What's Life Without the Sprinkles - By Misty Simon Page 0,24
dark eyes. But in attitude and mannerisms, he was a little Claudia and a lot Nate.
Was she going after the right thing with wanting Nate for herself? What if she broke the friendship and the easy relationship her son had with the one man in his life who had accepted him from day one, with the exception of his granddad on her side?
But then the half smile bloomed into a full-blown one, showing all his pearly whites and the eye tooth that was still growing in, and he was all Justin. A little con artist who could charm the money out of his grandma’s pocketbook.
“So what did you want to tell me, Mom? I’m all ears for you now.” He patted her shoulder and weaseled his way under her arm to lean against her side. “Are you still going to take me to the batting cages? Because that would be so cool. You would be the best mom ever. Not that you aren’t right now the best mom ever, but then you’d be the bestest, bestest mom ever, and I could brag to all the guys about what a great mom I have.” He even had the audacity to wink at her.
“You’re laying it on a little thick, don’t you think, kid?”
“Aw, shucks. Of course not. You know I mean every word of it.”
“Aw, shucks? Now I know you’re laying it on thick, like crap in a backed-up sewage system.”
“Mo-om!”
It was a true pleasure to gross him out. “Anyway, yes, I am taking you to the batting cages if you’d get your stuff together and get some shoes on.”
He dashed around his room faster than she’d seen him move in a while. A moment later he was in the hallway with the smile, a comic book, and some dubious shoes on his feet.
“I thought I threw those sneakers away last week.”
“I saw them in the trash and figured they’d been dumped by accident, so I took them back out. They only kind of smell like bananas now.”
They were high-top Converse, had about ten holes in the fabric of each shoe, and drawings all over the canvas. There was a reason they had been in the trash, and it wasn’t an accident. But she’d learned to pick her battles, and right now the battle she wanted to have was the one about the music, not his footwear choice.
He seemed to listen as she talked about the noise level of the music and how it was disruptive to the shop downstairs as well as making it hard for her to hear him and vice versa. He seemed to take it all in, nodding at the appropriate places, and then proceeded to crank up the stereo in the car and sing at the top of his lungs.
Maybe she would take him on about the shoes.
****
Sixty minutes and about three hundred balls later, Claudia wasn’t capable of taking on anyone about anything. She’d gladly sleep on top of those shoes if the choice were given to her.
“Come on, Mom. No time for sitting down and resting. You’re not old. You should have more energy than this.” He swung his bat a couple of times, warming up inside the cage, and then readjusted his helmet.
“You didn’t say I had to hit balls, too.” She sat behind the fence, willing to risk permanent chain linking on her cheek if she could just rest her eyes for a single minute.
She was pathetic. An hour of swinging a bat shouldn’t take this much out of her. But she hadn’t exercised in forever, and her demon spawn of a child had set her up with fast pitch for about three rounds before she realized other people had slower speeds, where the ball wasn’t aimed and determined to take out a leg or arm or other valuable and necessary body part.
“Come on, this is fun!”
The chink of the bat striking the ball made her lift her head a fraction. “Good hit.” Then her chin dropped to her chest again, and she admitted defeat. Sure, being the bestest, bestest mom was something to strive for, but this was ludicrous, and she was now sweaty beyond belief. She’d kill for a shower right before the small nap. She could do wonders with the water fountain on the other side of the cages, and the hard, standard-issue metal bench was looking downright cozy.
“Hey, batter, batter, swing, batter, batter!”
The voice was so familiar, and it sent tingles right down the center of her limp