Dodgers jersey, except his is “away” and mine is “home,” so the colors are opposite. His uniform is completed with a baseball cap, and he has managed to nail sporty-yet-cute way more than me, even with Casey’s fashion direction. He could not look more boy-next-door if he tried.

“Buckle up, Sporty Spice,” he says.

“Don’t let the jersey fool you,” I preface. “I know nothing about baseball. How many periods are there again? Four?”

“Innings. And nine.”

“How was work?” I ask as Brian noshes on a bite of marble cake.

“Good. Really good, actually. I only amputated three legs today and treated one case of the bubonic plague.”

“I didn’t know people still get the plague.”

“Yeah, they don’t. I’m kidding. Just a few sinus infections and a sprained ankle. I was trying to zhuzh it up for you a bit. Everyone always thinks my work is so interesting. But really, my job is really just hanging out with a bunch of kids who blow their noses on me and cry when the blood pressure cuff gets too tight. Occasionally we get an emergency or two, but it’s nothing like the episodes of ER said it would be. You’d be surprised what some of these LA moms think warrants a trip to the hospital. Still, I wouldn’t change a thing. I love me some snot-nosed kids any day of the week.”