#that echo whatever's

This wasn’t the first time Ginny hadn’t gone home for her birthday and the holidays, but it was the first time she didn’t have games as an excuse. She did have her bum elbow, though, and the battery of people that tended to it. It wasn’t even a lie when she told her mom it would be too much of a hassle to arrange all the physical therapy appointments and training sessions and doctor’s visits around a trip home.

She’d thought it would be a weight off of her mind, not having to worry about being stuck in North Carolina with her mom and Will or, God forbid, Kevin. No dealing with her mother’s hovering or her brother’s cold shoulder. No rebuffing her mom’s boyfriend—ugh, the word made her cringe every time—either.

Just another quiet day in San Diego, celebrating her birthday the way she wanted to. It would feel nice. Relaxing, even.

Mostly, though, Ginny felt lonely. 

She’d woken up alone in her hotel room and ordered breakfast for one to eat by herself at the bar in her empty kitchenette. Not even the tv tuned to something nostalgic made her feel less lonely.

Watching the little, blue alien wreak havoc on the screen had dug up memories Ginny usually did her best not to think about. Which was why she’d fled into the familiar confines of Petco’s cardio suite. 

But even the burn in her lungs and the aching arches of her feet hadn’t been able to chase the hazy recollections from her brain. 

No, Ginny couldn’t help but remember sitting in the dark theater, watching it for the first time. The memory overlapped with reality, and even though her arms pumped in time to her feet pounding the treadmill, she would swear she was sitting all cozy in the Tarboro Discount Theater, her mom on one side of her, Will on the other, and her Pop sitting at the end, arms crossed over his chest. She could practically hear Will’s bursts of laughter even though he’d complained he was too old for such a baby movie all the way in. 

That year was no different from all the other times her Pop grudgingly agreed to take the family to the movies rather than the batting cages for her birthday. And even though he’d frown and grumble and try to get her to change her mind, he’d always buy a bucket of popcorn just for her. 

And every year, as he’d hand it over, his usually stoic face would crease in a smile. There was something so special about that smile. Even better than the break from practice or the whole tub of buttery popcorn, it was what Ginny looked forward to every year. 

Still smiling, he’d kiss her temple and whisper, “Happy birthday, little girl. One year closer.”

And she’d echo, “One year closer.”

Every year. Until she turned eighteen and there was no one there to whisper to her.

Ginny shook herself and bumped up the speed on her treadmill.

She was on mile eight of what was supposed to be a five mile jog, but as long as inconvenient memories were going to keep popping up, Ginny was going to keep trying to distract herself.

After all, what better way to deal with unwanted feelings and memories than running away from them?

“Baker, what’re you doing here?”

“What’s it look like, Skip?” she replied, throwing her manager a grin without breaking stride. 

Al was having none of it. “No, no! What’re you doing here today?”

“Where else am I supposed to be?”

“It’s your birthday, kid! You should be at home with your family or out having fun with the other young people.”

“Oh,” she replied, finally stepping onto the sides of the treadmill and watching the belt whir between her feet. “I, um. I didn’t realize you knew it was my birthday.”

Al rolled his eyes. “I know everything about everyone. It’s how I’ve kept this job so long.” Ginny laughed, just as he wanted her to. “In fact, there should be a gift waiting for you when you get back to the hotel.”

“Skip,” she protested, finally powering down the treadmill, “you didn’t have to do that.”

“Of course I did. I do it for all my guys. And girls, now,” he allowed, nodding to her as she stepped to the ground.

That got Ginny to grin. A real one, this time. “Well, thank you in advance,” she said, following him out of the cardio suite.

“Anytime, Baker,” Al smiled, fond. “Now, I don’t wanna hear about you overdoing it with your workouts, you hear me? I want your arm back in my rotation come next season.”

“Got it, Skip.” Ginny’s smile blew wide, bright enough to make Al duck his head bashfully and shoo her out of the clubhouse.

It didn’t matter that Al was basically kicking her out, Ginny knew he just did it because he worried. And while it was nice that he’d sent something over to her hotel room, Al’d just given her the one thing she’d wanted since she collapsed on the field in September.

Sure, Blip and Mike and some of the other guys assured her that she’d bounce back and that she shouldn’t worry about the 20+ other pitchers who’d show up at Spring Training. But they were her friends, it was their duty to cheer her up. 

But to hear Al say that he wanted her back? That was an unexpected sandbar where she could rest after months of just struggling to keep her head above water. 

It was a gift.