Chapter Sixteen
“Come in.”
Rolling over, Nico found Valentina in the doorway of his old bedroom. He’d gotten dressed, but hadn’t ventured downstairs. It had been almost twenty-four hours, and he was starving.
She shut the door behind her. “Dad said you’re sick.
What’s going on?” Wincing, she kicked off her high heels, then reached under the skirt of her power suit and peeled off her pantyhose.
“Whew. That’s better. Sorry I couldn’t make dinner last night.
Work bullshit. But today I told them to go fuck themselves.
We have an all-star game to watch.” She approached the bed, lips pursed. “What’s wrong?”
Before Nico could answer, Marco burst through the door. He stared at them both, then focused on Nico, his hands out, palms up. “You’re gay? Seriously? Is this for real?”
Valentina swallowed a little gasp. “You told them? Oh my God.” She perched on the side of Nico’s bed and brushed back his hair. “How did it go? Okay, that was a stupid question. I’m going to guess not so well.”
Nico asked, “What did Dad say?”
Marco put his hands on his hips. “He said, ‘Your brother’s a homosexual.’ Nonna crossed herself and practically ran to the kitchen—haven’t seen her move that fast in years—and Dad went back to SportsCenter.”
A homosexual. Nico shifted uncomfortably. That’s what he was, but the idea of his father thinking about it—about him and Jake—flooded acid into his empty stomach. It was out there now. No going back.
“Well, it’s a good sign he’s saying it out loud.” Valentina gave Nico’s arm a squeeze.
“You knew about this?” Marco huffed. “Nic, why didn’t you tell me?”
Val narrowed her gaze. “Oh, gee, let’s see. Maybe because when Dad spouts his homophobic bullshit, you never argue with him?”
“It’s just Dad. I ignore him when he gets like that. It doesn’t mean I agree.”
“Well, your silence speaks volumes, Marc.” Val rubbed her face. “Not that I always spoke up. Back in the day I didn’t argue either. I’m sorry, Nic.”
“It’s okay. I don’t blame you guys.”
Marco came to sit on the bed too, the three of them barely fitting, so Nico sat up against the headboard. Marco slapped Nico’s shin. “You’re my brother. You know I love you no matter what, you moron.”
“I know.” Nico laughed softly. “It’s been a long time since the three of us were together like this.
Since before I went to the minors. No ex-wife, no fiancée.
” He gazed around at the posters and old bulletin board, yellowed concert tickets tacked up with photos of high school friends he hadn’t thought of since he left. “This room is trippy.”
Val smiled. “Little time capsules in this house. I told Dad he should redo our rooms so they’re presentable, but he says the other guest rooms are enough.” Her smile faded. “What happened?”
Nico picked at a loose thread in his old green duvet. “Dad started going off about this guy on TV. Fairy. Pussy. You know, the usual. I just couldn’t anymore. I’d always planned to keep it locked down. Keep me locked down. But it’s too hard. Lying to everyone all the time. I can’t do it.”
“Nor should you,” Val assured him. “They’ll come around.”
“Absolutely,” Marco agreed.
She said, “Dad’s always liked Fitz. Maybe that’ll help him see how ignorant and small-minded he’s been.”
Marco’s forehead creased. “Fitz? What’s he got to do with it?” The other shoe apparently dropped, and his eyes widened. “Wait, Fitz is gay too? Holy shit, is everyone gay? How big is that closet?”
Val snorted. “In professional male sports? Pretty frickin’ ginormous.”
“Huh.” Marco looked into space, clearly processing. “Maybe there were some clues there now that you mention it. Never seen Fitz with a woman.”
“A few clues, yes,” Val said wryly. To Nico she added, “Dad and Nonna will come around. They don’t have a choice. You and Fitz stay strong and be happy together, and to hell with everyone else.”
Marco chimed in, “Exactly. Look, I didn’t see this coming with you, so I can imagine they really didn’t see it coming. But—” He broke off, blinking. “Wait, what? You and Fitz?” He waved his hand through the air. “You and Fitz? Like…”
The little ripple of laughter felt good. Nico said, “Yeah. Me and Jake. We’re…well, I don’t know. We haven’t officially talked about it or whatever.”
“But you’re fucking?” Marco asked.
Val rolled her eyes. “Always with the delicate touch, our brother.”
Nico’s laughter grew stronger. “Yeah, Marc. Jake and I are…you know. Hooking up.” And I’m already in love with him and I have no idea what our status is.
Granted, he’d barely looked at his phone all day and had given short replies to Jake’s texts. He’d wanted to call Jake and spill it all, confess that he’d outed him while coming out himself, but the thought had made him curl up and go back to sleep.
Marco’s cheeks puffed out. “Wow. Okay. You’re hitting me with a lot tonight, but I can take it. You and Fitz.” He seemed to ponder it. “So… Are you still the pitcher?”
“Oh my God!” Valentina exclaimed. “I can’t believe you actually just said that. Out loud!”
“What?” Marco was the picture of innocence, mouth open and hands out. “It’s a valid question!”
“Nope. Not even a little.” To Nico she said, “Ignore him.”
Mortified, his ears going hot, Nico muttered, “I’ve ignored him for years.”
“Hey!” Marco grumbled, “Okay, okay, you and Fitz. That’s good. Fitz is a stand-up guy. And he’d better stay that way, or else.”
With a giggle, Val loosed her hair from its clasp. “That’s right. Or else your big brother and sister will kick his ass. He’s bigger than all of us, but we’ll manage. The Agrestas are scrappers.”
“Yeah we are.” Marco puffed up his chest.
Nico chuckled. “I appreciate it, but I don’t think you’ll need to defend my honor. Jake’s…” He ducked his head and pulled the duvet thread looser. “You know. He’s cool.” It was beyond surreal that they were having this conversation.
“Cool?” Val asked. “Mmm-hmm. If by ‘cool’ you mean smokin’ hot, super sweet, and an all-around dreamboat, then sure.”
“Dreamboat?” Marco put on a high-pitched voice. “Is Ian a dreamboat too?”
Valentina smacked him with a pillow, and naturally it quickly disintegrated into a three-way fight, pillows flying as they tumbled to the floor.
They were tangled in a pile, Marco and Nico ganging up against Valentina and tickling her feet when the door banged open.
They looked up at their father filling the doorway, and Nico really felt twelve again.
“Sounded like you were killing each other up here.” Dad stared down at them, and the silence was almost thick enough to see. He cleared his throat. “I ordered the pizza. The usual. Meat lovers for me and Val, pepperoni for Marc and Nonna, and Hawaiian for Nic.”
Wearing his usual slacks and a red button-up, their father’s hair was neatly slicked back as always.
But he shifted from foot to foot, shoving his hands in his pockets, a tremble visible in his hunched shoulders.
The wrinkles in his face seemed impossibly deeper, the gray edges of his hair somehow having spread overnight.
He watched them with eyes both eager and afraid, his voice little more than a rasp. “You kids going to come watch the pregame?”
Nico realized he’d never seen his father so vulnerable as long as he could remember. Even in the hazy memories surrounding his mother’s death, Dad had been stoic and determined, always sure of himself.
Letting go of Val’s foot, Nico extricated himself and stood, reaching carefully for the fragile olive branch. “Pizza sounds great, Dad.”
Even though he should have been exhausted after three-plus hours of pretending everything was normal while they ate pizza and ignored the giant pink elephant lumbering through the living room, Nico wasn’t ready for bed.
His muscles twitched and his throwing arm was stiff. In his bare feet, he pulled on a ratty old Chicago T-shirt over his pajama bottoms and padded downstairs. From a skylight high above in the vaulted ceiling, moonlight glinted off the gold-framed photos lining the wide staircase.
Near the bottom of the stairs, Nico stopped, raising his fingers to trace the faded rectangle where only a hook remained. He was sure all the photos had been there earlier, and he was sure which one was gone.
Breathing shallowly, he tiptoed into the hall toward the sunken living room. His father sat in his favorite spot on the couch closest to the bay windows, his back to Nico. The TV was off for a change, and the only light came from the distant moon.
Nico hovered there on the top step, his heart too loud in his ears. He could creep back up, but since he’d shouted the truth earlier, he felt like a boat cut free of its rope, the current carrying him forward.
Nonna had left her knitting bag on the floor by the other couch, and Nico accidentally kicked it over as he sat.
Catching a ball of wool before it unraveled too far, he turned it over in his hands.
“I don’t know how she still knits so fast.” Her knuckles were swollen most days, but she seemed to ignore the arthritis completely.
Mind over matter. Just like she was ignoring Nico’s truth.
Dad didn’t say anything. He was still in his slacks and button-up, and he cradled the missing picture in his hands. After several heartbeats, he turned it to Nico. “You and your mother, when we brought you home from the hospital.”
Nico could just make out the outlines of the familiar photograph, an eight by ten blowup of his mother in the old green armchair, her dark curls tumbled around her face, her teeth white in a beaming smile, dimples cutting her cheeks.
She held Nico in her arms, a little squishy-faced bundle, barely a person yet.
The old longing flowed through him, the regret sharp-edged.
His father said, “This picture has hung there all these years.”
He seemed to be waiting for Nico to respond, so Nico said, “I know.”
“Why would you think we blamed you for any of it?”