Page 94 of Fair Ball

I enjoyed myself.

I studied and found new interests. I decorated a condo and learned the best way to train a bird. I was spoiled by having an entire museum to myself and lazed about in bed in the middle of the day.

I fell in love.

“You were his good luck charm, I think,” Noah says, and I turn away from him to fill a glass of water, so he doesn’t notice the tears forming in my eyes.

“I’m not sure about that.”

My son is undeterred. “He’s been pitching pretty good this season, so it sucks to see him mess up so much. I hope he gets better, whatever it is.”

“Yeah.” I clear my throat and chug the water down. “I hope it gets better too.”

“Can I stay up to watch the game tonight? They’re playing in Arizona.”

Even though I’ve been avoiding the games and any news on Austin, I know it’ll go late into the evening with the time difference, but Noah doesn’t have practice until the afternoon, so he can sleep in tomorrow, and I agree.

He skips off to the living room, and I spend a few minutes quietly crying over the sink. The fact that I did what was best for me doesn’t make me feel any better. I love Austin, and I don’t want him to be suffering. I want him to succeed in baseball, but beyond that, I want him to be happy and healthy and not dripping in sweat on the floor because he doesn’t know how to understand his emotions. For how smart and kind he is, he’s also an idiot.

The answer is so simple.

And I don’t know why the male species is so averse to admitting they need help. It wouldn’t change how I feel about him. In actuality, I think it would make me love him more because a man who is emotionally intelligent is a man who can make me feel safe. If he can regulate his own emotions, I can concentrate on regulating mine.

I’ve worked hard to understand my own mind and how to better interact with people, and I can’t continue to give energy to someone who won’t do the same. Who will continue to take and take and take from me. Like he said, all he needs is me.

Which is impossible.

I cannot be solely responsible for his happiness. I cannot be the one to navigate his place in the world, when I have a hard enough time navigating my own.

Austin has so many amazing qualities, and maybe if I were any other type of person, I’d be able to handle his stubbornness in this one aspect, but I’m not. I am me.

And I respect myself enough to know when I need to walk away.

“Can I have popcorn, Mom?”

I wipe at my nose and wash my hands. “Yeah, but I’m not making it for you. Get in here to do it yourself.”

By the time he shuffles into the kitchen, my cheeks are dry, and I’ve poured myself a fresh Diet Coke. He searches through the cabinet for the instant popcorn and puts it in the microwave. “Wanna watch with me?”

“The game?” At his nod, I consider my options. More reading alone in my bedroom, crying in the shower, or TV with my son. “Is Austin pitching?”

“No. He pitched last night.”

Right. The fight.

“Yeah, okay. I’m gonna check on Mimi, and then I’ll be down.”

I set my soda on the table in the living room before heading up to my mom’s room, where I left her half an hour ago, set up with a pillow and the remote control. Her empty teacup is on the nightstand, next to her rosary and a few bottles of pills.

Growing up, we only ever had one television in the house, but since Mom spends so much time in her room now, we brought one in. With the only bathroom in the house on this floor, for right now, it’s best she’s close to it. But eventually, it’ll be too hard for her to make it up the stairs, and we’ll have to come up with something different. For now, it works. I check her oxygen and then sit next to her. “I’m going to watch the game with Noah downstairs. Do you need anything?”

“I’m good, honey. Thank you.” She tucks a few strands of hair behind my ear. “Do you need anything?”

I lift a shoulder, and with a soft, understanding smile, she opens her arms, and I let myself fall into her.

“I love you so much,” she says into my hair. “And I’m so proud of you. You’re a good mom, good person, and I know it doesn’t feel like it now, but it’ll all work out.”

I catch a tear before it falls on her nightgown, and she makes a sound like she knows I’m hiding it. Nudging my chin up, she purses her lips, a silent reprimand that I can’t hide anything from her, and then she swipes her thumbs under my eyes. “I know you don’t like when I talk faith, so I’ll just say I have enough for the both of us, so even if you don’t want to put it on God, put it on me.”