Once we make eye contact she smiles with a tight, closed mouth, and walks toward me.
“Hey,” she says. “What’s the score?”
“Tied three–three.”
She looks over toward the dugout. “Poor Noah, benched all year.”
I feel bad enough without her pointing it out, but I don’t think she’s being antagonistic. “Yeah, it sucks,” I say, as she sits down next to me.
“He’s being a good sport about it. How were the last few days?”
“They were good. Smooth sailing. They’re itching for summer though. Do we have a plan for that?”
“I don’t see why we would need to change our days, if that’s what you’re asking. I’ll come to the house Wednesday mornings and go to the apartment Sunday mornings.”
“I know, but—”
“I signed them up for camps all summer, Alex. They’ll have one camp every day for most of the summer.”
“Oh, you did that?”
“Of course I did. I’ve always done that. They’ll be busy. It’ll be just like school. They have baseball camp, golf camp, surf camp, and Noah is taking an astronomy class at Glendale Community College on Thursday nights, but that’ll be my day, so you don’t have to worry about it.”
“Surf camp?”
“Yeah, they both want to learn. It’s good exercise. Maybe I’ll learn too, who knows.”
“Well, okay, then. That makes things easy. I’ve got a good system at work now so I can do drop-off and pickup on my days.”
“Good. So no more Grandma?” she asks with a smirk.
“It was temporary, Dani. Speaking of, why’d you change your hair back?”
“It was fading into an awful, brassy orange color. I looked like Chewbacca,” she says with a laugh.
I laugh with her. Things feel light. The summer conversation is easy. I have the urge to pinch myself because it feels like she and I are getting along, and after so many years of fighting, that sensation is pretty surreal. I want to tell her that her hair looks amazing, but it just doesn’t seem right to say it out loud.
Ethan is up to bat. Both boys are good baseball players, but Ethan usually struggles with hitting.
“Let’s go, E!” Dani yells.
Ethan looks at us as he walks from the batter’s circle to home plate. We’re sitting close to each other. Both of us are smiling. It must feel encouraging to him, because it looks like he shifts into a more poised posture.
“Jeez,” Dani says. “Bottom of the ninth, two outs, and tiedup? No pressure. Poor Ethan. He’s so hard on himself about hitting.”
“He’s been practicing a lot though.”
Ethan swings. It’s a strike. Noah stands in the dugout and grasps the fence with his good hand. “Let’s go, E. Eye on the ball!” he yells.
Strike two.
“Bummer,” Dani says. Ethan looks nervous, but he hasn’t given up.
The next pitch comes barreling right down the middle. Ethan swings. It’s a fly ball to right field. For a moment I think it’s going to clear the wall but it hits the foul pole and bounces back to the field.
“Fair ball,” Noah yells. “Run, E!”
Ethan turns first, zips to second, and heads for third while the right fielder heaves the ball across the field. “Down!” the third base coach yells.
