SAHM I am by Meredith Efken

team—like the baseball teams on TV.”
    She giggled. “Okay!” And at that moment, I congratulated myself—sometimes, even I can’t believe what a maternal genius I am. :)
    I balanced her on my hip, and jogged back toward the edge of the lawn. We made a big show of flexing our arms and digging in our feet, like the pitchers on television. Tom just stood there, looking really uncomfortable, like he didn’t have a clue what he was doing. He watched Kevin toss an apple to his kids, and then turned back to us. He picked up the little green apple we’d chosen for McKenzie and tossed it our direction.
    It fell about halfway between him and us. So we ran to pick it up and I helped McKenzie lob it back. I thought it was a good toss, but Tom couldn’t catch it. We backed up again and waited for him to throw the apple.
    This time, he tried it overhand and it arched straight up in the air and landed at his feet. He laughed, but I noticed his face looked flushed. I hope he wasn’t embarrassed—do you suppose maybe he was? Now that I think about it, Kevin plays on his company’s softball team, and he’s pretty good. He even tried to give Tom some pointers, but Tom didn’t seem to be interested. Brandon offered to play instead, and let Tom go back and help my dad, but Tom blew him off. I felt he was being rude, and I also was starting to wonder if he was doing such a bad job because he hadn’t wanted to play in the first place.
    So when he finally gave up the overhand and tossed it underhand to us, I picked the apple up and told McKenzie, “Here, sweetie, let’s show Daddy how to REALLY throw!”
    I know he heard me, too, because he scowled, then put on a fake sort of grin, like he didn’t want anyone to know he was upset. I feel bad about it now….
    It’s not technically my fault—and it’s not Marianne’s, either, but just as I let go of the apple, Helene screeched. And when Helene screeches, EVERYBODY pays attention. Tom turned his head just a little bit, to look at her.
    And that’s when the apple struck him—right in his eye.
    The poor guy grunted and doubled over, his hands over his face. McKenzie started sobbing that her daddy was hurted and going to die. That set the twins off, which set Helene off, and meanwhile Kevin had also doubled over—laughing—and Treyton and Emma were clamoring around Tom, wondering if he was bleeding or not. By the time McKenzie and I reached him, and Marianne and Kevin’s wife, Gemma, were quieting Helene and the twins, he shoved us all away and stomped into the house for some ice, my mother in hot pursuit. (She’d never miss a chance to do some mothering.) He wouldn’t even let me help him!
    And now, he just left to go back to Kansas City—with the beginnings of a brilliant shiner. I tried to explain it was an accident. He says he believes me…but I wonder. It’s too bad, really—we’d had such a nice date on Saturday. And now, I think we’re back where we started. All because of an apple.
    Dulcie

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From:
The Millards
To:
Dulcie Huckleberry
Subject:
Your pitching ability
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    Dear Ms. Huckleberry:
    This is Mike Gumble, manager of the Colorado Rockies. After hearing of your remarkable throwing abilities yesterday, we would like to extend an invitation to try out for our team. We have been discussing the idea of having a few good women on the team—it would be great PR, with all the controversy about gender equality in sports. Please reply at your earliest convenience.
    Sincerely,
    Mike Gumble

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From:
Dulcie Huckleberry
To:
The Millards
Subject:
Re: Your pitching ability
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    Dear “Mr. Gumble,”
    Thank you for that…gracious offer, but I am not interested. AND IT ISN’T FUNNY, JOCELYN! SO GIVE ME SOMESYMPATHY INSTEAD OF MOCKING MY PREDICAMENT!!! DON’T YOU HAVE ANY COMPASSION FOR MY POOR, BLACK-EYED HUSBAND?
    Yours truly,
    Dulcie