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I took a breath. I took my mother’s hand. I’m not scared of many things. I’ve spent a lot of my life training myself not to be. When I decide something, I do it, and if people don’t like it, so be it. But my mother’s hand was small and warm in mine, and I could feel her pulse in her wrist, and for one second I wanted to lie. I wanted to say he’s a teammate. I wanted to say it’s just a friend.

Trust me, said a voice in my head. Wait.

I’m done waiting.

“Mom,” I said. “I’m not gay. But my lover is a man. I fell in love with a man.”

The words fell into the room like a dropped plate.

My mother stared at me. Her mouth was slightly open. She looked, for a moment, like she’d been struck on the head with something soft.

“Lex,” she said. “Are you okay? Are you sure you don’t have a concussion?”

“I’m fine.”

“You have brought five different girlfriends to my house! You dated the Miss Connecticut runner-up! “

“I know.”

“How can you tell me you love a man and you are not gay? What is this? Is this— is it him? “ She jabbed a finger at the bed. “The tall one? The Russian one with the cheekbones? “

I found it awkward that she put it that way.

“Yes,” I said.

“When did this happen?”

“Since I met him. That’s the truth. Since the day I met him.” My voice wobbled, and I didn’t try to stop it. “I never liked guys, Mom. I didn’t. It’s just him. It’s like we have a weird connection that I can’t explain, and I love him so much that I can’t see straight, and if he ever leaves me, or cheats on me, or runs away from me, I swear to God I’ll—”

She slapped me.

It wasn’t hard. It was the tiny, ladylike slap of a woman who has been trained since girlhood never to hit anyone above the neck, and it landed on my cheek with a small, wet smack.

“Do not, “ said my mother, “say things like that.”

“Mom—”

“You have not changed. I thought this illness of yours had ended. Even in love, you talk like a bandit.” She glared at me, eyes flashing. “You will not threaten that boy. You will love him like a decent person. If he does something wrong, you will talk. With words. In a calm voice. Do you hear me?”

“Yes, Mom.”

“Good.”

I was staring at her. My cheek stung. So did my eyes.

“That’s it?” I said. “That’s all?”

“What else would there be?”

“I thought you’d—” I couldn’t finish. “I thought you’d be upset.”

“I am upset. I am upset that you didn’t tell me. I am upset that you thought you had to keep it in a box.” She took my face in her hands again. “Alexander. You are my son. I do not care whom you love. I care that you do it well. You have spent your whole life running from everyone who tried to hold you. If some poor boy has managed to catch you, I would like to shake his hand.”

I couldn’t say anything.

“I hope your father can handle it,” she added, briskly, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. “He will be difficult. But I have been managing your father for thirty years.” A sniff. “And I suppose I will have to rely on Jennifer for grandchildren.”

“Mom!” said Jenny, scandalized.