Page 108 of Dropping the Ball

“It’s a working mammary, Mom,” Madison says, “not the nuclear codes. Micah will be fine.”

“This is one of those generational things,” Mrs. Armstrong says.

I know I’m supposed to be on Madison’s side here, but I’m still not used to my friends’ wives nursing wherever and whenever. Kaitlyn glances at me to see how I’m taking this, and whatevershe sees on my face makes her bite back a smile and take pity on me.

“Micah, why don’t you give us an update?”

I nod and turn, conveniently placing Madison and Harper behind me as Mrs. Armstrong hands off her squalling grandchild. There’s a baby grunt followed by smacking sounds.

“Go ahead, Micah. I’m listening,” Madison says.

“Right. So, the entrance will be through there.” I point to the closed bay door to our right. “Guests will leave the step-and-repeat, go up the stairs for another photo op, then descend the grand staircase on this side.” I point to the stairs under construction. “They’ll look more impressive in a month. Then guests enter the installation . . .”

I continue pointing to different elements, showing them where the dinner tables and stage will be, the lighting rig, and other practical considerations.

“Could I walk through it?” Mrs. Armstrong asks when I finish.

“Of course.” I lead her farther into the steel canopy, answering questions.

When she thinks we’re out of earshot, Madison asks Katie, “What’s going on with you and Micah?”

Kaitlyn’s voice is lower, but I’m too focused on her answer to miss it. “We figured out how to work together.”

“Right. I’ve never invited a coworker to family Thanksgiving. Neither have you. In fact, you’ve never invited anyone to Thanksgiving. So talk.”

If Mrs. Armstrong can make out what they’re saying, she gives no indication, and I take a few hurried steps over to point at one of the welded joints of a leaf to explain how the welders did it.

Mrs. Armstrong has several questions and twice that many opinions as we move through the canopy, stopping often to touch something and say, “My goodness.”

When we reach the edge where the canopy curls outward to accommodate the stage, she turns to study the whole thing.

“Madison wouldn’t listen to me when I tried to make her see reason about holding this at the Four Seasons or Austin Proper, and I’m so very glad. It’s stunning.”

“Thank you,” I say, knowing she probably doesn’t pay compliments lightly.

“You’re a talented young man.”

“I appreciate that.” I don’t need to hear it from her to know it’s true, but for Madison and Kaitlyn’s sakes, I’m relieved that she’s pleased.

“Let’s go check with my girls. Madison may be ready to take Harper home.”

I nod and give a politego aheadgesture.

“—blown away,” Madison is saying as we reach them. “I can’t believe what you’ve done with it.”

“That’s all you and Micah,” Kaitlyn says, smiling at me.

“You’re the battlefield general making it happen,” Madison says. “You don’t get to downplay your work on my watch.”

As we reach them, Madison pulls a burp cloth from her diaper bag and sets Harper on her knee, patting her back. Harper gives an enormous burp that makes me laugh. “How did that sound come out of her?”

“She’s a marvel of engineering,” Madison says, “just like this installation.”

“You can’t compare Micah’s art to a baby burp,” Kaitlyn scolds.

“I’m honored,” I say, still grinning. Maybe guys never outgrow burps being funny.

“And I’m thrilled,” Madison says. “This is beyond what I even dreamed. Thank you for taking this project.”

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