Page 87 of Switch Pitching

Dinner goes by uneventfully afterward, and after the sun dips below the water, we say our goodbyes and head out into the cold, dark evening. Ethan is silent as he starts his truck and pulls onto the road, steering us back toward Machias. He turns on a random radio station and I stare out of the window, watching the dark outline of trees flying past.

Ethan speaks up. “When we get back, I’m gonna text my dad. Let’s see what he has to say.”

31

ETHAN

I toss my phone from one hand to the other as I think about what to text Dad.

After I almost drop my phone for the fifth time, I shut my eyes, take a deep breath, and log into my phone plan account. With shaky fingers, I unblock Dad’s number and type out a short, emotionless message.

It’s Ethan. I heard you wanted to speak with me.

His reply is almost immediate.

Ethan. Thank you for getting in touch. I’ve been wanting to speak for a while

I don’t know if we can make things right, but if you want to meet up, I’m willing to talk.

I understand. When are you free?

Meet me tomorrow at the baseball diamond in Machiasport. 11 AM.

I put my phone down on the bedside table with a bit too much force. Taking a breath, I realize that my jaw is clenched, my teeth clashing together. I exhale, forcing myself to loosen my posture, before stomping off to take a long, hot, mindless shower. After I’m done, I trudge to bed and bury myself under the thick comforter. James joins me shortly after that, sliding between the smooth gray sheets and lying on his side to face me.

“Did you text your dad yet?” he asks.

“Yup.”

“And you’re meeting up with him?”

“Yeah. I’m only doing it because he went off on me when I had already moved out for college.” I pause. “If he’d kicked me out when I was still living with my parents, there’s no way I’d consider speaking to him again.”

James doesn’t say anything, but he reaches his arms out and slips them around me before pulling me close. I sigh, shift my head over so we’re sharing a pillow, and shut my eyes.

“We’re meeting tomorrow morning at the baseball diamond where I used to play a lot.”

He massages my shoulders. “Why did you choose to meet him there?”

I pause to think. “Honestly, it’s the first place that came to mind, but it might make my dad think about me as a kid. You know, before he did… everything.”

James nuzzles his face into the curve of my neck, and his breath tickles my chin as he speaks. “Yeah. That might help him realize that you’re more than who you like, I guess.”

We stay quiet for a while, not saying much at all. I try to read something to take my mind off tomorrow, but that isn’t successful. Giving up, I brush my teeth, get back into bed, and try to sleep. James flicks the lamp off and hugs me from behind, melting my nerves and calming me down, and I miraculously fall asleep in under an hour.

I always thought this was a terrible place to put a baseball diamond. Seriously, it’s on a cliff next to the sea. Looking back, I can’t count how many balls I batted into the ocean, never to be seen again.

Still, this is where Dad gave me my first bat when I was five. This is where I played most of my little-league games, where I hit my first in-game home run when I was nine, and where I made that diving catch in center field the same year, getting two runners out and saving the game. This is where Dad took me to celebrate after I got my full-ride baseball scholarship to UVM. I was only seventeen, but we shared a six-pack of beers, and he clapped me on the shoulder and told me that he couldn’t be prouder.

A frigid wind blows in from off the coast, which makes it harder to blink back tears. I force myself to stop reminiscing because I need to stay composed for whatever conversation Dad wants to have.

The sound of crunching gravel interrupts my thoughts and I swivel my head over toward the sound. It’s his car, still the same SUV he had when I was in high school. My jaw is firm as I watch Dad park and step out. He looks the same as I remember, if not a bit older.

Dad hesitates by the car, his head darting around. When his eyes land on me, he gives a small nod, shoves his hands into his pockets, and starts walking over, each step slower than it needs to be.

I grit my teeth and force myself to walk over, meeting him halfway.

“Ethan.” He stops a few feet away, keeping some distance between us. It’s clear that this isn’t going to be an easy conversation, but I knew that already.

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