“So . . . you’re probably wondering why I’m calling,” I said. I felt a zing of nervousness as I paused to gather my courage. I was about to launch into the spiel I’d been rehearsing all morning, declaring my feelings for her daughter, then asking for her blessing for her hand in marriage, but she cut me off.
“Hang on, Jordan. Billy just walked in. I’ll put you on speaker.”
Billy was Ashley’s big brother. He was one year ahead of me in high school, yet always several spots behind me in the batting order. We’d had a falling-out his senior year, when I told Coach Stevens how some of our teammates had conspired with the batboy and his girlfriend to steal signs during the playoffs. I hadn’t known Billy was one of them, but it wouldn’t have changed anything, I still would have told. His defense—“All the other teams are doing it, too!”—while not untrue, got him benched and earned me a black eye and a shoulder that had only grown colder over the years.
“Billy! It’s Jordan calling from California!” I heard Evelyn say.
“Who?”
“Hey, Billy. It’s me, J. C.” Only parents and nonathletes ever called me by my given name. To my teammates I was, and had always been, J. C.
“Oh, right,” came the chilly reply.
“Sorry, Jordan, I interrupted you. You were saying?”
I hesitated. Ashley was one of three children. If she got engaged to me, she would be the first. I knew most people don’t ask a parent’s permission to propose to their daughter anymore, that it was old fashioned and terribly formal, but with Ashley’s dad gone, the family had gotten really tight. Ashley called her mom every day, even when nothing was doing, and I imagined her two brothers did the same. I should have known one of them would be there; they both still lived in the neighborhood, and Sundays at Evelyn’s were for football and barbecue, no matter the weather. I had been hoping to catch Ashley’s mom alone, but maybe it was a good thing Billy was there. Because I wanted his blessing, too, even though it would be harder to come by.
“Billy, I’m glad you’re there,” I said. “I wanted to talk to you, too.” OK, that was kind of a lie, but there was no harm in making him feel important.
“What about?” I couldn’t tell if there was hostility in his voice or if I was being paranoid. High school was a long time ago, and I never hit him back. One might say the score was even.
“Well, as you know, Ashley and I have been living together for seven years now, y’know, as roommates.” Ugh, why am I so nervous? Billy wasn’t a good enough player to have gotten recruited out of high school, but I know he was pissed he couldn’t play in what turned out to be the team’s final game. I’m sure he thought I took that away from him, even though he really took it away from himself.
“We’ve gotten really close over the years,” I continued. I don’t know why I was such a goody-goody in high school. Did I think they’d blame the Black kid if they got caught? As the only one, I was an obvious scapegoat. Or maybe I’m just wired that way, because nothing’s really changed. I’m still the idiot who tackled the meth-head-purse-snatcher in the Vons parking lot, even though it was the system that was to blame and the night the guy spent in jail helped absolutely no one.
“Anyway, I have come to realize she’s the most incredible woman a man could ever hope to meet,” I told them. “And I wanted to ask for your blessing to ask her to marry me.” There. I said it. It didn’t come out as smoothly as I’d hoped, but at least I didn’t chicken out.
There was a long beat of silence. It was finally Evelyn who spoke first. “I . . . we . . . didn’t know you and Ashley, um . . . had that kind of relationship.”
“We don’t. I mean, not yet.”
Another long beat of silence. Sweat was running down my back. Do they think I’m crazy? Desperate? Delusional? Did they mute the phone to ask each other what kind of twenty-first-century man proposes to someone he’s not romantically involved with? I probably would have questioned it myself if I hadn’t been so certain Ashley and I could make each other happy. She already made me happy. And she had （finally!） tipped her hand that I did the same for her.
I was about to tell her mom and brother how she had stood by me through everything: helped me get ready for my board exams and held my hand when I was waiting for the results. And how I read lines with her whenever she had a big audition and drank tequila with her when she flubbed it. I would tell them how we had grown close in so many ways—one might argue, the most important ways. How we weren’t clouded by the drunken haze of sudden attraction. That our feelings for each other were founded on shared history and mutual respect.