Page 129 of Mom Ball

“He’s a pharmacist,” Morgan huffs.

“Yeah, well some of the dishes for a bride’s china registry still haven’t arrived and her shower is this weekend.”

Morgan narrows her eyes. I swallow a laugh. Every large pharmacy in the South also has an even larger gift shop. Georgia often brags about the items they offer at her husband’s store, so I assume she’s the one making this a big deal.

“As urgent as that sounds, I planned on him helping with fly balls tonight.”

“I can help with that.” Georgia beams.

Morgan looks her up and down, then turns to me. I fold my arms over the stains on my old shirt. Georgia is dressed like a professional tennis player, but with high-heel sandals instead of tennis shoes.

She smiles at us and pulls a golf club from the bag. “I still have this driver in here. I can hit the balls up for them.”

Morgan lifts her hands in defeat. “Fine by me. I need to work with them on grounders, and you’d break an ankle trying that.”

Georgia grins and turns, pulling her bag with her. I watch her ponytail swish as she trots toward everyone else.

Morgan shakes her head, then turns to the crowd clogging up the garage door opening. She lets out a loud whistle, and kids and adults all stand to attention.

My phone rings on my way to the group. I veer off and go toward the pool when I see Nate’s name. I answer it and sit in a patio chair.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey, how’s your day been?”

“Good, but tiring. I’ve got another workout, but wanted to call real quick and make sure you got in.”

“Yeah, we’re about to practice now.”

“Good. Just keep those keys with you if you want. Nobody else should need to get in before I’m back.”

“I can do that.” I stare at my shirt in relief at not having to reach in the frog again.

“Good. I’ve got to do some more strength training tonight. If everything keeps going so well, they may start me Friday.”

“That’s awesome!” I try and sound surprised enough to make him think this is new news, but not so surprised to make him think I don’t think he can start.

“I’ll call y’all later. Love you.”

“I love you too.”

He hangs up and I stare at the phone for a beat before standing. Morgan is splitting people into groups across the yard. This probably looks like a three-ring circus compared to whatever Nate is used to at the Braves.

He must really love me to want to come back.

* * *

I rush around like a chicken with my head cut off, making sure Timothy has all his baseball gear.

Tonight is the first game in the season-ender. We play against the other park team our age for the title of Apple Cart County 8U Baseball Park Champs. Not the most coveted title, unless you’re an eight-year-old boy going up against Jeffrey’s stacked travel-ball players.

We’ve practiced Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday nights for this. Our kids have improved plenty, and it’s been several weeks since we’ve faced Jeffrey’s team.

As stressed as this makes me, Aniston is worse. She made Morgan sign an agreement saying she won’t have the kids roll the ball. She claims Angela Basset, a local lawyer in town, signed it too. I think she’s bluffing, but she did give Morgan a warning glare.

My phone rings, and Timothy answers it. I glance at the clock on the kitchen oven. It must be Nate.

“It’s Nate.” He grins.

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