Page 84 of Switch Hitter

He isn’t my rebellion against my faith.

He’s my life, and if the God I’ve been raised to love is what they claim Him to be… Emiliano and I were made to find each other. To share this life together.

During the sign of peace, my mom turns to Emiliano first.

“Peace be with you,” she says softly, offering her hand.

“And with you,” he replies, taking it and smiling.

Then my dad turns. While I’m shaking the man in front of me’s hand, he looks at Emiliano for a long beat.

My defenses are immediately up. Then my dad extends his hand. “Peace be with you, son,” he says.

Emiliano takes it, and for a second, I think I see him blink too hard. “And with you.”

My chest aches; it’s such a small thing in the grand scheme of things. But small things are how you build a bridge.

I feel Emiliano’s hand slide to my knee and give a subtle squeeze. Blinking fast, I stare at the hymn book like it’s suddenly fascinating.

After Mass, the church steps turn into a gauntlet of greetings. Old family friends pat my cheek. Someone calls me “Seány” like I’m still twelve. My mom beams like she’s proud of me just for existing. Emiliano stays close but not possessive, smiling politely, shaking hands, and answering questions with calm confidence.

“Where are you from?” someone asks.

“New York,” he says, smiling easily.

“And you play baseball too?” another asks, eyes lighting up.

“Yes, ma’am,” Emiliano replies.

David, of course, can’t resist. “He’s the Mets ace,” he announces like he’s a press release.

Sam elbows him again.

Emiliano’s mouth twitches, and he turns to my brothers, who are now in a silent argument. “It’s fine, really.”

Then a woman with sharp eyes looks between me and Emiliano and says the thing that makes my spine go rigid.

“And you two are… friends?”

My heart stops, and before I can panic, my mom answers.

“This is my son’s boyfriend,” she says, warm as anything. “Isn’t it sweet that he’s celebrating the holiday with us?”

Boyfriend.

Out loud and proud, from the mouth of my mother.

The world doesn’t end.

The woman blinks, smiles, then pats Emiliano’s cheek. “Well, aren’t you handsome.”

Emiliano leans in slightly, his voice low. “See? You’re surviving.”

I glare at him, but I’m shaking inside. He notices and squeezes my hand.

Lunch back at the house is loud in a familiar way, with food everywhere. My mom insists everyone eats. Ciara pretends she isn’t soft and then hands Emiliano extra potatoes like it’s no big deal. Leeann cracks jokes about her roommates at UCSC. My brothers are arguing over sports like they’re allergic to peace.

Emiliano fits in seamlessly, and it makes my heart happy.