“I think so,” I decided. “When they’re yellow, they look like flowers, but when they’re like this, I think they’re weeds.”

“And why does it matter? They’re beautiful either way.”

“Weeds aren’t supposed to be anything but a nuisance,” I answered. “But you treat these weeds like they're special.”

“Can weeds not be special?” Cal inquired, a familiar gleam in his eyes. “Can they not be special, and beautiful, and worthy of being held?”

He was talking about me. It was easy for me to recognize it since he often did. I felt my cheeks grow warmer than they were already, and didn’t doubt they were flushing the perfect pink of his lips at that very moment.

“Tell me about your baseball player,” he prompted, letting me off the hook. “What did he do?”

“He got shot by an ex-lover,” I stated, watching him push himself up on his elbows, suddenly a meerkat.

“I didn’t expect that.”

“You expected me to bore you with talk of the team,” I noted, laughing when he shrugged innocently. “She went to his room at the Hotel Carlos and asked him if he loved her or something like that.”

“I guess he said ‘no’?” he wondered.

It was my turn to shrug. “She pulled a pulled a .25 caliber pistol from her purse. I guess Billy tried to get the gun away from her and it went off. He got one in his side and a second in his hand.”

“So, he got lucky.”

“As lucky as you can be when getting a bullet or two from a batshit broad. She left a suicide note. She’d meant to kill him and then herself,” I said. “She didn’t do either.”

“Imagine how exposed you’d feel if you left a suicide note and then didn’t get to die. People would read it. You’d be dripping the blood of your heart onto the page, thinking you’d never have to face it, and you would have to live it down,” Cal tsked.

“Hers wasn’t so deep. She blamed Kiki Cuyler for telling Billy to break up with her.”

“And Kiki Cuyler is … ?”

“A Cub,” I sighed. “You would be nearly perfect if you—”

“Weren’t so imperfect?” he interrupted, with an impish grin.

“Paid more attention to baseball,” I filled in, smiling back at him.

“I’ll take that as a compliment, regardless.”

“You probably should,” I confirmed. “Billy’s going to be able to play soon.”

“And that’s all you worry about?” Cal asked, amused.

“He’s a good player.”

“What about her?”

“She’s a kook,” I replied, wiping beads of sweat off my brow with the back of my hand.