Page 46 of Right Up His Alley

And for the first time in a long time, I feel like I might be. Like I’ve stepped into something bigger than me. Family.

And now it’s just us, alone in his room.

“The fact we were able to sneak up here without my mom and tías catching us is remarkable,” he says, tone falling flat.

I brace myself and take a seat on his desk chair. I wonder if what I’m about to say is more for him or me, but the question comes out before I can think about how it might sound. “Do you ever plan on moving out on your own?”

“One day.” He pauses, reaching for the blanket laid across his desk chair behind me. I lean forward, letting him lift it easier. “But right now, my mom needs me.”

“Why do you say that?”

Even with his usual tough exterior, there’s a softness in the way Ezra folds the blanket at the foot of the bed, like he’s always thinking ahead, always making sure the space around him is favorable for everyone else. He seems to hesitate at my question, and just as I think he won’t answer, he speaks.

“My mom’s never been on her own. Yes, we have a big family, but they have their own stuff going on. With my dad no longer here… it just doesn’t seem right to leave her.”

There’s reluctance in the way he speaks, as if he’s not quite sure he wants to tell me all the details or even every excuse he can think of as to why she needs him here.

I stare deeper into his eyes. “What would happen if you did?” I ask quietly. “Left, I mean.”

He huffs a soft laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “I don’t know. Nothing good.” A pause hangs between us. “It’s not just her. It’s all of it.”

“All of what?” I push a little.

Ezra leans back and looks out the window. His gaze drifts past the yard like he’s looking at something farther away than what’s on his family’s property. “This life. The expectations. Everybody’s always waiting for you to do exactly what they want you to do.”

“That’s how I feel about bowling.” Now it’s my turn to pause. “I know it’s not the same, but it feels like everyone just wants me to compete, to win. But I don’t even know what I’m trying to win anymore, especially since what I want in life isn’t what they want. So, am I really even winning? For me?”

“Exactly.” Ezra lets out a breath. “Our purpose can’t always be to make our families happy.” Knowing the script has flipped a little, Ezra continues, “What would make you happy, Truett?”

Another pause, longer this time. It’s quieter.

I’m careful to even say anything. “I just… I just want something normal, you know?” I shrug, trying to make it seem like it doesn’t really matter what I want, but the hesitation in my voice gives it away. “A place, a home that’s mine. People who aren’t keeping score all the damn time. Not having to prove something every second.”

Ezra’s hand reaches over and gently caresses my cheek. He mumbles, “You had a little sauce on your face.”

Even without a direct response, his touch assures me he completely understands.

I change the subject before lifting my plate of food from my lap and poking at the elotes. “So, does your family get together like this often?”

He thinks for a moment but then nods. “Like four or five times a year. On top of giving each other shit, we just love being around each other. Growing up, I didn’t really have anyone to play with besides mi primos, and if I didn’t want to talk to my parents about something, I only felt comfortable talking to mi tíos.”

“Ah, that’s nice you had some family members to talk to.” I let out a soft chuckle, remembering how my parents responded every time I had big feelings to share growing up. “I love my mom, but she has always had a hard time understanding where I’m coming from. She had the chance to choose this life for herself when she married my dad. I always felt like I was born into bowling. If you ask her, she’ll admit it took her a while to realize that I never had a choice, in the grand scheme of things.

“Growing up, when I tried to talk to my parents about something, they would stop me, offer to buy me something to make me feel better, and then end up suggesting I talk to my therapist, who was on call. We’d drive to an office for me to unleash whatever was bothering me that day. My mom has changed over the years, thank god, but my parents weren’t… the most nurturing.”

“I could never. For much of the older generation in my family, therapy is so taboo. My parents would rather call the whole family to a we need to talk about Ezra intervention and then roast me enough until I felt better. I could never go to a complete stranger to talk about what was wrong. God forbid someone outside the family knew what the family tea was.”

“Oh, I bet that tea was piping too!”

“You have no idea.” He laughs. “But, no, I had a really great childhood. Great parents. Lots of support. I think that’s why I feel the need to stick around here. Keep running Spare Time.”

I watch Ezra as he talks, his voice more innocent than usual. He doesn’t meet my eyes right away, just keeps picking at the frayed edge of a pillow laid across his lap, like if he lets himself stop, he’ll lose the nerve. And I get it. I do. Because the more I learn about him, about his parents, about what Spare Time means to him, about the way he’s been carrying things alone for so long since his father died, the harder it is to pretend that what I feel is just the usual pull of attraction.

It’s not.

It’s heavier.

It’s greater.