Mom set her hand over mine. “What is it?”
“Um…it’s just not um, easy to say. That’s all.” Fuck. I was sweating now, and I hadn’t said anything coherent. I glanced at the family photo of my brothers and me on the side table next to the sofa in the adjoining family room. I wondered if this was the last time I’d see this house, the collage of photos on the walls…my dog.
“Max, we love you. Nothing will change that, you know.”
“What do you mean?” I choked.
“Just what I said. You can tell us anything. We’re here for you,” she said softly.
“Yeah, but I don’t think you’ll like this.”
“Try us,” Dad urged, setting his paper aside.
“I’m…um.” I rubbed my nose and stared out the window. I fixated on the birdbath at the far end of the lawn for a moment before refocusing on my parents. “I’m different. Like…not in a bad way, but in a way that not everyone thinks is so great.”
“What isn’t so good about you? Did you murder someone? That’s not so good,” my dad said.
I rolled my eyes. “No.”
“Are you selling drugs?”
“No.”
“Are you doing drugs or—”
“No! I’m gay.”
Silence.
They looked at each other and then at me.
“Okay. Are you sure you don’t want coffee?”
“No, I don’t want coffee. Did you hear me?”
“Yes. We know,” my mom said matter-of-factly.
“You know? What do you mean, ‘you know’? How?” I frowned and cast a furtive look between them. “When?”
Dad smiled kindly. “Max, we weren’t born yesterday. We pay attention. We know our boys.”
“You mean you just…figured it out?”
Mom patted my hand. “Yes. We’re smart like that. We’ve been waiting for you to say something. We thought after Christian came out that you might too, but…you like to do things your own way.”
I couldn’t quite grasp that this was so…last year’s news to them. I’d been torturing myself for fucking ever and they knew all along?
“Wait. I don’t get this. Why didn’t you say something?”
“Our job isn’t to tell your story. Or to tell you how to think or what to feel. Our job is to support you. We don’t care who you love, Max. We only hope you find someone special who sees you for who you are,” Mom said.
“I did,” I whispered.
“Oh? Who is he?”
I bit my bottom lip. “Um…Phoenix. You met him last night.”
“The one wearing your Dodger cap?” Dad asked. When I nodded, he looked at my mother and nodded. “I thought so. That’s your lucky hat. I bought it for you after your team won State in high school. ’Member? You wouldn’t let just anyone wear it.”
“No, I wouldn’t.”
“You must really care about him.”
“I do. He’s so…good, you know? Just a really good person.”
“If you like him, we’ll like him too.”
“Just like that?”
“Of course.” Mom reached out and held my chin. “Don’t you believe us?”
“Yeah, but I was sure this was going to be the worst thing I’ve ever done, and you don’t seem to care. I thought you’d be…disappointed. And honestly, I didn’t think I could take that.” I swiped at my nose and then dropped my head.
“Max, look at me. We’re not disappointed. We don’t care if you’re straight, gay, purple, red. We don’t even care if you play baseball. If you decide tomorrow you want to join the circus, we might ask a few questions, but we’re not going to love you any less. We want you to be happy. That’s all we want. Are you happy?”
“No, I’m not. I-I messed it up, and I haven’t told my team yet, and I think I have to and…I don’t know what’s gonna happen next,” I said in a small voice.
“No one knows what’s going to happen one day to the next, Max. There’s no point in wasting time worrying about ‘what ifs.’ It’s better to be honest.” Dad rubbed my shoulder. “Start with yourself. Good things will happen.”
“Thank you.”
“You don’t have to thank us.”
“I do. ’Cause I don’t think I’ve ever told you how grateful I am. I love you and I want to…I want to make you proud. I thought baseball was the way to do it, but—”
“Live a good life, son. That’s all you have to do,” Dad said.
I nodded.
“Is something else bothering you?” my mother asked.
“Yeah. Um…I don’t want to go into any lengthy explanations, but, Sky isn’t really my friend. I’d rather not have him over for Sunday dinner.” I waited a beat, then added, “Ever.”
My parents shared a look. “Okay.”
Then my mother stood then and pulled me into her arms. I towered over her, but she was the one holding me up. I felt small and weak. But I felt hopeful too.
* * *
The idea of “coming out” scared the hell out of me. I could stare down a pitcher with a hundred-mile-an-hour arm with bases loaded and down three runs in the bottom of the ninth any day of the week, but I couldn’t say “I’m gay” into a mirror without breaking into a sweat. I’d thought about how I’d do this once or twice. In my perfect world, it would be a quiet thing. No big deal. I’d tell a friend or two, and magically everyone would know and accept and boom…I’d be out.