Page 2 of The Double Play

“I told you, I have all that I need.” I look back at my mom.

Her smile is small. “That’s not what I asked.”

“Mom, please, I can’t talk about this right now.” I run a hand over my short beard. “I had a terrible game, and all I want to do is shower and lie down.”

She nods. “I understand. Don’t worry so much, okay? I’ll find someone. It’ll all be okay.”

“Thank you.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow before practice.” She gets up and presses a kiss to the crown of my head before going to do the same to June. Then she leaves. I hear the sound of the ATV she uses to get from my property to hers. Sometimes when it’s really cold, she’ll drive her car over on the main road, but most of the time she drives over the hills separating us. It’s nice to have them so close by. It will be strange to have them across the world instead.

Once Mom’s gone, I get a quick shower. The entire time, my mind is racing. It doesn’t stop, not even when I sit down beside June to watch the end of her movie with her. She falls asleep in my lap, and as I brush her dark curls back from her face, I can’t help but wonder if she wants more. She’s only five, but I’m sure the other kids in kindergarten talk about their moms. Does she wish she had one, or is she happy with just me and her grandparents?

I scoop her up in my arms, smiling softly when she snuggles against my chest. She’s grown so much, so fast. Soon enough, she’ll be too old to be carried to bed like this. My throat tightens.

“The days are long, but the years are short,”my mom said the first time I complained about a sleepless night with a colicky June. As I lay my daughter down on her canopy bed covered in stuffed animals, I can’t help but wonder if she’ll look back on these too-short years with happiness or resentment when she gets older. Am I enough for her? I wasn’t for her mother.

I tuck her into her blankets. I’ll just have to do the best I can on my own, because there’s no way I’m opening up either of us to heartbreak again.

Chapter two

Hazel James

Whateveryoudo,don’tcry.I suck in a shaky breath, paste on a smile, and walk out of the playroom to greet Mikayla. I’ve been nannying for Mikayla and Patrick Lawson since I graduated from college. I’ve loved taking care of their twin girls, Daisy and Tansy, but today is my last day. Patrick plays pro football and was just transferred to the Homewood Lions down in Alabama. They asked me to go with them, but Nashville has always had my heart. Plus, I couldn’t imagine moving so far away from my little sister.

So, I spent the whole day reining in tears while the girls–who are only six years old–have not-so-subtly tried to convince me to move. I’m going to miss them terribly, and I think I’ll miss their mom even more. Mikayla is less of a boss and more of a best friend. We’ve had sleepovers when Patrick was out of town, plenty of spa days, and spent almost every morning together since I started drinking matcha lattes on her back porch three years ago.

“There you are, I was just about to call out your name,” Mikayla says with a warm smile.

She sets her chic leather briefcase on the kitchen island and places her small red handbag next to it. Mikayla is an event organizer for a premier agency here in Nashville. She’s organized events too luxurious for me to even stand within a mile radius of. I know for a fact that she works hard and often spends her days running around venues and doing plenty of physical labor. Which is why it amazes me every time I see her at the end of the day. She’s in six-inch heels, a perfectly tailored pantsuit, and her hair looks like she just came from the salon.

Meanwhile, I’m in my signature overalls and sneakers, with a t-shirt that has tiny flowers on it underneath. I suppose we both match our professions, which helps me feel marginally less inadequate standing before her.

“The girls are playing with Play-Doh,” I confess. “I can stick around to help them clean up. I couldn’t tell them no today.”

It’s rare that we break out the Play-Doh. Daisy and Tansy tend to put it everywhere they shouldn’t. It gets stuck in the rug, their hair, and in the grooves of the table in the playroom. But when they looked up at me with matching doe eyes, I didn’t stand a chance. No amount of early childhood education can prepare you for puppy dog eyes.

Mikayla waves a hand. “Don’t worry about it. The housekeeper comes tomorrow for one last clean before we pack everything up.” She looks around the kitchen, a wistful smile on her lips. “I’m going to miss this place.” Her eyes meet mine. “I’m going to miss you.”

The dam holding back my tears bursts. I’ve always been a crier. My grandma says I have a sensitive soul and a big heart. Whatever the reason, I’ve never been able to hold back tears for long.

“I’m going to miss you so much,” I say through my tears, swiping at my wet cheeks.

I wish I could be as poised as Mikayla. Instead, I’m crying in her fancy kitchen in overalls. I look like the children I take care of–or used to take care of. The thought makes my tears come fast and hot.

Mikayla pulls me in for a tight hug. She smells like Chanel No. 5 andhome. That’s what’s so difficult about her leaving. I’m a firm believer that home isn’t a place but rather a community of people. Mikayla has been a pillar in my life. She’s essential to the structural integrity of my emotional house. I don’t know what I’m going to do without her.

“I’m going to FaceTime you at least once a week,” she says into my hair, her voice thick with emotion. “And you can visit whenever you want. We’re going to visit too.”

I squeeze her tighter. “How am I going to start my days without our morning matcha talks?”

“Maybe your next boss will love matcha. I’m sure they’ll be so great you won’t even miss me.”

“Impossible,” I say as I pull back.

We both are wiping below our eyes now, and we giggle in unison at the mascara that comes off on our fingertips.

“Speaking of, I may have a lead on a job opportunity for you,” Mikayla says.

---