Page 96 of Run Home
Adrian catches my perusal, and his easy smile turns devilish. He rushes over and swings me off my feet in a hug, whispering, “Like what you see, cielo?” He doesn’t make me answer beyond the blush on my cheeks. He also doesn’t set my feet back down, essentially carrying me by the waist the final few steps to his dad.
“Papá, esta es mi novia, Samantha,” Adrian says to him, then says to me, “Samantha, meet my dad, Juan Ortiz.”
Juan hugs me in greeting, and I ask how his flight went. We have a few minutes to talk together before Adrian has to head back into the locker room, most of which he spends translating back and forth for us. Juan looks so similar to Adrian—an inch or two shorter, but with the same deep brown eyes and wide grin. His hair and mustache have turned mostly gray, and the laugh lines around his eyes and frown lines between his eyes highlight the mixture of bitter and sweet he’s experienced in life.
When it’s time for us to head to our seats, Juan and I follow closely behind Griffin as he navigates through the stadium. There’s an increase in the number of cameras pointed our direction—no doubt because of Juan’s presence in addition to Griffin and me. I didn’t prepare myself to have all my first interactions with my boyfriend’s father documented for the whole world to see, but I guess that’s life when your boyfriend is a world-famous athlete.
We get to our seats shortly before the national anthem and team introductions, all three of us exuberantly cheering when Adrian’s name is called. He knows exactly where our seats are, and his grin is contagious when he looks our direction. He claps his hand against his heart, then points our direction as he jogs to his place at third to start the game.
Juan sits between Griffin and me, and I ask him questions in between game play. His limited English highlights how fluent Adrian is. My near ignorance of Spanish frustrates me as we do our best to connect. Looks like I need to find a Spanish class, I think while failing to adequately communicate how I love that Adrian is so much fun but also so caring.
Finally, I pull out my phone and use it to translate the words for me. I show it to Juan while reading aloud, “El es divertido pero es muy cariñoso también,” hoping that the translation is accurate. Juan smiles and nods in agreement, so I assume I at least got the point across.
He says, “Adrián talks about you every time. He loves you very much.”
The visiting batter hits a grounder that Carson snatches and tosses to Adrian at third to get the final out of the inning, so we join the rest of the fans on our feet to cheer. But even as I clap for the good play, I’m mentally replaying Juan’s comment—specifically, the way he said Adrian’s name.
Our conversation is frequently interrupted by great plays, many of which come from Adrian, including a home run. My feet get tired from standing so much after a full day on my feet at the salon. I need to invest in some more supportive shoes than Converse. And stop teasing Griffin about being an old man now, apparently.
By the time the game has ended in a Crowns win, I’ve downloaded a translation app to help my conversations with Juan. I’ve learned that he still works for a commercial construction company, and I attempted to tell him about my dad’s similar career. Griffin jumped in with further explanation and some photos of our dad’s general contracting business. We shared as many tidbits about our lives as we could during slow moments of the game.
As we follow the stream of fans exiting the stadium seats, I send a text to Adrian, hoping he’ll see it.
ME
I need to ask you something before I leave tonight.
We’re almost back to the family area when I get a response.
ADRIAN
Like alone?
ME
Yes. Real quick.
ADRIAN
Is this an excuse to make out? Because I can meet you in the empty suite . . .
ME
No, menso.
I legitimately have a question for you.
ADRIAN
Could making out also be involved?
ME
I’ll think about kissing you after you answer my question.
ADRIAN
Now you have me worried. Is this serious?
