Page 82 of Switch Pitching

“I got your email,” I say, my tone neutral. “Wasn’t expecting it.”

There’s a brief pause, and I can hear Mom shuffling papers on the other end. I remember that Mom’s the kind of person who prepares talking points for every important conversation, and she’s probably pulling up notes. Maybe I should have prepared notes.

“I want to apologize again,” she says, her voice softer now. “I know words don’t undo the damage, Ethan, and I don’t expect you to forgive me. But I need you to know that I’m truly, deeply sorry for everything. I should have been there for you when it mattered.”

Silence follows, and I don’t respond immediately. My fingers tighten around the arm of the desk chair, keeping myself grounded.

“Look, I appreciate the apology,” I say, my tone measured. “But I can’t forget what happened. You left the room when Dadstarted laying into me. You stood back when he threw me out, and for four years after that.”

“I know,” she says. “That’s something I regret every single day. I wasn’t strong enough back then. Rocking the boat even more wasn’t something I wanted to do, but I ended up losing you. I can never make up for that.” Her voice cracks, and I take a breath.

“What happened between you and Dad?” I ask, steering the conversation into territory I can handle. “You said in the email that you separated.”

There’s another pause. “Your father never changed. He refused to accept you. Even when I kept trying to reason with him, to tell him that you were still our son and that there was nothing wrong with you. And then I found…” Her voice trails off, and I can hear her struggling to continue.

I sit up. “Found what?”

She takes another deep breath. “He used my phone to send you awful, bigoted messages. When he realized you blocked him, he took my phone and sent those horrendous things to you. It took a while for me to find out, but when I did, I knew there was no going back. I couldn’t stay with him any longer.”

James is watching me closely, his brow furrowed in concern. My heart is racing, but I don’t give anything away.

“I didn’t receive those messages from you,” I admit. “Because when I blocked Dad after he sent his messages, I blocked you as well. Cell, work phone, email, everything.”

“I’m glad you didn’t have to read what he wrote,” she says. “To be honest, I saw red when I first realized. I have no idea how he could even think those words, let alone write them out. You two used to be so close, and he just flipped.”

Leaning back in the chair, my mind spins. I try not to go back even further to a time when my dad and I were close. I can’t go there. Not yet.

“I’m open to the idea of us having some kind of relationship,” I say cautiously, steering the conversation toward a shaky conclusion. “But I’m not ready for anything completely normal.”

“I understand. I’m just grateful you’re willing to talk to me at all.”

There’s a pause, and I can tell she’s trying to figure out how to say something else. When she speaks again, her voice is tentative.

“Thanksgiving is coming up. It’s probably far too soon for this, but I wanted to extend an invitation for you to visit if you’re up for it.”

Mom’s words hang in the air, and my heart pounds in my chest. Thanksgiving in Machias. The last time I was there for Thanksgiving, Dad threw me out of the house.

But then my eyes flick up to James. He’s still watching me, his expression soft, encouraging. Without thinking it through, the words slip out before I can stop them. “I’ll consider it,” I say, surprising myself. “That isn’t a yes, but I’ll think about it.”

“Thank you. That means so much to me.”

I hesitate, and I think back to what James told me a few months ago.

If you ever go back there to give them a piece of your mind, take me with you.

Silence pours through the phone, and I glance at James again, then back down at the desk. Biting my tongue, I contemplate telling her about me and James. To be safe, I could leave his name out of it for now, but I could gauge her reaction to see if she’s actually genuine about her opinions.

“Also, Mom? There’s something you should know. I’m seeing someone.”

There’s a brief silence on the other end, and then she speaks again, her voice warm “That’s so great! I’m very happy for you.”

I wasn’t sure how she’d react to me dating a guy, but hearing her say that is almost healing, in a twisted kind of way. It’s been years since I sought approval from my parents, but it’s still satisfying.

“If you decide to come to Machias for Thanksgiving,” she continues, “your partner is more than welcome. I’d love to meet him.”

“Thanks. I’ll let you know.”

We exchange a few more words before I hang up, plunging the room into silence.

---