Page 75 of Switch Pitching

“Yeah,” I lie.

She doesn’t prod any further, and I get hit with even more guilt over the fact that my parents and I are barely speaking, either. I’ve been off, and it’s like nothing matters anymore. It might be depression, but part of me thinks, and hopes, that it isn’t. If it’s just related to my injuries, it’ll pass as I recover.

“Anyway,” Mom continues, putting a bag on the counter. “Dinner will be at six.”

“Sounds great,” I mutter, heaving myself up off the couch and toward my room.

Dinner is silent. It’s jarring and awkward. My family is never silent, but there’s tension in the room and all of it is coming from me.

Mom puts her fork down with a little more force than would be normal, which snaps me out of whatever foggy thoughts I was having.

“James. What’s going on? You’ve been sad and mopey ever since you came back.”

“I don’t know. I’m in a mood because I’m injured and stuff.” My voice is mumbly and I get flashbacks to being an interrogated teenager.

Dad also puts his cutlery down. “You’re almost fully healed.”

Mom shifts in her chair, and I can tell she’s thinking carefully about what to say. “Have you thought about talking to someone about this?”

“Yes, and it’s not depression,” I insist, hoping that saying it out loud makes it true. “I know I’m almost fully recovered. I’ll be ready to play next season.”

Mom and Dad exchange a patient glance, but I can tell that they want to know what’s going on.

Dad leans in a little, his voice quieter. “You came back here a month ago out of nowhere. You sent us a text after you landed, asking to be picked up from the airport. Now you’re just, I don’t know, existing here.”

I exhale, trying to collect myself. “It’s only the injuries.” My voice sounds unconvincing, even to me.

They don’t believe that for a second. “James, talk to us. We’re worried about you.” Mom implores.

Resigned, I give up, unable to keep trying to hide the truth from my parents. “It isn’t only the injuries. There’s more.” My voice is softer now, and I grip the table to ground myself. My parents sit up a little straighter and I stare down at my plate, feeling a familiar twisting knot in my stomach. I don’t know how to start.

The only thing keeping me from telling my parents about Ethan and us is that they’re not expecting it, and honestly, I’m not even sure if we’re going to last. I sure hope we stay together and make it through all this, but I know I’m not doing enough to make that happen.

At least I know my parents are supportive and that they’ll be fine knowing that I’m not straight.

Here goes nothing. Deep breath, and exhale.

“I’m dating Ethan. I’m bi.”

More silence. Mom and Dad stare at me. They’re obviously processing the major bombshell I just dropped on them.

“That’s great, James!” says Mom. “Your dad and I support you, and we both love you just the same.”

My parents smile weakly, and Dad purses his lips. “Are you feeling down because you’re still coming to terms with yourself?” he asks.

I jolt up. “No. That’s not what’s happening. I’m 100% okay that I’m into dudes too.”

Both my parents exchange a glance, their shoulders easing.

I continue. “I’ve been having a hard time being away from Ethan, but I also know that going back to Boston will make me feel worse.” It’s odd, putting it in words, but the fog in my head thins out, if only a bit.

“Why do you think going back to Boston will make you feel worse?” Mom asks.

I hesitate. Even though I know that it’s because I’ll be alone all day, I can’t put a finger on how that’s different from what’s going on here.

“I don’t want to be alone in Boston, with all the reminders of why I can’t play. But being away from Ethan has been difficult, and the injury makes me think that I’m shitty and useless.” I don’t catch myself before swearing in front of my parents. They’re concerned enough to not call me out on it.

Mom exhales. “You’re going through a lot, and it’s okay to feel what you’re feeling. You’re not letting anyone down.”

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