Page 68 of Mom Ball

Brooke follows me to the center of the backyard. Her eyes twinkle, making my fingers tingle as I hold her. “You hate dancing fast,” she says.

“Not with you.” I spin her around and dance like a fool.

She laughs when I dip her, and the kids clap and cheer. A few cheesy moves later and everyone is dancing, even Brooke’s parents.

Aniston eventually abandons her phone to autoplay when Tami tries to cozy up to Easton. Georgia and her husband are doing some sort of dance with actual steps I’ve seen on Dancing with the Stars, and the kids are jumping and going crazy.

Jack tries to do the worm and Reece runs around with the porch broom. Everyone is cutting a rug until the speaker transitions to a slow song. Most of the kids lose interest, and the adult couples start to slow dance.

I lock eyes with Brooke and try to read her thoughts. This isn’t just a slow song for us. It’s the slow song.

It’s the song that played during our prom king and queen dance. Right after I told her I was entering the MLB draft. She teared up, and terror covered her face as our futures became uncertain. Then she ran off crying.

We didn’t break up that night, but I can say in hindsight that things were never the same after that. She became guarded and skeptical, no longer totally carefree.

I lost a piece of her that night, and I never got it back.

The song goes into the chorus, and she slides her hands around my neck. I lean closer and start to sway. I dip my head and snuggle my face against the top of her head. Her hair smells like springtime—minus the pollen.

A million memories rush through my brain. Proms, homecoming dances, impromptu dances on the front porch, and a ton of other times when I held her close without dancing.

For one song, everything holding us apart disappears. Nine years, two hundred miles, and all the questions of whether she’s with someone or if she wants to be with me.

She doesn’t have to tell me, and I don’t have to ask. Right now, I know.

Then the song ends and Taylor Swift starts belting out “Bad Blood.” I open my eyes and lift my head. This is not the song I want to snuggle to.

Brooke bats her eyes up at me, and everything in me wants to kiss her.

Then I notice Morgan, her parents, Aniston, and a few other random parents staring at us. Everyone is smiling, except for Tami. She’s licking her lips. Whether at me or at us together, I’m not sure. Either way, it’s gross.

I take a step back, embarrassed at going all high school in Brooke’s backyard at a Little League cookout.

Her face reddens as she notices everyone too. Morgan turns and starts talking to Brooke’s parents rather loudly about the game schedule. Others slowly turn too.

I run a hand through my hair and clear my throat. “Want me to help y’all clean up the food?”

“Sure.” She shakes her head, as if dislodging another thought.

I nod and walk to the table holding empty chip bags and candy dishes with crumbs. Brooke walks in the opposite direction and starts cleaning another table. Morgan slides beside me and smiles.

“I know what you’re up to.” I narrow my eyes at her.

“You’re welcome.” She snatches a stack of plates and walks away.

The night winds down while Morgan and I help Brooke and her parents pack everything inside and Aniston argues song choices with the kids. As the sun dips behind the orchard, people begin to leave.

Timothy, Ethan, and Andrew have roped me into a kickball game. Morgan steps onto the back porch with her youngest daughter and lets out a whistle. Both boys turn like dogs hearing a squeaky toy. Morgan’s whistle would probably ruin a dog’s ears.

“Let’s go, Things One and Two.”

They begrudgingly pick up the toys they brought and head toward her.

She palms the back of Andrew’s head. “Tell Brooke and Mr. and Mrs. M thanks for having us before you get in the van.”

They disappear behind the screen door. I pick up the rest of the balls and bases used for the Wiffle and kickball games.

“I know where those go,” Timothy says.

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