Dustin leans over across Emberleigh and pats my knee. “Our mascot could take theirs in a fight.”
“Dustin!” Emberleigh says in a shocked voice. But she’s stifling a laugh.
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” I say.
“I should’ve brought my fishing pole,” Dustin says with a chuckle.
Emberleigh slaps his leg. “Behave, honey.”
Patrick sticks his head around Dustin to join the conversation. “When have you known Dustin to behave?”
Emberleigh smiles. “Never, honestly.”
Dustin kisses her cheek. “You wouldn’t want the tame version of me.”
The next Catfish comes up to bat.
Mom leans over from the other side of me so she can see past Avery. She and Jonathan are sitting side-by-side, holding hands.
“Would y’all shush and focus?” Mom says in herI mean businessvoice. “I’m tryin’ to watch my granddaughter win a ball game.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Dustin says to Mom.
Then he starts in, taunting the Catfish who’s up to bat. “Ayyyy battah, battah, battah … suh-wing!”
“Dustin!” Emberleigh whisper-scolds.
The coach throws the pitch and the girl swings and misses. He throws again, and she gets her second strike. Onthe last throw, she hits the ball. It arcs straight toward Mia, who’s playing shortstop. Mia’s focus hones in like a laser on the ball. She positions herself, raises her glove and catches the ball.
“That’s three outs!” the umpire calls. “And that’s the game!”
“Wait,” Dustin shouts. “I thought this went six innings!”
“Not if we’re already ahead,” I say before I jump to my feet, throwing both fists in the air and shouting, “We won!”
Avery turns to me, placing her hands on my shoulders. “We won! We won!”
“We won?” Dustin asks. Then he leans down and places his mouth near Emberleigh’s belly and shouts, “We won! That’s gonna be you one day, little baby Reed.”
Emberleigh laughs, placing her hand on her belly and ruffling Dustin’s hair with the other hand.
I start to make my way down the stands, weaving between cheering families and the other baseball moms as I make my way toward Greyson on the field. Everyone’s going nuts. The Llamacorn players are jumping around, hugging one another while Coach Will does his best to get them to line up to give the Catfish high fives. I stand off to the side of the field, watching the players go through the motions, passing one another saying, “Good game” and “Congratulations” until the last two players smack hands and the teams disperse in a giddy rush.
Greyson’s eyes land on mine. I smile over at him and silently mouth the words, “Congratulations, Coach G.”
He smiles back, oblivious to the Llamacorn players who are each grabbing bags of sparkly glitter and tinsel we prepared earlier this week and stashed in a nook at the side of the dugout. Will walks up behind Greyson, holding the cooler of Gatorade.
I hold Greyson’s gaze, saying, “Sorry,” just as Will countsto three and dumps the entire cooler over Greyson’s head. The girls follow that neon shower, throwing a flurry of sparkling confetti. It sticks to the Gatorade, making Greyson look like he was tarred and feathered by a Christmas elf.
His eyes go wide and he bursts into laughter and shouts, “You got me!”
The girls jump up and down, squealing. “We got you, Coach G!” and “We won!” and “The Llamacorns are the champions!”
Greyson gives out high fives and fist bumps. I grab the towel I stowed in my bag and hold it out to him when he gets close enough.
“Celebration kiss?” he asks me, leaning closer.
“Not like that, you don’t,” I say, laughing and pulling back.
