Page 85 of Switch Pitching

“That water is so fucking blue,” I say randomly, trying to break the silence.

Ethan nods, his fingers firmly gripping the steering wheel. “Yeah. It’s beautiful. There’s nothing like it.”

I glance over at him. “Do you ever miss Maine?”

Ethan’s lips press into an even thinner line. “Parts of it, yeah. I have a ton of great memories from growing up here, but it’s complicated.”

The GPS beeps softly, signaling that we’ve arrived. Ethan pulls the truck off the road and parks it at the edge of the asphalt before unbuckling himself. I follow his lead, getting out of the truck and stepping into the sunlight. We walk across the road, up the short driveway, and Ethan pauses at the door, staring at it.

“My parents sold the old house when they split, so I’ve never been here before. It’s weird,” he says. There’s a pause, and then Ethan exhales, briskly pressing the doorbell.

Footsteps shuffle inside and the door slowly opens, revealing Anna. She looks nervous, but I can see her eyes flicker with something else for a split second.

“Ethan,” she says, her voice catching.

“Mom.”

She steps aside, motioning for us to come in. “Come in, please. It’s been too long.”

We step inside and I savor the warm air as we walk toward the open kitchen. The place is cozy, filled with the soft scent of cooking. It’s comforting, but I can’t ignore how tense Ethan’s expression is.

He sends me a brief glance before turning to his mom. “Mom, this is James. James, this is my mom, Anna,” he says, almost like he’s forcing himself to get through the formalities.

Anna smiles softly, though there’s an underlying nervousness in her expression. “It’s nice to meet you, James.”

“It’s great to meet you, too. Thanks for having me.” I can’t read the room. Ethan introduced me to his mom by her first name, but it doesn’t feel right to call her Anna yet. I decide to avoid using any names at all.

“I’m glad you both could make it.”

The silence that follows is heavy. Anna busies herself at the stove, checking the turkey, while Ethan stays by the kitchen island, his hands gripping the edge, his face unreadable.

Anna glances over her shoulder. “I’m making a simple Thanksgiving dinner. Nothing too fancy, but I hope it’s enough.”

Ethan gives her a small nod, smiling politely. “Thanks, Mom. You didn’t have to do anything special.”

There’s a moment where their eyes meet, and it’s clear that Anna’s trying to say something.

Ethan clears his throat, stepping forward. “Can I help with anything?”

Anna smiles, grateful for the distraction. “That would be really helpful. Could you mash the potatoes?”

“Sure thing.” Ethan moves over to the counter and I stay quiet, watching him for a second before I lean over to inspect the gravy unnecessarily.

The kitchen is small, and the three of us maneuver around each other in near silence. It’s too quiet, and the only sounds are clinking dishes, bubbling turkey juices, and occasional scraping coming from the potato masher.

“So,” Anna says after a moment, her voice a little tentative, “How are things in Boston, Ethan? I hear you’ve been doing well with the team.”

Ethan’s shoulders tense up but he keeps his voice steady. “Yeah, it’s been good. Busy, but good.”

Another uneasy silence follows, nobody knowing what exactly to say. Anna peers at Ethan with a hesitant smile. “I’m glad you came, Ethan. It means a lot to me. I know I’ve said it before, but I want to say it again. I’m sorry, Ethan. For everything.”

Ethan puts down the masher, his jaw tightening. “It’s fine, Mom. I appreciate you saying that. I still have to adjust, though.” He sighs softly, loosening his posture before taking the potatoes to the dining table.

“So, James,” Anna says, turning to me, “Tell me about yourself.”

I tilt my head up, a little surprised but glad for the subject change. “Um, I’m Ethan’s teammate, I’m a pitcher, and I’m from Toronto, in Canada.” I pause, thinking about how to move beyond my rehearsed, canned introduction. “I’m loving Boston, but it’s a lot colder than I expected it to be.”

Anna laughs lightly. “Takes a bit of getting used to, doesn’t it?”

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