Page 25 of Switch Hitter

If I lie, she’ll know.

So I go with the cleanest version.

Emiliano

A California. Un par de días.

Her response is immediate.

Mamá

¿California? ¿Por qué?

¿Estás bien?

There it is, the real question she wanted to ask.

I wish I could say I’m fine. That I’m also not. That I’m going to fight for something that might not want to be fought for.

Emiliano

Estoy bien. Es un… asunto.

My mom doesn’t like vague answers. She raised me. I know her moves. She’s going to press.

Mamá

Te vas a cuidar.

Y vas a comer.

¿Me oíste, mijo?

I exhale a laugh under my breath.

She knows, maybe not the details, but mi mamá knows this is something important. She knows I don’t cross the country unless something matters.

Emiliano

Sí, mamá. Te lo juro.

Mamá

Reza antes de dormir.

Y llámame cuando llegues.

I stare at that line longer than I mean to.

My faith isn’t something I’m at war with. It never was. My family taught me about God with warmth. With food, candles, and prayers said over scraped knees. But I know what faith is to Sean. I know what it can become when it’s used to make people live within certain expectations.

Emiliano

Sí. Te llamo cuando llegue.

Then, because I’m a good son and also because I need grounding, I do it. I pick up the rosary on my nightstand and wrap it around my fingers once, not praying for forgiveness, not praying for punishment.

Just… steadiness. Courage and maybe a little patience.