I laugh again. “Okay.”
“You’re still a lot like him, and sometimes that worries me.”
Why would that be a problem? He was a good person who worked hard.
“He didn’t know when to stop. He’d fixate on something so much that nothing else mattered. He got hurt, just like you did, his junior year of college.” She steps closer, putting her hand on my shoulder. “And when he started playing again, nothing was the same. He couldn’t pitch like he did before. He was so upset he dropped out of school and became depressed.”
I never knew he was depressed. I don’t remember him that way. He was always so happy. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“He didn’t like talking about it,” she says. “He went through a time where he wouldn’t talk about baseball. He threw away all his awards and equipment. Then when you were born, everything changed. I saw his love for baseball come back when he shared it with you. You made him so happy, but it was so much more than that. You saved him.”
“I did?”
She nods, stepping closer and putting a hand on my shoulder. “He loved you so much.”
My heart swells. Talking about him makes it feel like he’s here with us. I thought I wasn’t allowed to remember him outloud like this. Not with her. “Doesn’t it make you sad talking about him?”
She shakes her head. “I like remembering our good times.”
My eyes get hot, a tear slipping out. “You do?”
“Of course. I love him. Just because I love Adam too doesn’t mean my love for your dad is gone. That’s not how love works.”
I know it’s silly but that’s what part of me thought. I thought she’d moved on and left me behind. “Is it really okay to talk about Dad with you?”
She wipes the tear from my face. “It’s more than okay. Iwantyou to talk to me about him. I don’t want there to be any secrets between us.”
I hug her and cry on her shoulder like I’m a little kid again. “I’m sorry I lied to you.”
She pats my back. “I love you.”
I didn’t realize how much pressure was weighing down on me until now. I feel lighter, my heart easing, and for the first time in months, I can breathe.
Mom steps back, wiping my face again. “Why don’t we get some batting practice in before we run out of time? I only reserved an hour.”
We spend the rest of our time taking turns. Mom is surprisingly good at it. Even her stance is great. When she strikes the ball, it flies through the air and hits the net like she’s a pro.
I had no idea she had these hidden skills. Maybe she missed her calling.
“I learned from the best,” she says, winking.
It’s so funny seeing her blonde curls bounce beneath the helmet with each swing, and I can’t help but laugh at the faceshe makes when she occasionally misses the ball. “That one had a mind of its own.”
The hour goes by too fast, and I wish we could stay here all day. Not just because I love baseball, but because I genuinely enjoy spending time with Mom like this. All this time I thought talking to her about Dad would be hard, but this is easy. She tells me about their first date and how it was so bad she thought he’d never call her again. She tells me about the first baseball game he ever took me to and how I spilled soda all over myself. He took off his shirt and I wore it like a dress so we wouldn’t have to leave early.
We’re not crying. We’re laughing.
Mom is smiling, and I feel closer to her than I have in a long time.
When it’s all over, we head back to the car. Mom turns the key in the ignition. “My arms are already sore.”
“Maybe we need to do this more often.”
“I think you’re right,” she says.
We head back toward our house, but she doesn’t turn down the right road. She drives past it, and I assume she’s running an errand. Then I see the school come into view. “You didn’t want me to miss the whole school day?”
“You have a game tomorrow. You can’t miss practice.”
