On those days, I opened Miri’s bedroom door and stood in her room, absorbing her essence, smelling her perfume, and imagining her flittering around the room like she had at Christmastime. It was hard to look back at that time and see her sick, with cancer ravaging its way through her body.
Nova trailed behind me as we made our way to yet another baseball field. By now, everyone knew who I was: the loudmouth who screamed the loudest for her nephew and his team. I couldn’t help it. Cutter was that good, and I sort of had a crush on the coach.
Weston had given Nova a jersey to wear. It was the smallest one they had in inventory. She didn’t care that it went to her knees. She either wore it open and long, or I tied it in a knot for her.
I wore the same shirt as all the other moms. The team had held a fundraiser selling gear, and I may have gone a bit overboard, making sure everyone had something to support Cutter.
We reached the bleachers, and thankfully there was a spot for us on the bottom one. I was worried about Nova not paying attention and getting hit with a foul ball, and I liked to set her up behind me. I’d brought her a backpack full of things to do, most of which were workbooks and coloring books. In keeping with Miri’s antitechnology policy, I’d refused to give in and get Nova an iPad, despite the other moms offering her one.
I never thought I’d be the type of person who carried snacks and juice boxes everywhere I went. Half the time, we’d show up at a game and the concession stand would be a mile away or they wouldn’t have one. After one too many times of that happening, I’d started bringing the things Nova would need. I’d learned that seven-year-olds were needy, always hungry and bored.
Once I had Nova set up, I sat down and faced the field. I didn’t know how Miri did this, day in and day out. It wasn’t the games, travel, or time, but the parents from the other teams and what they said about Cutter. Every time one of them opened their mouths, I wanted to put my foot in it. Their nasty remarks about my nephew grated every last nerve I had, and with the number of daggers I’d thrown during games, I should’ve warned them all by now.
Weston and Cutter said I needed to grow thick skin, which was funny because I was considered fairly ruthless in my daily job. I was never a violent person, but this newly developed mama bear mentality had me seeing red.
The starting lineups were announced, and the opposing parents booed each one of our starters. To show them we were the better team, not only on the field but off, we clapped for each one of theirs. And each of us made sure they knew it. The stare-off was epic.
Today’s game was different. Weston had told me earlier to expect some major league scouts and college recruiters to be at the game. He’d reached out to his friends and former colleagues, who in turn had done whatever they needed to throw my nephew and the other boys a bone. According to Cutter and his friends, who had spent lots of time at thehouse, this was a huge deal, and it was important for them to play to the best of their ability.
I didn’t want to ask them why they weren’t playing this way all the time and just rolled with it. In the months since I’d become a full-time mom, I’d learned to roll with the punches when it came to teenage boys. Their logic was different and often confusing.
The announcer let everyone know Cutter Vaughn was up to bat with two men on base. I clasped my hands together and kept my eyes focused on Cutter, with the occasional look at Weston. He stood next to third base and did the whole “Here’s what I want you to do” secret coded message, which they’d both tried to explain to me, but it went over my head. I just wanted Cutter to smack the crap out of the ball.
He stepped up to bat, and the process started. Pitch after pitch, the ball sailed toward Cutter. Too high. Too low. Too outside.
Cutter lifted his front leg, and I held my breath, waiting to see if he’d swing the bat. The ball came in fast, and if it wasn’t for the crack of the bat, I wouldn’t have known where the ball was.
I stood as it sailed through the air, landing on the other side of the fence. Our parent section erupted in a loud chorus of cheers and applause as each boy crossed over home plate. I turned to the people behind me, and we all slapped hands, giving each other high fives. The inner child in me wanted to flip the other parents off and stick my tongue out.
By the end, Grove Hill was victorious by ten runs, six of which had come from Cutter. We packed up and waited for Cutter and Weston to join us.
“Great game,” I said as Cutter came toward me with a smile on his face. I gave him a high five, which had become a thing for us. At this point, I’d take any “thing” I could as long as it kept a smile on his face. The three of us had been going to therapy, mostly to learn how to deal with our grief. It seemed to be helping, and it gave Cutter and Nova someone to talk to who wasn’t me. Although Weston had said Cutter confided in him, which made me happy.
“Thanks,” he said as he ran his hand through his hair. It’d gotten longer and shaggier since his mom passed away. I’d asked him about cutting it, but he didn’t seem interested.
“What do you say we go out for pizza?” I asked.
“I was wondering if I could go out to dinner with Eleni and her parents?” Cutter asked.
“Yep, of course. Are her parents here?”
Cutter nodded and pointed. They waved, and I told Cutter I’d take his bag home. He dropped it by my feet and ran toward his girlfriend and her family.
“Nova!”
I turned to see Mara running toward us. The two girls hugged as if they hadn’t seen each other in weeks instead of hours. They had the cutest giggle, and watching them together reminded me so much of when Miri and I were that age.
A soft yet firm hand found my lower back. I eased into Weston, closing the small gap between us. His comfort was so welcome. It was like he knew when I needed him. I sighed as I watched the girls and smiled as Mara’s mom came toward us.
“Is Nova busy the rest of the day?”
I shook my head slowly. “We don’t have anything planned.”
“Do you mind if she comes over for a bit? We’re having some family over, and Mara won’t have anyone to play with.”
“Not at all. When should I pick her up?”
“We’ll bring her back after dinner.”
