Page 55 of Switch Hitter

Dad

Do we get to know her name before we meet her?

David

Sean, get back here and spill the beans!

Be brave.

Sean

His name is Emiliano.

I hit send and then silenced the notifications.

I’m gonna throw up.

ELEVEN

EMILIANO

My mom’s house is loud in a way that makes your shoulders drop the second you walk in. Tonight it’s not “party loud.” Just… life. Pots clinking in the kitchen, the TV too loud because my tío insists he can’t hear unless it’s at stadium volume. My nephews are running down the hallway like they’re training for the Olympics.

Home.

I’m on the couch with a plate balanced on my knee, pretending I’m here for dinner and family time like a normal son.

I am.

But I’m also here because the Coyotes are playing the Yankees, and my favorite part of that lineup is a redheaded outfielder with a mouth that I haven’t kissed in a week, and I’m on the verge of combusting. On the TV, the stadium lights wash everything in harsh brightness. The Bronx looks like it always does on camera: iconic and ruthless.

Sean O’Malley is out there in left field, pacing like he’s got a motor under his skin. With his cap low. Jaw tight. He’s doing that thing where he looks like he’s irritated at the entire universe, and the universe should be grateful for the attention.

My fingers tighten around my fork, and my mother sits in the armchair near the window, a rosary draped over one wrist like it’s an accessory. She’s watching the game too, though she swears she’s just “keeping me company.”

My sisters are on the other couch, legs tucked under them, sharing a blanket and a bowl of fruit like they’re watching a telenovela.

Which, in a way, they are, because Maribel glances at the screen, then at me, then back to the screen.

And smiles.

“¿Otra vez ese?” she asks.

I don’t look at her. “¿Qué?”

Sofía makes a sound like she’s offended I’d even try it. “No te hagas, Emiliano.”

My mom doesn’t say anything. She just sips her water and watches me like she’s been watching me my whole life. Sean throws his head back laughing at something someone said near the warning track. It’s quick, like it escaped him before he could stop it.

My chest goes tight, and I love how much I like seeing him happy.

Maribel leans forward, pointing at the screen. “Ese pelirrojo. El que estabas mirando la otra noche.”

Sofía gasps dramatically. “¡Ay! ¡Es él!”

Why wouldn’t they remember?

My sisters could spot a secret relationship from a mile away, even if you buried it under cement and swore to God it never existed.