Page 89 of Switch Pitching

“Sure, thanks for apologizing.”

Looking from side to side, I decide to wrap this whole thing up. “I should get going, though. It’s getting cold.”

“Of course, I’ll head out too.”

“I forgot where the parking lot was, so I parked across the field,” I say, pointing to the far side of the diamond with my thumbs as I start to walk away.

I didn’t forget where to park, and my plan was to avoid any awkward walk with my dad back to our cars after the conversation wrapped up. Leave it to someone like me to think of something like that.

My steps are brisk and my breathing is heavy as I process what just happened. Keeping everything under control is harder than I expected.

I finally make it to my truck and fumble with my key, accidentally locking the door and yanking a bit too hard at the handle. Leaning against the door, I steady myself enough to unlock the truck properly, and I stumble inside. I crouch my body over the steering wheel, breathing shakily in five-second increments, trying to calm myself down. It’s not clear how long I sit there re-living the last two conversations I had with my dad: the one we had today, and the one from four years ago.

Eventually, my breathing slows enough for me to regain composure. Rubbing my eyes back to life, I groggily start the engine and buckle in, steeling myself for the drive back to town.

I pull up to the Riverfront B&B, park, and step out for the short walk to the carriage house. The fog crept in from the coast as I drove, and the air is taking on an even deeper chill than when I was up on the cliff earlier.

The moment I step inside, I shed my jacket to let the dry, fire-heated air embrace me. James glances up from the couch where he’s lounging with his laptop.

“How did it go?” he asks. He sounds upbeat, but I can detect hints of concern.

I shrug. “He apologized. Said he was wrong. Things are shaky but fine, I guess.” I force a smile, but it doesn’t convince anyone.

James steps toward me, guiding me toward the couch and placing a hand on my shoulder. “That’s good, right? It’s a start.”

There’s a brief silence when I don’t respond right away, and I glance down while trying to swallow the rising lump in my throat. The weight of everything that happened on this trip, working through years of unanswered questions, and getting apologies frombothmy parents is overwhelming.

My chest tightens, and I step backward into the couch, trying to hold it together while sitting down without much grace at all. I bring my hands to my face in a last-minute attempt to bring myself back under control, but a quiet sob escapes before I can stop it.

The dam breaks. Tears come pouring out of me, raw, painful, but necessary. I vaguely register James’s arm around me and I hear his voice, not understanding a single word. My brain is full of static, overwhelmed and burdened by years of unresolved pain, of longing for an apology. Each breath I take is like some kind of release. Pouring myself out like this isn’t on-brand for me at all, but it’s something I desperately needed.

The world jarringly comes back into focus. My eyes land on the warm wood paneling of the carriage house, the crackling fireplace, and the brown bedspread. James’s arms are around me, my forehead resting on his shoulder. I look up at him, my eyes still blurry with tears, and I start right back up again.

I clutch at him, my fingers digging into the smooth fabric of his t-shirt that I quickly realize is actually one of mine. My heart aches, but it’s different, and an overwhelming wave of relief washes over me, intense and dizzying.

“James,” I manage to choke out, my voice breaking, “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

His arms firm up around me as James leans down to kiss my forehead. He sounds soothing and warm, giving me a sense of comfort I didn’t know existed. “I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. You aren’t alone in this.”

My breaths are ragged as I close my eyes to stave off another round of tears. My turmoil starts to unwind and I stay still on the couch, James and I wrapped around each other silently with my face buried in his shoulder.

“Hey, let’s do something tonight, it’ll help you take your mind off things.” James’s fingers run up and down my back, the familiar touch settling my emotions.

I wipe my left eye. “Where are we gonna go? The only bar in this town closes at eight.”

“We’ll do whatever. We can crack open a bottle of wine and plan a trip or something.”

“Sounds good to me.” I reach for a bottle of white wine that James left outside the window to chill and pour us two hefty glasses. Taking a larger-than-necessary sip, I let the cool alcohol take the edge off a hectic day.

“I was thinking about what to do next,” James starts, turning his wine glass around. “Do you want to spend the holidays in Toronto with me?”

“Like, Christmas?” I ask.

“Yeah, and New Year’s too.”

“Sure,” I reply. “I wouldn’t be intruding or anything, right?”

James stares at me incredulously. “Ethan. You’re myboyfriend. My parents ask me about you all the time. They’d make a bigger deal about it if youdon’tshow up.”

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