Hard Pass by Sara Ney Page 0,5

spring training, so we’re chillin’. The rest of our buddies/teammates aren’t scheduled to arrive for a bit.

The plan is to watch another team—the team we play for the season opener—and study their game. Watch the pitcher, the shortstop, how they move and communicate with the coach and catcher.

Shit like that.

Also, we’ll drink.

Not shitfaced drunk, but Anderson Stevens is bringing a keg, so no man will leave here thirsty. Anderson’s wife also just had their third baby, so we’re celebrating too, kind of like a bachelor party but for babies?

A baby shower?

No, that’s not right either since she already popped the kid out.

Whatever.

“What the fuck are you still doing over there, Betty Crocker?”

“Ha ha.”

Caterers dropped off a few platters of appetizers, so I have nothing to do, but fuck around idly at the counter.

“I’m messaging the owner of the Archer card.”

Buzz grunts and I can see him shove a hand inside the waistband of his gray sweatpants and rest it there. Jesus, this guy has no class—it’s like he forgets he’s at someone else’s house.

Miranda Baseball Cards: You’re right, yes. Okay. That’s what I’ll do, figure out how much I want for the whole lot. In total there are twenty-four cards, twelve of which are heavy hitters.

Me: That’s fine.

Miranda Baseball Cards: You sound so sure, LOL. I haven’t even told you who the players are.

She’s told me enough.

Hank Archer. Dwight Pauers. Leroy Jenkins.

I’d buy the entire lot for a stab at owning those three cards alone. Six figures don’t put a dent in my paycheck; I’ll give her whatever price she wants.

Even so, I put my game face on and flex my proverbial haggling muscles.

Me: True. Send me some pictures when you have a chance?

Miranda Baseball Cards: Yeah. I need to do it soon—would that be cool with you? The sooner the better, actually. I thought it would take me longer to find a buyer, but if you’re interested in them all then I’d love to get this done.

This piques my interest.

Me: What’s the rush?

A stretch of time passes before Miranda replies and I imagine her debating about how much information to tell me. Me, a perfect stranger.

I check the clock to see where I’m at for time and how much of it I have before the cavalry arrives.

Miranda Baseball Cards: I’m using the money I make from the sale of the cards to finance a new business.

I stand up straighter. A new business? That’s a fun development and I lean into the conversation, legitimately intrigued by this person I’ve never met and probably never will meet.

Me: Oh? Is it your first?

Miranda Baseball Cards: Yes, I…

Another long pause as she decides what to share.

Miranda Baseball Cards: Yeah, so, I actually graduated from college last semester and cannot see myself working for anyone, but myself. It’s always been my dream to open a design studio—I love designing and decorating spaces.

She just graduated from college.

That would make her around my age or close enough to it, roughly 22?

I have a few years on her at 24, but I was expecting Miranda to be at least in her forties. No fucking idea why, I just did.

Me: Design, like, interior design? Or are you an architect?

Miranda Baseball Cards: A little bit of both, but I don’t have my architectural degree. Business with a design emphasis. I want to hire one or two people and I can’t do that without capital. That’s why I have to sell these cards. I do not want to take out a loan.

A 22 year old new graduate starting her own business?

I’m fascinated.

Suddenly I’m curious about other details, like what she looks like. Where she went to school. How tall is she? What does her voice sound like? Besides my buddies and teammates, some of whom are also in their early twenties, I don’t know a single recent college graduate with this much ambition or drive. The only women I meet who are that age are gold diggers whose one ambition in life is to become a trophy wife.

This version of girl is foreign to me.

Even Anderson’s wife dropped out of school when they were at university together, moved in with him when he got drafted, and started having babies before he even proposed. How’s that for a retirement plan?

Anderson never got the memo about girls poking holes in condoms.

I’m not judging Keely; all I’m saying is she picked out her own engagement ring, the car he gave her as an engagement gift, and push presents for all three of her