Page 80 of Mom Ball

“Nate is doing nothing wrong. He is here to watch and support, not coach.” She clenches her teeth like a dachshund trying to intimidate a UPS driver.

As someone who walked a tiny dog for extra cash back in the day, I find the comparison almost identical.

“How can I know he won’t be throwing up hand signals or something?” Jeffrey counters.

“Because an Atlanta Braves pitcher would rather watch paint dry than coach a bunch of kids,” Bradley booms from the field. He’s propped on the fence, scowling at Jeffrey.

I appreciate the defense, although that’s actually not true. But Jeffrey believes it, because he growls and walks away.

“That’s what I thought,” Bradley says. “Now let’s get back to some ball.” He pulls the umpire mask over his face and marches toward home plate.

Morgan is already on the field. She pitches to Bradley to warm up. Brooke turns to the boys on the quilt. “If anyone has to go to the bathroom, now’s the time.”

Half of them jump up and run toward the concession stand. Jack takes a few steps away from our spot and drops his pants.

“Whoa!” I jump up and stop him. “What are you doing?”

“I can’t wait that long in line.”

“Come on.” I make him pull up his pants, then help him find the tree line, away from the crowd.

We return a few minutes later. Maribelle shakes her head at him, then twists toward me. “Thanks for that.”

“No problem. When you gotta go, you gotta go.” I look at Jack. “And you gotta go warm up now.”

He nods and takes off.

“You’ll make a great dad one day, Nate,” Maribelle says.

I sigh. “I hope so.”

“I know so, trust me.”

The boys take the field in their positions. I settle in a lawn chair near Carlton and Georgia, keeping an eye out for Jeffrey in case he tries something stupid. I don’t trust anyone over thirty who isn’t a real athlete but wears a jersey.

He stays away from us the remainder of the game. Maybe it’s Bradley’s warning, or even Brooke getting mad. Whatever did it, I’m thankful.

I’m also thankful the boys are having a good game. Who knows? I may be good luck. And if things keep going the way I want them to, I may soon give Jeffrey some competition for park board president.

CHAPTER 17

Brooke

Bombing the first game is either the best or worst thing that could’ve happened to us. We are dominating the losers’ bracket.

Daddy and Mama came for a few games, then had to go home to work at the orchard. I’m finishing a run to the Dollar Store for more snacks and bug spray. Since I had the best parking spot, Nate let me borrow his truck. It’s a huge step up from what he drove in high school.

The one time I rode in it before, I was so worried about people seeing us together that I didn’t pay much attention. Now I don’t care who sees us—or me—in his truck.

This time I’m paying full attention.

I couldn’t be more immersed in Nate’s scent if I were a dog rolling in a dead skunk skin. The fact that it comforts me and has such a homey feel scares me a little.

I’m borrowing his truck to buy Doritos and OFF!, not a marriage license. Although I wouldn’t be totally opposed to the latter of those.

A few teams have left, clearing some spaces closer to the fields. I park the truck and suck in the Nate scent one last time. Good thing, since outside smells like sunscreen and dirt.

Armed with my loot, I cross the parking lot and find our little tailgate area. Morgan is under the center of the tent with half her arm immersed in a Yeti cooler. Nate examines her shoulder and rubs it. She rolls her eyes back in her head and relaxes.

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