Page 48 of Switch Hitter

I just want them to love me for me. To be happy that I feel safe enough to tell them that this is me, and this is who I am choosing to be with.

I know this is totally going to ruin there “Sean will have a bunch of baseball-playing kids” dream.

Emiliano

You can still have a bunch of baseball playing kids.

Adoption is a thing you know. And surrogacy.

Sean

Do you want kids someday?

I set the phone down and eat two bites of food before responding, and while I’m typing to Sean, my mom texts, as if she subconsciously knows I’m talking about hypothetical children.

Emiliano

Gimme a sec, my mom’s texting me. But short answer… yes I want children.

Lots of them.

Mamá

Ya llegaste?

Llámame.

Okay, guess I’m calling. I wipe my mouth and hit her contact because I’m a good son and also because I need to hear her voice before I do the thing I’m about to do.

“Hola, mamá,” I say.

“¡Mijo!” Her voice brightens instantly. “¿Llegaste bien?”

“Sí, mamá,” I say. “Todo bien.”

“¿Comiste?” she demands immediately.

I laugh. “Sí.”

“¿De verdad?”

“Yes, really,” I say, switching to English because she knows I’m lying when I get too smooth in Spanish.

She huffs. “Bueno. ¿Y por qué fuiste a California?”

Here we go.

I could avoid the subject and keep my life in separate boxes like so many men do. But Sean is about to bring me into his family’s box. The least I can do is give him the same.

So I breathe.

“Mamá,” I say carefully, “I met someone.”

Silence.

Then her voice softens. “¿Una muchacha?”

I smile to myself. “No,” I say. “Not a girl.”