WON'T TURN BACK, miyuki kazuya

chapter 8

They win their final game against the Phillies, then immediately set off for an evening flight to New York.

It feels a lot like the last time you saw them off, except this time, the relations between you and Miyuki aren't full of tension.

So, this time, when you bid goodbye to him, he shoves your cap over your face and says: "Don't miss me too much."

With a hot face, you tell him to shut up.

-

After a single day of rest, the Mariners lose the next two games against the Mets. Mercifully, on the final day of their series and the day of Eijun's birthday, they win 2-0. But you can tell he isn't too bent out of shape about the prior losses as he and Miyuki get to see Furuya and Shirasu; you get a multitude of pictures the morning of their third game, where the four of them have breakfast together.

From there, they have three games against the Blue Jays in Toronto, then a four-game series against the Red Sox in Boston commences. They lose the first game, which is ironic, considering Eijun and Miyuki sit that one out. They then win the second one, where both of them play the full game. Eijun can't play the third game, but Miyuki does with help from Carlos and Sam. They still lose that one. Chris Takigawa, you learn, plays all three of them.

Neither of them are that upset about their two losses, anyway, if the many pictures of Eijun and Miyuki with Takigawa are anything to go by.

You pick up your usual shifts at the library, except you do make time on Wednesday to join Lula and the other ladies on the street for their bi-monthly lotería night. Before that, like you wanted, you and Lula drop by the nail salon for a mani-pedi, enjoying the time together being pampered. In the interest of being supportive, you get your nails pained navy blue in homage to the Mariners. No time for acrylics or anything like that, unfortunately, keeping your natural nails; not cut as short as the boys but allowing yourself a few centimeters.

The next day, you get a call from your mom.

It's not anything extraordinary; the truth is just that you are often too busy to have long, elaborate conversations with her. On occasion, she'll get on touchy topics; how much longer are you going to be there, are you expecting to keep renting with Lula until you have enough money to open the bookshop (the subtext there hinting that you won't do that until you're in your thirties), why don't you call her more often. Stuff like that that ruins the quality time.

This all sounds very dramatic, you know. Like she is personally out to bother you. But that's not it.

She is your mom. Your best friend and your worst enemy all tied up in one. And she worries for you; she's worried for you since the surgery. You know this and it makes you feel bad when she tells you how much she misses you.

(You haven't been back to Hazel Crest in over five years.)

This time, though, it's easy. Pleasant.

She calls you in the evening, when you're back home, watching the game and idly working on your current crocheting project — a baby blanket for one of your coworkers.

"Hello?"

"Hey, honey. Just wanted to call and see how you were. It's been a while."

"Yeah, the library's been busy. It's the end of semester at UW, so."

Oh, yeah. The other thing.

She has no idea that you're a ballgirl for the Mariners.

Now, this — this is because you're a little bit embarrassed. You just keep thinking about what people back home will think. You know you shouldn't (to hell with them, Lula often likes to say) but you do. Especially because anything you do often reflects on your parents and life already became difficult for them after the surgery. After you left. You hate to make it harder.