Page 77 of Mom Ball

“He doesn’t get out much,” Aniston says.

Jillian goes to her equipment and slings the gum onto a piece of paper. She wipes her hand down her pants and shudders before refocusing on us. “There. Now, everyone smile.”

She takes a crazy amount of photos in two minutes’ time.

“Great.” She checks her camera. “Let’s start with individuals.”

“Jack.” Morgan snaps her fingers. “You and your brother go first before you get any dirtier.”

Morgan snatches Andrew by the back of his shirt before he can run off. He pouts. “You’re next, buddy. Stay put.”

Jillian is every bit as loud as Morgan, if not more. She does a great job getting everyone’s attention and making the kids smile. She even helps reattach one of Tami’s daughters’ eyelashes when it falls off.

Jeffrey’s team is lined up waiting their turn when we exit the field. He’s wearing his fake sleeve, and all the coaches have on matching jerseys with their names. A little overkill, if you ask me. We settled for wearing our gray “Go Armadillos!” shirts.

The kids all have on eye black and fake sleeves too. Most them are also wearing gold chains with their numbers.

“I’ll email you when the proofs are ready,” Jillian says to Morgan.

“Thanks.”

“The real armadillos are here,” Jeffrey gloats.

He cozies up to Jillian, and she shrinks away.

That’s our cue to leave. Morgan motions for the kids to find their parents, and I help her make sure everyone has their bat and cap.

“I’ve got the rest of the birth certificates in my bag. If you can turn them in at the concession stand, that’d be great,” Morgan tells me.

“Why do we need those, again?”

She reaches in her bag for some chips and rips them open, grabbing a handful and chomping down before answering me. “This is our first big tournament to host that includes some travel teams. They’re real finicky when it comes to ages and making sure everyone is legal.”

“I guess that’s a good thing.”

Morgan swallows more chips. “Yeah, especially with shady folks like Jeffrey around.” She pulls a large envelope from her bag and hands it to me. “There’s a park board member stationed in the office beside the concession stand today. Take those and Timothy’s to her.”

“Okay.” We part ways and I head to my car.

A copy of Timothy’s birth certificate is in my glove box. I printed it last week when Morgan said we may need it. The crisp piece of paper stares back at me when I take it out. In particular, the section that is left blank. Nate is not listed on Timothy’s birth certificate.

Shame and embarrassment run through me as I add it to the envelope. We have a few single mothers on our team, but every birth certificate at least names a father.

Except for my son’s.

Even worse, I know the father and have full confidence he would love and support my son.

I swallow the lump in my throat and shove Timothy’s birth certificate in the envelope. I’ve kept the truth hidden from everyone all these years. Several times I almost told my parents, because I didn’t want them thinking I was the one-night-stand type. Especially since the timing of it meant I would’ve cheated on Nate.

Sometimes I suspect they know the truth. However, they’ve never pushed me for an answer. I’m forever grateful for that—and them.

I climb out of my car and head for the concession stand. The envelope grows heavier with every few steps. The office door is open, and Luanne sits behind a desk. All I know about her is that she makes the best bundt cakes in three counties and her husband is the local taxidermist. That makes it a little easier to hand over such demeaning information.

She looks up from a stack of schedules and smiles.

“Hi, here are some birth certificates for the eight-and-under league. We’re the Gray Armadillos, head coach Morgan Archer.”

“Thanks.” She reaches for the envelope. “I’ll take care of these.”

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