Page 18 of Mom Ball

“I think Miss Morgan is glad we’re here.”

“Yep.”

It’s odd coming here for any reason other than to watch her sons. I never thought I’d see Timothy inside the chain-link fence, but there’s a first time for everything.

Jeffrey stands behind the table, hands on his hips, dressed head to toe in Atlanta Braves gear. I laugh to myself and dig my phone out of my pocket to take a picture for Nate.

Then I remember that I don’t have that kind of close relationship with Nate anymore, and I don’t even have his number. About a month after the breakup, I deleted him from my phone so I couldn’t call him in a moment of weakness.

“What are you doing, Mama?” Timothy nods at my phone in midair.

“Checking my face.” I click the button to turn the camera view to a selfie.

“Is it in case Mr. Nate the Great is here?”

I sigh and shove my phone back in my jeans pocket. “Timothy, that’s not his real name, and why should I care how he sees me?”

“You seemed a little embarrassed when he saw you on the four-wheeler.”

“Well.” I roll my eyes. “That had nothing to do with him. I’d be embarrassed for anyone to see me like that.”

He gives me a look that communicates how well he knows me and how mature he is beyond his years. The one person I can’t fake out is Timothy. I cup his face and widen my eyes. He narrows his, then smiles when I make a silly face.

The line moves and we’re now third. A man in full camouflage with the sleeves cut off his shirt crowds the table. Morgan’s head jerks to the side.

Uh-oh. He better watch out.

“Sir, you can’t make payments on registration fees.”

His biceps flex, making the rattlesnake tattoo on his arm dance. He turns his head and spits a wad of tobacco in the dirt. It lands awfully close to Morgan’s sandaled foot. She moves her legs back and snarls.

“Lady, I just got a twenty-four-month lease on a new Hype Fire bat.” He raises one hand, then slaps it on the table, causing Morgan to flinch.

“Well, sir, we don’t lease registration fees here at Armadillo Little League.”

He stomps away, letting out a string of words I’m certain Timothy will question me about later. I hold my breath and wonder what we’ve gotten ourselves into.

Morgan flips her hair over her shoulder and shakes her head at me. I bite back a laugh as she rolls her eyes.

“How are y’all doing this morning?” she asks the couple in front of us in her most pleasant Southern belle voice.

I bite my bottom lip to keep from laughing. Morgan is my spirit animal when it comes to dealing with difficult people. Sadly, I tend to smile and act as if bullies don’t bother me, then go home and cry about it.

This couple is normal from what I can tell. They turn in their forms, sign, pay, and go on their way. Timothy steps up to the table, beaming. I lay out our IDs and reach for my checkbook.

“I’m so excited you’ll be playing ball this year, Timothy,” Morgan says.

“Me too!” His eye catches a bat nearby. “Smith said he’ll buy me a bat and glove.”

When Timothy was born, my parents were big on wanting original grandparent names. They somehow landed on Granny and Smith while harvesting Granny Smith apples. Mama makes sure to explain that to everyone, since her name alone is least original of all.

“Yeah, good for you not having to lease them.” Morgan winks at me.

I laugh at her sarcastic tone. She continues helping me fill out the paperwork and I write a check.

“Oh, we need an extra phone number and your license number on this check.”

“Okay.” I wrinkle my brow.

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