Page 46 of Blitz

“You weren’t interested in it,” Mom says gently. “You tried. It didn’t work for you. There’s no shame in that, kiddo. You have to own who you are.”

“I am. I do.” The word demisexual haunts me. There’s so much more to me than a label that may or may not apply to me. I don’t want to dig too deeply to find out whether I am or not. It doesn’t matter to me. It shouldn’t matter to me.

“If she can’t accept that about you, then maybe you have to consider that she isn’t the right one for you.”

“But I love her.”

Mama sighs. “Sometimes love isn’t enough.”

I swallow. I just got her back. I don’t want to give her up again so soon.

“It’ll work out,” Mom tells me. “Either you figure it out or you don’t. There’s no need to rush a decision.”

“Yeah. Yeah. You’re right.”

“Of course I’m right. I’m your mother,” she says. “Are you eating enough?”

“Yeah. I’m about to head to the ASC for a pre-workout snack.”

Mama peers intently at the screen. “Did you do something different with your beard?”

“I trimmed it. It was time.”

“I like it,” she says. She hits Mom lightly on the arm. “Our baby boy is all grown up now. He has a beard and a girlfriend.”

Mom laughs and wraps an arm around her. “He’s been a grown up for a while now.”

“No, he’s still our baby.”

I groan. “Stop being weird.”

“We’re not being weird. You’re being weird.” Mom makes a face at me. “Call your brother. He hasn’t heard from you in a week.”

“We’re playing phone tag. I called him on Thursday.” He left me a voicemail on Friday, while I was in class. He had two games back to back. He actually got some playing time last night. He got three two-pointers and one Hail Mary three-pointer at the end of the first half. Not bad for a rusty rookie riding the bench.

“Well, call him back,” Mom says. “He should hear your news.”

“I will. Today.”

Mama clears her throat. “We’ll let you get back to your day. Go get something to eat, do your workout. Get on with your day.”

“Love you.”

Mom blows me a kiss. “Love you more, baby.”

I disconnect the call and close my laptop, setting it beside me on my bed. I close my eyes and take a deep breath.

Mason is probably just processing the newness of our relationship. It’s a lot to throw at her. We went from not even speaking to back in bed in less than twenty-four hours. She has feelings for me; she wants to be with me. I have to trust her, trust that this behavior is simply temporary as she works through everything. I’ll get the old Mason back any moment now.

I can’t call Jamal now—I’m so not in the mood to deal with his teasing me over this—but I can respond to that text message.

I never deleted Micah’s number. I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of his contact. I didn’t want to accept that it was over.

Not much, how about you?

There. I did it. I texted him back.

I stare at the contact screen. My last messages to him show up earlier in the conversation thread. Desperate pleas for him to call me back. Memes and jokes I thought he would like. A cry for attention. A cry for affection.