Ghosts (A Christian Yelich Story)

Chapter Ninety-Seven: Kicked

Two chapters per day keeps the doctor away or whatever.

P.S. Christian's attractiveness is VERY confusing.

***

The end of July brought a lot of hot weather and discomfort. Going to Christian's games was difficult for me with the 100-degree heat index, but I still hadn't missed one at Miller Park since moving to Milwaukee. I just had to leave my seat more often in a desperate attempt to find some air conditioning. I tried not to complain, because I wanted to support him and make him happy, but I was definitely desperate for a temperature drop. Erin would occasionally blow a fan on my face or bring me a wet towel, which I always appreciated. She was quickly becoming one of my best friends.

Christian was "struggling" at the plate – batting only .292 with eighteen homeruns – and all the journalist talk concerning his "major" regression was starting to impact his demeanor. He was short with me at home, and this late Sunday afternoon was even worse than normal. The Brewers had lost to the Cubs by four runs – dropping them to second place in the division. 

Christian tuned into the post-game talk on the radio, and I wasn't too surprised they were discussing me. I seemed to be coming up a lot lately, and Christian would always listen so intensely.

"There's a lot of talk that the drop in Christian's numbers is due to his relationship with actress Annie Delaney. Any truth to that?" a caller asked the host.

I turned the radio off before I had to hear the host struggle through a nonsensical answer where he would theorize the intricacies of our relationship. As someone who was fairly used to public criticism, the chatter shouldn't bother me, but it did right now – partially because they always brought up my pregnancy. I didn't want Eloise being dragged into any of this. She didn't do anything wrong. I was at least an asshole sometimes.

Christian was silent and stone-faced as he drove us home. He didn't offer me a hand or tell me that it was okay. He just focused on the road.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I quietly asked him as we took the elevator to our floor. He still hadn't said a word to me.

"No," was all he offered.

"Are you hungry?" I asked.

"Yeah, what are you going to make?" His tone was cold and distant. It hurt.

"What do you want?" I nervously fiddled with my hands as we stepped off the elevator.

He just shrugged. "Food."

"Why are you treating me like this? This isn't like you . . ." We were in the apartment now, and Christian just plopped down on the couch and turned on the television. He wouldn't even look at me.

"What am I treating you like?" He rolled his eyes while flipping through Netflix.

"Like I'm invisible."

"Oh, poor Annie Delaney, not the fucking center of attention for once in her life," he muttered. "I need some fucking space right now."

I urged myself not to cry. Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry. "What kind of space do you need?" I whispered.

He finally met my gaze. "I have an off day tomorrow before we head out to Oakland. Maybe you should stay with your parents until I leave. Take your dogs with you. I can't handle that shit."

My dogs were old and lazy. There wasn't much to handle. They ate, slept, and occasionally moved from one piece of furniture to another. "Can you handle a daughter?" I countered icily.

"Just leave, Annie."

"I thought we were better than this," I finished.

I was too exhausted to challenge him further, so I packed a bag and ran it to my car before taking the elevator back up and grabbing my dogs and their belongings. Christian was listening to music in our room at this point, so I didn't bother saying goodbye.

Eloise kicked me hard as I drove away – so hard someone could probably see her tiny foot imprinted on my skin if they were looking at my stomach.

"I'm sorry, baby. I can't seem to get this right," I whispered to her. "I don't know what else to do."