I think last night was my last night as a baseball widow. My husband went to a farewell party with the teachers of his old school and many, many parents of players he’s coached over the past twelve years. There were over a hundred guests.
I stayed home with the kids, of course. We had hot dogs and then watched “Twilight” on DVD. Jio wasn’t all that into it, but I told him there was a scene of vampire baseball, so he wound up watching the whole thing.
Around ten, I was getting the kids ready for bed. I was in Jio’s top bunk reading Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire to him when the doorbell rang. Who could it be? I wondered. My mother-in-law? I went downstairs to check. I was wearing mis-matched pajamas and my hair was still wet from my shower. I turned on the light and heard the chirp of ladies’ voices, then slid open the door to see two impeccably dressed middle-aged Japanese women. They were in suits and make-up, and one was holding a huge bouquet of flowers. They’d just come from the farewell party. “The men are going out for more drinking,” they said, “but we wanted to bring this by.” They also handed over a meticulously assembled scrapbook. It was very kind of them, but I’ve never felt like such a frump.