Page 57 of Mom Ball

Today is the Apple Cart County Little League Opening Tournament. I’ve never been, but heard about it over the years from others.

The teams in our county and surrounding counties’ park-ball teams play each other in a bracket tournament. Rings and medals are awarded to the last two teams standing in every division.

I’m not so much nervous about how the kids do today as I am for myself. If for some crazy reason we start winning, we keep playing. I don’t think Morgan has more than two or three games in her to pitch, and I know she’ll look to me as her backup.

Too bad the park board won’t allow Nate in the circle to hold me up.

That’s probably for the best. If Morgan hadn’t walked up at the right time, we may have kissed. Only instead of being alone on his property, we were in the middle of the ball field with families watching.

I don’t know which is worse. Obviously, I’m not a fan of PDA. On the flip side, not having a captive audience could lead to a much hotter kiss.

I climb out of the car and blow a stray hair from my eyes.

“Are y’all ready for today?” Nate asks.

“I am!” Timothy hops. He high-fives Nate before grabbing his bag.

My trunk is loaded down with lawn chairs, snacks, and bottles of water.

Morgan has to work the gate, so I offered to bring backup drinks for everyone. She’s also been known to forget things.

“Let me help with all that.” Nate grabs the cooler and both lawn chairs. I reach for the duffle of snacks, but he beats me to them.

“I guess I’ll shut the trunk.” I raise an eyebrow.

“Thanks.” He smiles.

It’s contagious. For a brief moment I smile too, forgetting the reason I was so nervous.

Nate steps in front of me like a pack mule with a chair over each shoulder, a cooler in one hand, and a bag in the other. It’s hard not to feel like an entitled diva following him and Timothy, who’s carrying a decently heavy bat bag.

We stop at a folding table with a tent covering it. Morgan looks up from her nachos and smiles. “What’s up?”

I reach in my pocket for money.

“Save it, girl. Coaches don’t pay, but your bellman owes us five bucks.”

I frown at her. Despite all my protesting, she still insists on calling me a coach.

Nate scrambles to put down a bag. I hold a hand to stop him. “I got it.” I give Morgan a five.

She hands me two bands. “Nate’s is the red one. You wear the neon orange to show you can go on the field.”

“Thanks.”

“The schedule is posted at the concession stand. We don’t play for another hour.” She tosses a chip in her mouth and chews, then swallows. “If the two of you could get everyone warmed up when they get here, I’d appreciate it.”

“Okay.”

“Where do you want me to set you up?” Nate asks.

“Oh right. This way.” I hurry down the hill, but not at a pace so fast he can’t find me. I’ve already made him stand far too long holding my entire trunk contents.

It’s not even ten and several tents already line the fence by our field. I’m sensing a pattern here.

“Should I have brought a tent?” I ask.

“Most people do for all-day tournaments.”

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