Chapter 6: Family Night

I saw Maria at Camden Yards one afternoon when I was leaving the workout room. "Who are you working for this week?" I asked.

"Ticket sales," Maria said. "--not your most exciting division, but, hey, I'm helping to pay your fat salary!"

"If everybody's salary was as low as mine," I told her, "you wouldn't have to sell nearly as many tickets."

"Yeah, I don't know how you manage to get by," she said, smiling. Maria was a baseball brat. She knew what the minimum salary for major league ballplayers was.

There was an awkward silence while Maria and I both tried to think of what we ought to say next. Finally, she spoke first. "You coming to the team picnic?" she asked.

Paul and Orlie Warren had sponsored, annually since Paul had been the manager, an evening picnic at their home near Bowie. The party was for players and coaches and their families, and attendance was by no means mandatory. However, despite the fact that off days at home were rare during the season, the Warrens' picnic was evidently always well-attended. After all, it catered to the married players' wives and children, and if a player's wife and kid wanted to attend, well, guess what? The player wanted to attend, too.

I had heard all about the picnic tradition, but I wasn't certain it was something in which I, a single guy, wanted to participate. So when Maria asked, I told her as much: "I hear your parents' annual picnic is a nice affair, but it's mostly a family thing, isn't it? I'm not sure I ought to come."

"Hey, you can always bring a guest!" Maria said.

"I -- don't really know anybody yet, to bring," I said. "Hell, I only just moved out of Oriole House this past week!"

"Alex Osborn! You've been living in this city for -- what? -- two and a half months? --And you still haven't found yourself a... a friend?... A good-looking man like you?"

"I've been kind of preoccupied, Maria, with just making sure I made the club. I've kinda given that -- all of my energies."

"Well, I think you've made the club," she said, smiling.

"Tell your Dad."

She laughed. "My Dad really tries to listen to me when I tell him stuff -- almost anything at all, except my opinions about running the Orioles. When I start in on that, he pretends to listen, but his eyes kinda glaze over."

"How about you? You going to be at the picnic?" I asked.

Maria sighed. "Oh, yeah! My Mom depends on me to help with the preparations, and the cooking, and with watching all the kids after they arrive. I'll be there."

"Sounds like they've taken most of the fun out of it for you," I said.

"No, no, it's still fun," she insisted. "The kids are really kind of cute -- for a couple of hours, when you know that, eventually, you can pack them all back into their parents' minivans and wave bye-bye!"

"What do the -- single people do all evening?" I asked her.

"Drink beer, mostly. Maybe join in the softball game with the kids. Tell war stories."

"Do all the single players bring dates?"

"I don't know. Mostly, I guess."

"Seems like I'd be a real fifth wheel without one," I said.