30. James
30
JAMES
NOVEMBER
This road stretches on, and on, and on, and on. The GPS has us arriving in a little over half an hour, but it’s starting to get dark, and there’s almost nothing around us. Only trees and Route 9. No, wait. We’re turning off Route 9 onto an even smaller road where the forest is right next to us. I’m getting a little claustrophobic, and it’s not from spending five hours in a truck.
Ethan insisted on driving the whole way up from Boston. I pushed back at first, but now, with the sun setting and the road getting narrower, I’m happy to be a passenger.
The trees give way to a sparse smattering of houses along the road and before long, we pull up in front of a large blue house in the quiet town center. A wooden sign reading “Riverfront Bed and Breakfast” in warm red text hangs off a post out front.
“This is it,” says Ethan, shutting off his truck. He silently steps out and grabs our bags before marching into the building. He holds the door open for me, and I half-jog to follow him.
As we walk toward the front desk, the young red-haired receptionist glances up and does a double take, a broad grin spreading across her face. I’m not sure what to make of it.
“Ethan!” she exclaims, beaming at him.
He returns a warm smile. “Hey Olivia, it’s great to see you again.”
Ah, so they know each other. They probably went to school together.
Olivia leans forward, grinning as she examines him. “Wow, Ethan Sullivan, back in Machias. Never thought I’d see you after you got signed. You’re famous around here!”
Another typical Ethan blush creeps across his face. “Famous? I don’t know about that.”
She laughs. “Are you kidding? You play for Boston . This town couldn’t forget about you even if they tried.”
Turning her attention to me, Olivia’s eyes quickly flick down, taking me in with a subtle once-over before she catches herself and looks back at Ethan with a knowing smile.
“So, what brings you back to Machias?”
Ethan’s expression hardens a bit. “We’re here to see my mom,” he says.
Olivia’s smile softens as she taps on the keyboard in front of her. “That’s nice, I guess your parents have come around, then?”
Ethan replies politely, his voice level. “That’s what we’re here to find out.”
She nods, understanding. “I see. Well, I hope everything goes okay. Your room’s ready in the carriage house. One of us will leave a breakfast basket by the door every day at seven.”
“Thanks, Olivia,” Ethan says. “I appreciate it.”
Olivia smiles and hands over the key. “No problem, have a nice stay.”
“Thanks.” Ethan turns to me, jerking his head toward the door. “Let’s get settled in.”
The carriage house, just a few meters away, has the same rustic appeal as the main building. Ethan slips the key into the lock, turns it, and slides the heavy wooden door open. We step into the entryway that opens to a small living space, furnished with a loveseat and a coffee table.
“You really are a hometown hero, aren’t you?” I quip.
Ethan lets out a short laugh as he shuts the door behind us. “I guess people still talk about me. At least it’s for a better reason now.”
I haul my roller bag onto one of the luggage racks, then turn to face Ethan. “Yeah, Olivia seems to know what happened with your parents.”
Ethan inhales deeply before letting out a sigh. “Word spreads fast around here. I mean, it’s not like everyone here knows everyone else, but we went to high school together, so our families share the same circle.” He pauses. “As I said, my parents apparently got a lot of shit when the town heard that they chucked me out.”
Shifting from foot to foot, I stay silent, not knowing what to say.
“Most people here don’t have a problem with being gay. My parents are an exception,” Ethan continues before catching himself and thinking for a second. “I guess it might only be my dad, we’ll see.”
We shower and go to bed, exhausted from the long drive. Tomorrow afternoon, we’re going to have Thanksgiving dinner with Ethan’s mom, and from what Ethan says, it could be tense. If she’s truly sorry, and if she makes a genuine effort, I hope things warm up between them.
Frigid November air bites us when we step outside into the deceptively sunny afternoon, ready for the short trip to Ethan’s mom’s house in East Machias. The drive is quiet, and Ethan keeps his eyes focused on the road. I can tell he’s not in a talking mood, so I give him space, staring out at the bay as we leave town.
The blue water is an almost unnatural color. It’s striking, contrasting dramatically with the dark coast and setting sun in the distance.
“That water is so fucking blue,” I say randomly, trying to break the silence.
Ethan nods, his fingers firmly gripping the steering wheel. “Yeah. It’s beautiful. There’s nothing like it.”
I glance over at him. “Do you ever miss Maine?”
Ethan’s lips press into an even thinner line. “Parts of it, yeah. I have a ton of great memories from growing up here, but it’s complicated.”
The GPS beeps softly, signaling that we’ve arrived. Ethan pulls the truck off the road and parks it at the edge of the asphalt before unbuckling himself. I follow his lead, getting out of the truck and stepping into the sunlight. We walk across the road, up the short driveway, and Ethan pauses at the door, staring at it.
“My parents sold the old house when they split, so I’ve never been here before. It’s weird,” he says. There’s a pause, and then Ethan exhales, briskly pressing the doorbell.
Footsteps shuffle inside and the door slowly opens, revealing Anna. She looks nervous, but I can see her eyes flicker with something else for a split second.
“Ethan,” she says, her voice catching.
“Mom.”
She steps aside, motioning for us to come in. “Come in, please. It’s been too long.”
We step inside and I savor the warm air as we walk toward the open kitchen. The place is cozy, filled with the soft scent of cooking. It’s comforting, but I can’t ignore how tense Ethan’s expression is.
He sends me a brief glance before turning to his mom. “Mom, this is James. James, this is my mom, Anna,” he says, almost like he’s forcing himself to get through the formalities.
Anna smiles softly, though there’s an underlying nervousness in her expression. “It’s nice to meet you, James.”
“It’s great to meet you, too. Thanks for having me.” I can’t read the room. Ethan introduced me to his mom by her first name, but it doesn’t feel right to call her Anna yet. I decide to avoid using any names at all.
“I’m glad you both could make it.”
The silence that follows is heavy. Anna busies herself at the stove, checking the turkey, while Ethan stays by the kitchen island, his hands gripping the edge, his face unreadable.
Anna glances over her shoulder. “I’m making a simple Thanksgiving dinner. Nothing too fancy, but I hope it’s enough.”
Ethan gives her a small nod, smiling politely. “Thanks, Mom. You didn’t have to do anything special.”
There’s a moment where their eyes meet, and it’s clear that Anna’s trying to say something.
Ethan clears his throat, stepping forward. “Can I help with anything?”
Anna smiles, grateful for the distraction. “That would be really helpful. Could you mash the potatoes?”
“Sure thing.” Ethan moves over to the counter and I stay quiet, watching him for a second before I lean over to inspect the gravy unnecessarily.
The kitchen is small, and the three of us maneuver around each other in near silence. It’s too quiet, and the only sounds are clinking dishes, bubbling turkey juices, and occasional scraping coming from the potato masher.
“So,” Anna says after a moment, her voice a little tentative, “How are things in Boston, Ethan? I hear you’ve been doing well with the team.”
Ethan’s shoulders tense up but he keeps his voice steady. “Yeah, it’s been good. Busy, but good.”
Another uneasy silence follows, nobody knowing what exactly to say. Anna peers at Ethan with a hesitant smile. “I’m glad you came, Ethan. It means a lot to me. I know I’ve said it before, but I want to say it again. I’m sorry, Ethan. For everything.”
Ethan puts down the masher, his jaw tightening. “It’s fine, Mom. I appreciate you saying that. I still have to adjust, though.” He sighs softly, loosening his posture before taking the potatoes to the dining table.
“So, James,” Anna says, turning to me, “Tell me about yourself.”
I tilt my head up, a little surprised but glad for the subject change. “Um, I’m Ethan’s teammate, I’m a pitcher, and I’m from Toronto, in Canada.” I pause, thinking about how to move beyond my rehearsed, canned introduction. “I’m loving Boston, but it’s a lot colder than I expected it to be.”
Anna laughs lightly. “Takes a bit of getting used to, doesn’t it?”
“Tell me about it. I thought America was supposed to be warm !”
That manages to get a laugh out of Ethan and Anna, which gives me hope that the tension in this house will start to dissipate. Eventually, we all sit down at the small dining table. Things are way less awkward. It’s almost normal. Anna seems nice enough, at least right now. I’m still staying polite and following Ethan’s lead, though, since there’s still some lingering tension in the room.
Anna takes a sip of water before glancing at Ethan. “Word’s been getting around that you’re back visiting.”
Ethan pauses mid-bite. “Huh?”
She nods, smiling a little. “People talk. And you’re kind of a big deal around here.”
Ethan chuckles lightly. “I forgot how fast news travels in Machias.”
“People are proud of you,” Anna says, her voice sincere. “It’s not every day that someone from around here makes it to the big leagues. They still talk about your high school games, you know.”
Ethan looks down at his plate, a small, almost shy smile playing on his lips. “I didn’t think anyone paid that much attention back then.”
Anna reaches out, resting her hand on the table. “They did. Whenever a college scout showed up, it was all anyone could talk about for days.” She pauses, seemingly thinking over her next words, before her expression firms up.
“Is something wrong?” asks Ethan.
Anna inhales sharply. “The thing about Machias is that when word gets around, it really gets around.” She lets out her breath before drawing another one in. “Your father knows that you’re here. He called me this morning.”
Ethan’s hand clenches tightly around his fork. He stays calm, though, his face not giving anything away.
Anna braces herself. “He wanted me to ask if you’d talk to him.” Her words hang in the air, and Ethan remains motionless.
He doesn’t say anything, so Anna continues, her voice firmer. “I told him, once again, to get fucked.”
A noisy clatter pierces the air, and I look over to investigate the source. Ethan dropped his fork. “Mom?—”
Anna releases a dry laugh. “I know, I was always uptight about swearing when you were growing up, but your father needed to hear that. Many times over.”
Ethan composes himself and removes the dropped fork from his plate. “I don’t want to see him.”
“I told him that’s what he could expect,” says Anna. “It’s up to you whether you talk to him again.”
For a long time, Ethan doesn’t speak. His eyes are low, but I can see them shift as he thinks.
Without warning, Ethan brings his hands up and rubs his temples frustratedly. His fingers clench, then unclench, and he exhales sharply, his gaze still focused on the table.
“I know a lot of people told him he was wrong,” he mutters.
Anna nods. “It’s true. Within a week, most of our friends weren’t even talking to us, unless it was to say that we messed up.”
Ethan laughs, though it’s clear there’s no humor behind it. “Yeah, I bet everyone had something to say. And still, he doubled down.”
For a minute, I think he’s done talking, but then he speaks again. “What if he needs to hear it from me? I don’t know if it’ll matter to him. I don’t know if I even care.”
Anna’s expression softens, and she nods. “You don’t owe him anything, Ethan. But if it’ll help you, then do it for yourself. Not for him.”
After what feels like ages, Ethan speaks again, his voice flat. “I’ll think about it,” Ethan mutters darkly. “But part of me thought that Dad would just forget about me.”
“This town won’t let him forget, Ethan. Your father still goes to that Lobster Pot bar a couple times a week. The minute you signed with Boston, the owner ordered your poster and stuck it up. It’s right where your father usually sits.”
Despite the immense weight of the whole situation, I snicker as Ethan groans.
“There’s a poster of me in the Lobster Pot?” he asks, incredulous.
Anna chuckles. “There sure is. You should go by and sign it before you leave town.”
Dinner goes by uneventfully afterward, and after the sun dips below the water, we say our goodbyes and head out into the cold, dark evening. Ethan is silent as he starts his truck and pulls onto the road, steering us back toward Machias. He turns on a random radio station and I stare out of the window, watching the dark outline of trees flying past.
Ethan speaks up. “When we get back, I’m gonna text my dad. Let’s see what he has to say.”