““What about the backyard stuff?” he asked. “What about it?” “Is it okay if I use it, too?” “Oh, sure. The equipment is in a metal shed in the back. Just help yourself. It’s not locked or anything. And if you want company, just let me know. I’d be happy to play with you.” Did I just say that? I did not just say that. Like we were six years old and heading for a sandbox. He was grinning again, like he thought it was funny or stupid or I was having a Tiffany moment. “I didn’t mean play with you exactly,” I said. “I meant…you know, keep you company so you don’t feel awkward…you know, like I exercised with you.” “I’ll be okay alone in the backyard.” He stepped off the treadmill. “I’m going to go shower.” He waited a heartbeat, like he expected me to say I’d be happy to keep him company in the shower, too. Fortunately, my brain finally kicked in, and I kept my mouth shut. I watched him walk out of the room. I thought I’d known everything that would be involved in having a baseball player living with us for the summer. I was discovering that I didn’t have a clue.””
