Page 120 of Mom Ball

I look her in the eye and frown.

We both glance out the window when we hear the boys laughing. They must be on the porch and possibly about to come inside.

Aniston faces me. “What do you want to do with Timothy? No offense, but you look like crap on a stick and could use some rest.”

I laugh. “None taken. He can go to my parents’. They plan on going to the game.”

She drains the last of her drink, then stands. “Tell you what. I can let him fish with Easton and Carter if that’s fine with you, then bring him to the game. If you’re still not up to it, he can go home with your parents.”

On impulse, I spring from my chair and wrap her in a hug.

Aniston isn’t the huggy-feely type, but she wraps her long, skinny arms around me. “You’re welcome,” she mumbles against my hair.

I let go. “Sorry about the hug.”

“In high school I would’ve kicked you.” She smirks. “Now I kinda like it.”

I smile and follow her onto the porch, where the boys are chasing a frog. It jumps under the steps, and they lose it.

Timothy looks at me with concern. I must really look a mess. I wrap an arm around him. “I’m not feeling well, but Aniston said you can go fishing at her house with Carter and Dr. West.”

His eyes light up and he nods enthusiastically.

“Why don’t we pack you some more clothes and your baseball stuff. I’ll catch up with y’all later.”

I lead him inside while Aniston and Carter wait on the porch. Once we have him packed, he scans me up and down, as if silently assessing my condition. “Mama, are you okay?”

I nod, a nonverbal lie. “I need to rest. I had a rough night last night and didn’t sleep well at all.” That isn’t a lie.

He hugs me, and I wrap him tightly, kissing the top of his head. I can’t believe I deprived Nate of such a special boy. Considering this, I’m both shocked and thankful he reacted as calmly as he did.

* * *

Nate

Last night I couldn’t sleep.

I tried all the tricks like melatonin gummies and staying off any screens, as well as what all the older people in Apple Cart swear by: warm milk, a shot of apple cider vinegar, and the hum of a box fan.

Nothing helped.

If anything, apple cider indirectly made me think of Brooke. That led down a deep trail of what could’ve beens, with me imagining our lives had she told me right away about Timothy.

In my mind, we would’ve married by the holidays and took a Christmas honeymoon. She would’ve moved to Atlanta, and I would’ve come up with some safe and clean living situation or died trying.

Whenever she wanted, she could’ve continued school in Atlanta or online. Worst case scenario, I would’ve convinced Mom to come live nearby and help with the baby. We would’ve made it work.

What’s haunting me now is that we never got the chance to try.

I ate breakfast and lunch with Mom today. Partly because I needed a distraction. However, it also helped comfort me to be with the only family I’ve always had within reach.

She just left for her usual grocery store trip, leaving me in an empty house with thoughts that are anything but empty.

I chug a bottle of water and crumple it in my hand, then toss it in the trash can. I lean against the kitchen sink and scan the oversized eating area. This house was large and impersonal before, but that’s amplified by a thousand since I know I could have a family here.

The night we all ate together made it more like home than ever. I want that again. I want them here with me, forever, not just to share an occasional meal.

I’m not going to call or text Brooke today. I made myself promise I’d allow time to process things.

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