“When does T-ball start?” Jim asks, diving into his sandwich with a messy bite, eyes closing briefly as he chews. “This is amazing.”
“Um…next week.” Jackson ponders before asking. “Right, mom?”
I look up at the calendar on the fridge. “Not this coming Thursday but next Thursday is your first game.”
“Thursday.” Jackson tells Jim. “Are you coming?”
Jim chuckles. “I haven’t been to a T-ball game since I was probably your age and played.”
“Jim might be busy, honey,” I tell Jackson. Knowing Jim, he’d come to the game if Jackson asked him, but I also know that he’s busy. Spending his Thursday evenings watching a bunch of four and five-year-olds play T-ball probably isn’t how he wants to spend a night off.
Jim leans over to squeeze his shoulder. “I’ll tell you what, let me check my work schedule, and I’ll see what I can do. If not your first game, I promise I’ll make it to another game this season, deal?”
Jackson nods, pulling the top off of his sandwich to pull out the bacon pieces one by one, popping each one into his mouth before asking, “Cubs or Sox?”
Jim pauses. “I feel like my answer to this will test whether you will be my friend or not.”
Jackson’s giggle is infectious. “Maaaaybe.”
Jim smiles. “Cubs. For sure.”
“Cool, me too. And Mom. I like the old players. Not old like you and mom, but really old.”
I slap a hand to my chest, scoffing playfully. “Hey! I’m not that old.”
Jim lets out a belly laugh. “How old are we talking?”
“Sweet Swingin’ Billy Williams,” says Jackson as he fake swings a bat. Jim’s mouth falls open in surprise.
“You know who Billy Williams is? He played even before I was alive.”
“Really?” scoffs Jackson. “Then he must be ancient.”
Jim leans over to tickle Jackson, poking him in the ribs. “I can’t believe he knows who Billy Williams is.”
I nod. “I know. It’s ridiculous, he knows way more about famous Cubs players than I do about any baseball team.Combined. It’s awesome.” My dad is a huge Cubs fan, I guess it rubbed off on him.
Jim turns to Jackson as he shoves a chip in his mouth. “So are you going to be as great as Sweet Swingin’ Billy Williams when you grow up?”
Jackson nods, grabbing a carrot from his plate and sliding it through a pile of dip. “Hope so. He’s a leftie, just like me. After T-ball this year I hope I can play little league next year. But I’ll have to practice batting.”
“Practice makes perfect. That’s all it takes to be good at something.”
“Do you want to play catch again after lunch?”
Jim looks over at me with a wink that Jackson doesn’t see. “Maybe we can even convince your mom to play.”
Jackson looks up at me, those same sparkly blue eyes my sister has. “What do you think, Mom? Can Jim stay and play ball with us?”
I know I’m smiling ear to ear, and I let Jackson see it all. I lean in and prop my elbows on the table. “If that’s okay with Jim, then that’s okay with me.”
Jackson bounds out of his chair, sandwich abandoned, and runs to the patio door. “Okay, Jim, she said it’s okay!”
Jim laughs as he stands, reaching for his glass of milk and finishing it off in one drink. He waits until Jackson is out of earshot before turning back towards me. “How is your sister doing?”
“She’s alright.” I stack his empty plate on mine, leaving Jacksons because I know in ten minutes he will be back inside asking for a snack.
“Did you get my message about the other facility?”
