Page 5 of Fair Ball

AUSTIN

An hour into this clinic, and I haven’t been able to take my eyes off the woman in the stands. I tried to ignore her, but then I noticed she wiped her cheeks as she cheered on her son while he took batting practice. So when the whistle blows for a break, I wave to Noah. He jogs right over to me, smiling. “Yeah?”

I sniff and clear my throat, an awkward moment before asking, “You, uh, didn’t bring your dad with you today?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t have a dad.” At my brow raise, he says, “It’s just me, my mom, and my grandma. Always been that way.”

I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say in this kind of situation, so I aim for something simple. “Sorry about that, kid.”

“S’okay.”

“Do you, um, get along with your mom?”

“Oh yeah. She’s awesome.”

I nod a few times, combing my fingers through my hair. “I noticed her get a little emotional when you were batting.”

“She does that sometimes, cries when she doesn’t think I see it.”

I rub at the tension in my chest, ratcheting up when Noah goes on.

“My mom had me when she was eighteen and takes care of my grandmother ’cause she’s sick. Mom’s stressed a lot, and I try not to make it worse. I try to be really good and get good grades and always make her proud.”

I’m not sure if all children are so forthcoming or if I should be worried why this one is, but he seems mature for his age. Still, I have a strong urge to physically comfort him, although it would probably be weird since we don’t know each other and I don’t even know what physical comfort is. Instead, I flick the bill of his hat. “I’m sure she’s real proud. Probably why she was crying.”

He glances over his shoulder in her direction, waving at her. She stands and shouts, “Great job, nugget!”

He heaves a sigh of someone who has lived one hundred years. “I keep telling her to stop calling me that.”

“What? Nugget?” When he nods, I say, “All moms have nicknames for their kids. Mine called me Woody.”

Noah laughs. “That’s embarrassing.”

“Least it’s not nugget.”

That wipes the smile off his face, and I pat his back. “I’m joking, kid. You wanna toss a ball around?”

“Yeah, definitely!”

He and I spend a few minutes playing catch until all the kids are called back to a big group so some of my teammates can talk to them about the importance of sportsmanship, which I was obviously not chosen to do, but I don’t pay attention anyway.

I mostly stare at Noah’s mom.

She spends her time alternating between rocking side to side, biting on her finger, and bouncing her knees. A tiny pent-up ball of energy.

“Dimelo manito, you been looking at that girl all day.”

I don’t turn to Yadi and, instead, force my gaze away from her and toward Matt Trend, who’s speaking now. He’s a great utility player but can’t keep himself healthy enough to make it through an entire season.

“Don’t know what you mean.”

“Pft.” Yadi elbows me, waiting for my attention to go on. “You been watching her the whole time.”

“How do you know?”

“No soy pandejo.” Then he points to his eyes. “Tango ojos.”

“So that means you’ve been watching me this whole time.”