We’re not mad at you. We’re just worried about you and want to make sure you’re okay. Please call us.
My shoulders slump. I’m such a jerk. No more ignoring them.
I tap my thumb on my screen and hold my breath while her phone rings.
“Blake, honey. Finally.”
Guilt throttles me at how worried she sounds.
“Hey, Mom. Sorry it took so long for me to call you. It’s been…” I go quiet trying to come up with the right words. “Things have been kind of rough lately.”
“What on earth is going on? Your dad was scrolling on his phone to watch the highlights from your last game, and then he saw this sports news report about you being some shirtless guy on social media? What’s the name?”
I sigh. “That Shirtless Guy.”
“Right, That Shirtless Guy. And then—hang on, your father wants to say something, let me put him on speaker.”
“Blake, buddy, I think I just saw a bunch of photos of you without a shirt on. It’s all over college sports news.”
I fight through the cringe currently working its way through my body at how confused and concerned he sounds.
“That’s not you, right? Your face isn’t in the photos; that can’t be you,” he says.
I take a second to work up the nerve to tell them the truth. Even though it might change the way they feel about me. Even though finding this out will make them disappointed and embarrassed in me…
“It’s me, you guys. That’s me in the photos. That’s my social media account.”
There’s dead silence from their end of the line. It’s so long I start counting. When I get to eleven, they finally speak.
“Goodness,” my mom says.
Dad clears his throat. “Well, then. That’s…interesting.”
The heat of shame climbs up my chest and neck and cheeks. I power through the urge to drop my phone and walk off, to escape and hide.
“I’m sorry you guys found out this way. I never meant to go public with this.” I pause, wondering how much else I should say.
I owe it to them to be honest. They’ve always been honest with me. And loving. And supportive and proud and loyal.
And now I’m embarrassing them with my secret sexy social media account.
“I know this is gonna sound crazy, but the whole reason I started that account in the first place was for you guys. I’ve made money from that account. And I use it to help you guys.”
They’re quiet again for a few seconds.
“Honey, are you serious?” Mom says.
“Yeah. I mean, I never thought I’d make that much from it. But it kind of took off.”
“That’s why you’re always treating us to meals,” Dad says. “And why you’ve paid for so many things for us, like the car tune-up.”
“Yes.” I contemplate also telling them about my plan to pay off their house, but I hold back. I can tell they’re pretty overwhelmed and shocked from learning about this. I should give them some time to process it.
“Oh, honey.” I’m thrown off by how shaky my mom’s voice is. “You did this for us?”
“Of course I did. You sacrificed so much for me over the years. You paid for hockey lessons and camps and coaching and travel expenses. I wouldn’t be playing hockey if it wasn’t for you guys. You guys spent thousands of dollars on me. I wanted to do something for you.”
They’re quiet again. I hear my dad clear his throat once more.
