“Sounds good to me,” Cal agreed.

“Why didn’t you tell me you had an industrious friend, huh?” Maks chided. “Do you purposely keep good things from me?”

“Oh, shut it,” I tsked, blowing smoke in his direction. “Make yourself useful and look for the beer boy. I’m keeping my eyes on the field.”

Watching as Gabby Hartnett led the boys onto the field, I felt a strange swell of pride bloom in my chest. While they had choked in the big games for as long as I had been a fan, I could not help but be thankful for how they had always allowed me to escape, at least for a while. Memories of the tough moments in the last few months seemed to fade away as the Reds’ pitcher, Paul Derringer, lobbed the first pitch of the day.

The sweetness that settled in my mind early in the game had turned bitter by the seventh inning when the Reds had twelve runs on the board to the Cubbies’ zero. Those sons of bitches. I was cranky as hell and wanting to leave, but Maks and Cal refused, too busy having a gay time getting blotto on beer weaker than the Cubs lineup. They must have spent a Lincoln a piece to get as bent as they were, and damn if they weren’t annoying the shit out of me.

Closing my eyes, I let the spring sun hit my face, hoping when I looked back on the field I would see a different game altogether. I had no such luck. The Cubs ended up with a small rally in eighth, but unsurprisingly, it wasn’t enough.

Cal and Maks’ goodbye was longer than I would have liked, with promises of getting in touch and numerous hugs. I should have known they would get along well, after all, they were the only people I enjoyed spending extended periods of time with.

“Maks is the bee’s knees,” Cal announced for the four-hundredth time that day. “Why’d you wait so long to introduce us? Never mind, never mind,” he said, waving the statement away as he struggled to slide his key into the lock of our front door. “Stupid question.”

“Let me do it,” I sighed, bumping him out of the way.

“He may be new favorite Mikhailov,” Cal joked, poking me in the rib.

I wasn’t in the mood.

“I’m kidding,” he called after me as I stormed into our bedroom.

All I wanted was quiet. I wanted to mourn what would no doubt be another disappointing season in silence. I wanted to pretend there was a chance at the series. I wanted to sulk.

“I’m going to lay on the couch and wait for Rosie to come home so I don’t annoy you,” Cal called from the living room.