Page 5 of Mom Ball

“Can we, Mama?” Timothy clasps his hands together under his chin.

Brooke folds her arms and lets out a deep breath. He gives her a pleading face.

“Sometime.” She scans the other boys. “We’re all busy today, and I want to tell your moms first.”

I study the other three boys, trying to decide if any of them go together. I may have unknowingly committed to helping four families with ball.

All in a desperate attempt to see my ex again.

A shot of guilt hits my chest. I check Brooke’s ring finger as she uncrosses her arms. Nothing. She looks like she just got out of the shower, and there’s a good chance that’s why she’s not wearing any jewelry. Still, I choose to believe she’s single.

And I try to block the idea of her in the shower from my brain.

It isn’t working.

“Timothy, do you want to ride with me?” Brooke asks.

“If I can drive.”

She nods. “Go get the four-wheeler.”

Timothy looks both ways down the road before crossing it.

“Come on, y’all.” Ethan taps the other two on the shoulder with his bat.

They stand and watch the worm wiggle away. Ethan turns around after they walk a few feet. “Bye, Nate the Great.”

I wave and try to remember the last time someone called me that in an adoring way. Not since before my injury, or at best since my surgery. Nowadays, I feel more like Nate the Late.

Brooke stares at me, and I realize we’re alone. There are so many things I want to ask and say, but I refrain. Good thing too, since Timothy drives up.

“It was good seeing you,” she says with a sad smile.

Was it? I want to believe that, but her body language leans toward just being polite.

“You too.” I mean it.

She takes extra caution holding her robe together as she climbs on the four-wheeler behind Timothy. One of her flip-flops is busted on the side and slips off.

I pick it up and hold it out. My hand lingers for a second when she takes the shoe. She wedges it between her and Timothy, then tucks her robe beneath her thighs.

I step back and pretend I didn’t just gawk at her legs.

“Bye, Mr. Nate.” Timothy waves and grins.

“Bye, nice to meet you.”

“Bye.” Brooke’s voice is almost a whisper.

I lift the corners of my mouth and watch them drive away. Everything in me wants to run them down and ask them to spend the afternoon with me.

But what would Brooke say to that? Or worse, possibly her husband?

“Y’all come back,” I yell behind them.

They keep driving, and I swipe a hand down my face. Really? Could I have said anything more impersonal and hillbilly?

Looks like I’ve lost my game in more ways than baseball.

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