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Up until then, I saw them a couple times a year; James, Cooper, and Izzy were like cousins I hung out with on holidays. With my dad based in Ohio and Richard in New York, it was the best they could do. That morning, though, after days of working out the details, they sat me in a chair in the hallway outside the church with the social worker who had been handling my case. Richard had on a suit, and Sandra a navy-blue dress. He looked at his wife, waiting for her final nod, before he leaned in and said, “Son, you’re coming home with us.”
Sandra had hugged me then, and I remember letting myself think it was my mother instead. Just once. I was eleven, but plenty old enough to understand there wouldn’t be any going back.
I trace over the fake leather of the chair’s arm, unable to tear my gaze away from Zoe’s phone. That stupid blinking red light is sending my heart rate into overdrive.
“It’s strange to think about, sometimes,” I say. “It’s been a decade of a different life than the one I was born into. In some ways, it’s incredibly similar—and I thank Richard and Sandra for keeping things as normal as possible and keeping me in baseball. But it’s not what it could have been, and I’ll never not wonder how things would be different. I’ll never not miss my mother and father and wish they were in my life.”
“Of course,” Zoe says softly. “I lost my father a few years ago, and it hasn’t been the same. Nothing completely heals that wound.”
“No.” I blink away sudden, stinging tears. “But my life is great. I love my family—and they are my family—more than anything. James is the best big brother anyone could ask for, and Izzy’s the best little sister, and Cooper’s my best friend. Richard and Sandra are parents to me, absolutely. They’ve supported my baseball career every step of the way, keeping in line with my father’s wishes.”
“So it truly was your father’s dream for you to play baseball.”
“Yeah. He’d be so excited about the draft.” I laugh slightly. “I’ve seen a lot of things people have been writing, and honestly, I don’t think he’d care about whether I go in the top ten or the last slot of the last round. He’d just want me to make it.”
“And this is your future? Your lifelong passion, just like your dad?”
I look at her for a long moment.
Yes. Always.
No other option.
So why is it so hard to say aloud?
That light keeps blinking, impossible to ignore. Taunting me. I rub my chest, right over the tattoo I got with James and Cooper a couple summers ago in OBX. The bruise Mia gave me with her heel is still there, a comforting tenderness when I press down. I wish I could check my phone to see if she texted back, but I don’t want to be rude.
I take a deep breath. I can finish this. It’s not that bad.
Zoe notes my hesitation; I can see it in the way she uncrosses her legs and leans in. “I’m wondering about the last name ‘Callahan’ on your jersey. Is it just for practicality? Are you going to switch to ‘Miller’ once you’re playing baseball professionally?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Have you thought about what your father would think?”
“He’s dead,” I snap. “I don’t know what he would think.”
“Do you think you have the talent to match or surpass his records?” She flips to another page in her notebook. “What about the fact he didn’t play long enough to make the Hall of Fame? Do you think he should be in it regardless since he holds the National League home run title?”
My chest feels tight, my heart aching. I can feel the beginnings of a headache around my temples. I cast around for something to say. Anything to get her off this line of questioning, and to calm myself the hell down. “I have a girlfriend.”
She picks up her pen. “A girlfriend?”
“Her name is Mia.” I work my hand through my hair again, tugging on the ends. “She’s studying astronomy and physics—she’s a genius. She wants to work for NASA one day.”
“Is she a student here at McKee?”
“Yeah.”
“You lit up, just now,” she says. “She must mean a lot to you.”
“She’s one of the best people I’ve ever known. Absolutely the smartest. I’m just a jock, but she’s special. I’m grateful that she gives me the time of day, much less wants to be with me.”
“Adorable,” she says. “Will I see her at tomorrow night’s game?”
“Yeah,” I say, even though I haven’t spoken to Mia about attending my games. I haven’t wanted to push, since she’s so busy with her lab work, but it would be nice to see her in the stands at least once before… before the end of the season. “She’ll be there.”
She smiles, fiddling with that ostentatious necklace. “I can’t wait to meet her.”
