Page 13 of The Way We Swing

“I’ve stayed here like four times this week. Didn't want to be in the way.” Easton had, in fact, stayed the last four nights. Zach kept going to bed before us, so Easton and I played pool and Mario Kart late into the night.

With Zach going to bed early, that meant Easton slept in my room. Zach had always been the one who stayed up late, but I wasn’t about to complain about this sudden change in behavior.

“We’ve been over this. You can stay whenever,” I said, handing him a towel.

Our bare feet thudded softly against the hallway carpet as we made our way to Gavin’s room. It felt like stepping into a mirrored version of mine—same red walls, same scuff marks near the door. But instead of a twin bed and futon, bunk beds loomed against the far wall. His shelf held a neat row of autographed baseballs, each tucked into its own little plastic cube, glinting under the ceiling light.

“Nice room,” Easton said. He had somehow not entered the room before now, and Gavin decided he needed to give Easton a tour of the small space.

Gavin pointed out the Yadier Molina poster that he had tacked above his desk as well as his own baseball jerseys. Since Gavin’s first year playing baseball, he had asked Dad to frame his jerseys when the season was over and they'd end up nailed to the ceiling. I’d never admit it to Gavin, but I was insanely jealous of the idea and loved the different colored shirts lining the ceiling.

When he got to the bunk bed, Gavin jumped on the top bunk and made a show of adjusting one of the frames. It didn’t move an inch—Dad had nailed them tight—but Gavin was trying to show off to Easton.

“Easton.”

“Gavin.”

“Are you staying over tonight?”

Easton looked at me, and I nodded. “I think so. We’ve got a game tomorrow morning, so I’ll stick around.”

“Cool. You should stay in here. You can sleep on the bottom bunk.”

“Don’t make him do that,” I said, not wanting Easton to feel pressured. Not wanting to lose my new roommate.

“Awesome!” Easton said. “I’m so game.”

My stomach dropped as Gavin did a fist pump. I couldn’t argue with that without looking weird. Or desperate. Or gay.

We hung around in Gavin’s room until Mom and Dad got home. Dad grilled on Friday nights, so he cooked all of us steak with a side of peppers and onions. We sat on the back porch playing Euchre until the sun set, with Mom and Dad crushing us like always. When it was time for Gavin to go to bed, Easton followed, just as he had promised.

Mom—cradling her mug of tea—went into the kitchen and started to clean. I went to the sink and washed the dishes from dinner. She gave me a tired smile and leaned on the counter next to me.

“Thanks for helping clean up,” she said. “I could’ve finished.”

I shrugged. “I’m not ready for bed.”

She nodded, sipping her tea, the overwhelming aroma filling the kitchen like it always did. “Easton seems like a fantastic kid. Polite. Funny, too.”

“Yeah. He’s been great with Gavin.”

“He’s been great with all of you,” she said, and I caught a flicker in her expression—something thoughtful, as if she were weighing her words. “It’s nice seeing you with someone who gets you.”

I didn’t say anything, just focused on wiping down the plate in my hand even though it was already clean.

Mom didn’t press. She just kept sipping, eyes warm but unreadable. “It’s good to let people in, Tanner. Even when it feels weird.” She gave my shoulder a light squeeze and padded off down the hall, her mug still in hand. I stood there a while longer, alone in the quiet hum of the kitchen, before heading to bed.

Did Mom know—or at least suspect—what I was starting to feel for Easton? I needed to be more careful; I had zero idea how she would react if I came out. The stories of kids coming out, then getting kicked out rattled in my brain like they always did.

That night, I slept alone. The emptiness curled in my gut like a warning.

I was in trouble. And I had nobody I could ask to save me.

CHAPTER 5

The smell of pancakes and the sound of Easton’s voice in our kitchen woke me up the next morning. Dad sat at the table talking to Gavin about the Cardinals game from the night before.

Easton manned the flattop, and I watched him flip a couple of pancakes so he could get a consistent brown on each side. He and Mom were deep in conversation; Mom had her hand on Easton’s shoulder comfortingly, but Easton stopped talking when he noticed my presence.