I make heart hands. “Love you.”
Her lips press tight as she fights her smile while she chews—much too polite to smile with food in her mouth. People love to think poor means uneducated or uncivilized. Fuck the haters. My momma’s pure grace.
We catch up on day-to-day things. How her job is going—she’s an administrative assistant at a consulting company in Tampa. I tell her about how I worked with Maddy to surprise Easton. That one got a lot ofoohsandaahsandmysweet boy. We avoid baseball. She knows not to pry, that I’ll talk when I’m ready.
After we finish eating, it’s my turn to be firm. I make her park her bum on the couch while I clean up. She puts onThe Sandlotbecause Momma always knows. Something familiar. Something that feels like home. Every baseball-loving kid grew up on that movie.
I flop down onto the couch facedown and groan. “I’m so tired I feel drunk,” I mumble.
Mom puts a pillow in her lap and pats it. I happily accept the invitation and scoot up so my head’s on the pillow. I tuck another to my chest and curl onto my side to watch the movie. Or pretend to. My mind won’t settle. I’m exhausted, but my mind is in overdrive.
Mom’s fingers drift through my curls. “Do you want to talk about it?”
I squeeze the pillow to my chest tighter. “It just really sucks,” I whisper.
“It does.” She fluffs my hair. “I know how much you wanted a spot on the Clippers.”
“Yeah. This is probably going to sound ridiculous—like I don’t have my priorities straight, but I think I’m more upset that I won’t be with Easton and Paulie. Like, it would have still sucked because I want my shot, but at least I’d have East with me in Double-A.”
“That’s not ridiculous at all. Easton and Paolo are the first friends you’ve gotten close with, baby.”
It’s always so weird hearing Mom sayPaolo. Paulie is so not a Paolo. But Mom doesn’t buy into the nicknames.
“Missing them is only natural,” she continues. “But do you know what’s nice about good friends? They don’t fade just because there’s some distance. I know I’m old, but there are these things called cellphones. Supposedly, you can evenuse this little camera thing to make your face appear on someone else’s screen. Poof! You can actually see each other while you talk.”
I chuckle. The woman has a point.
“Also, tell Easton if he ever wants my fried chicken again, he better be the best long-distance friend in the world.”
A smile breaks free. “Bribing my friends?”
My head jostles slightly, and I’m pretty sure she shrugged. “Mama bear is a mama bear.”
“As long as you don’t try to bribe my coaches with fried chicken to get me a spot on Triple-A—actually, wait. That’s not the worst idea. Think we can find Victor Dominguez’s address and get some fried chicken sent to him?”
A laugh falls from her, and my head shakes some more. My chest lightens. We grow quiet, the movie playing in the background.
“What’s really bothering you?” she finally asks.
I deflate with a sigh. “I think I finally realized something today. Something that has been obvious for a while, I guess.”
She hums and waits for me to continue.
“There’s no room for me on the Jetties,” I whisper. “I’ve told you about Jed Stone Junior.”
The look he sent me after he’d finished up his turn at defensive drills a couple weeks back comes roaring to the front of my mind. Flushed cheeks, chest heaving, dark eyes boring into me, black hair slicked with sweat. It was a veryI am manmoment. My stomach flips over. Kind of haven’t been able to get it out of my head since. It was so much like the look he gave me after spiking the winning point during volleyball. I think I have a caveman kink.
I clear my throat andthatthought away. Not thoughts you have while hanging out with your mother.
“Stone is the future Jetties’ shortstop, probably the future face of the Jetties if he can figure out how to lose his scowl. All our infield players are relatively new. Which means I’m going to need to hope I get traded if I want to move up. It’s just a bummer because I like it here. I like the coaches and staff and players.”
She makes a crooning noise. “I’m sorry, love. You got it right earlier. It just really sucks.”
“Kind of feels like I’m in the right place at the wrong time.” The heaviness presses me down further into the couch.
“Just keep fighting, darling. Your right place, right time is coming. When it comes, you’ll be ready.”
I hope it doesn’t take too long.
