I look down. Is he fuckingserious?
He added the nameLinda Yarmouthto our roster.
I shake my head as the ambulance doors close.
“Lemme guess,” Dom says, sidling up next to me so the umps can’t hear, “he called in a ringer?”
“Fuck my life, dude,” I reply, shaking my head. I slap the roster into Dom’s hand and go over to my mother, who is lamenting Gordy’s injury with Daisy.
“Hey, Ma?” I say. “What kind of shoes are those?” I point to the strappy wedge-looking things attached to her feet. Her polished toenails are the same pink as her blouse.
She looks at me, confused. “They’re Eileen Fisher espadrilles, honey. Why?”
“I hope you can run in them,” I say.
“Run in them? Where?”
“Dad just added you to the roster, Ma. So we wouldn’t have to forfeit the game. We’ve only got nine players.”
Her face registers surprise, followed by the kind of annoyed, expected resignation that can only come from almost forty years of marriage to a self-centered control freak. I’ve seen it in my clients’ faces. It’s a specific, nuanced brand of disappointment.
But Mom is funny. She looks up at me and starts smiling like a goofball. “You got an extra glove?” she asks.
I pull her gently to the side and look her square in the eyes. “You don’t have to do this,” I whisper. “We can easily forfeit. It’s basically bar-league softball, Ma. Nobody gives a shit.”
“Are you kidding? This is amateur hour over here. I can play.”
Now I am the one with a confused look on my face. “Ma, I appreciate that you’ve played before, but you’re not exactly a spring chicken anymore.”
“Come on, honey. It’ll be fun.” She raises her eyebrows up and down.
“I don’t need you getting hurt, Ma.”
“Colin, sweetie, I’m not the one you need to worry about getting hurt.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Don’t you remember?” she asks.
“Remember what, Ma?” I ask.
“When you were a little boy, and you were learning all about sports, your father put you in Little League. Remember?”
“How could I forget?”
“Don’t you remember the Slip ’N Slide?”
Holy crap,I think.I forgot all about that.
“The summer you joined, you couldn’t figure out how to slide into a base to get under a throw.”
“So you bought me a Slip ’N Slide and taught me to practice in the water first.”
“You know why, don’t you?”
I shake my head.
“Your father couldn’t do it. He was always afraid he’d hurt himself.”
