Sookie settled into her normal box seat dressed in her Cubs shirt and with a beer in hand. She still came to every game even though Andy hadn’t played at all this season. She didn’t want to miss one in case her brother called her and asked how the game had gone. She knew that he wouldn’t do that, she knew that her older brother didn’t even watch the sport that was his life anymore. Not since the accident. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t watch it. She had season passed for the rest of her life and she’d be damned if she was going to let them go to waste. She looked over at the spot next to her and sighed. Usually Atlanta would be sitting there but because Andy wasn’t playing her older sister didn’t see the need in making the trip to Chicago.
The Fairchild’s had always been supportive of the other and when Andy had been drafted into their all-time favorite team they had all been ecstatic. It was a dream comes true for all of them and on game day both sisters were always in the stands cheering their brother on. And part of Sookie still wanted things to be that way even though her siblings weren’t in the city anymore. It was hard for her to accept change sometimes, especially a huge change like her brother’s life being turned upside down. What happened to one Fairchild happened to all three Fairchild’s.
Sookie ran a hand through her hair and settled into her seat. Now that she was thinking about her siblings she wasn’t very interested in the game anymore and instead opted for reading through the emails she had and sending a text in Atlanta’s direction. The same sense of loneliness she got a lot washed over her and she sighed. She missed her family and she even missed her stupid ex-boyfriend sometimes. Not really the man himself but the warm body next to her.
As the game started and some teenage rising star sang the National Anthem on the pitcher’s mound, Sookie stood up and watched respectfully. As the song came to an end she turned around to make sure she wasn’t about to sit on anything and caught the eye of a familiar face. For a moment the man’s face didn’t register but then she realized it was the fiancé of one of her newest clients. Christopher Davis, she’d met with him and his fiancée just the week before. With a bright smile and wave in his direction she called out a “Hey, Mr. Davis!” Trying to keep it professional and refraining from calling him by his first name.
There were some days in which Davis simply needed a break. Only a couple of years ago, he’d been named one of Chicago’s most eligible bachelors. Not a fan of the title, his father found him the most suitable match, and made what he considered to be a love match. Bianca Worthington, his fiancée, was harder work to take care of than the multi-million dollar company that he ran. Just recently, he’d watched the original hardwood floor in his bedroom get replaced with a lush carpet that would only get worn and ugly with time, and couldn’t say a word about it.
Their engagement was one of convenience. Their marriage would bring together two of the most well-off, old-money families in the city. The only problem was that Davis was not at all in love with Bianca. In fact, she kind of drove him crazy. So, on his rare days off, instead of planning their wedding or accompanying her to shop, he spent his time alone. Today, he was at a Cub’s game.
Baseball was relaxing. Partially because it meant that, for once, Davis didn’t have to do anything. The work wasn’t his to take on. Instead, he got to sit down, watch, and enjoy. With a beer in his hand, and a perfect seat, he was comfortable. He couldn’t say that for himself often.
He heard his last name called out in a fashion that most would only call his father in. He craned his neck around, anyway. He always responded to the Davis name. He caught sight of the a cute girl waving at him. It took a moment to register exactly who he was. He saw countless faces, every day, and not many of them were memorable. He pinpointed the memory of meeting Bianca’s wedding dress designer on a day of being dragged around the city by his fiancée. He raised his hand and waved back.
Being the politely-raised man that he was, he called back, “How are you, Ms. Fairchild?”