Page 108 of Mom Ball

This time feels eerily familiar, except I comfortably left a hundred, I’m in a nice ride, and I’m going to my luxury condo by the beach. That should make it better, but it doesn’t.

Nine years ago, I was on my way to see Brooke.

It would be the last time I saw her in person before our breakup, but I had no clue. Still, I don’t regret going.

I’d follow Brooke to the ends of the Earth as long as she wants me. Good thing she’s in Apple Cart, which isn’t too far from me.

It’s also much quieter, and I can live a normal life. To everyone there, I’m Nate Miller, or Anne’s son. And the only autograph I’ve signed for anyone over fifteen was on a Chipper Jones jersey.

* * *

I arrive at the Florida condo, aggravated I’m not in Apple Cart. I should be thankful I’m able to join spring training, but I miss Brooke.

My burger and fries are reduced to crumbs. After I park in the deck, I open my door and shake them from the plate. I may as well take this plate inside. I did pay for it.

Round, white, and heavy, it’s the same kind of plate I ran out with years before. Funny how things change and stay the same all at once.

The blankness of it makes me miss Brooke even more. Many nights I’d stare at the words she scribbled on the original plate with a permanent marker. She’d kissed beside the message, leaving a red lip stain.

Over the years, the lipstick faded, and I found myself doing all I could to preserve the plate best I could.

Whenever I moved my stuff, I’d pack it separately and carry it myself. If it ever broke, I imagine I’d try to glue it back together.

On some level, that’s what I’m trying to do with our relationship. Except this time I want the glue to be extra strong. Not like when we were young and let busyness and distance keep us apart.

It’s close to ten when I unlock my front door. Brooke may be in bed, so I settle for sending her a message instead of calling. She sounded tired earlier, which I assume is common for someone who works at a hospital all week, then takes a bunch of kids to the Moonshine County ballpark.

I set the plate on my kitchen counter and shoot her a text.

Wanted to say I love you one more time.

I hit Send and go to my room for a shower. When I return, the text remains unread. Knowing my luck, Timothy will read it in the morning.

That’s fine. I have no reason to hide my love for his mother. And if he thinks that text includes him, all the better. The little guy has grown on me.

I open the sliding door to my balcony and step outside. The air is sticky, but the cool tile under my bare feet makes up for it. I pull a patio chair to the railing and prop up my feet.

They’re terribly ugly. Big and blistered, with a crooked toe from an old sprain. Brooke’s feet were always so dainty and small, and she kept her toenails pink or red. Everything about her is equally adorable and gorgeous. I wish she were here.

I lean back into the cushioned chair and crane my neck and look at the stars. A habit I’ve formed since being back in Apple Cart. In Atlanta, I have to settle for a barely visible moon among city lights.

Lots of people go into the Georgia mountains to camp and hike on the weekends. I never understood why until I’d lived in Atlanta a while. They want an escape from the noise and the constant movement of things.

Buying the Apple Cart mansion was my way of escaping. Or so I thought. But after reuniting with Brooke, I believe we could be happy anywhere.

I sigh and mentally play out scenarios if my arm doesn’t live up to expectations.

If that happens and I choose not to retire, there’s a good chance the Braves might trade me. There’s also a chance they could send me back to the minors. That would mean less of a chance at bouncing back to my current status.

What would Brooke think of that?

Would she be willing to uproot her life—and Timothy’s—for something less stable? Even if she were, would I let her?

Like Timothy, I never had a father in my life. Also like Timothy, I grew up in a great community with an awesome mom and plenty of people who had my best interest in mind.

Worst case scenario, Brooke leaves me again. If that happens, I still want to do all I can to encourage Timothy’s love of ball. That kid has some raw talent.

A slight breeze cuts the muggy air and makes me yawn. Ace is probably catching his second wind, but I’m ready to wind down. Maybe I am an old man at twenty-seven.

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