40. MATEO
forty
I may never know what a sprinkle-free kitchen looks like again, but I do know what a happy home feels like, because I’m living in it.
After having cake for lunch, Anna crashed hard from the sugar high and ended up falling asleep on the couch.
I took the opportunity to suggest we start moving Isabella’s things up to my room.
Which is how I ended up staring at Isa’s underwear drawer and being completely useless.
“Leave those alone, you perv.” She pushes me out of the way with her hip and crosses her arms. “And were you going to include me in this conversation about changing rooms? It’s like we’re moving in together.”
“We already live together,” I deadpan.
She wrinkles her nose. “Ugh, you know what I mean.”
I move in, pulling her into my chest. “Isabella, will you pretty, pretty please move into my room with me so that I can wake up with you in my arms and give you all the morning besitos for as long as I want?”
“Hmm, tempting. But I’ve got a sweet setup with my desk in this room. And my clothes are put away so nicely…”
“You’re only using up three drawers and a few hangers. We haven’t even brought over the rest of your things from your parents’ place. And besides…” I turn her in my arms so she faces the floor-to-ceiling windows. “I was thinking we make a few adjustments and turn this into your office. Get a bigger desk and a desktop computer. So when you’re in here, you can focus on work, and when you’re in our room, you can focus on my co—”
“Don’t finish that sentence.” She sighs theatrically. “And to think you were doing so well.”
I pinch her side, and she erupts into giggles. “Okay, okay, I’ll move into your room.”
“Our room.”
“Our room,” she agrees.
“And remember, we’re a team now.” I lift my wrist, showing off my new friendship bracelet.
Anna made them for the three of us after our conversation earlier. And all three have our initials on them—MIA.
Which is fitting, because mía means mine in Spanish.
Which is what they are.
Isa lifts her bracelet and gazes at it lovingly. “She’s the absolute sweetest, isn’t she?”
I lean down and kiss her forehead. “Yes, and now she knows. Which also means it’s only a matter of time before…”
“Our moms,” she shudders. “You know how smug those two are about to be? After months of riding our asses and suggesting I work for you.” She shakes her head. “I’m never going to live this down. This’ll be the ultimate I-told-you-so moment for them,” she grumbles.
“Want me to talk to Anna and see if it’s possible for a five-year-old to keep a secret?”
She shakes her head. “No, it’s fine. It’s actually nice to have my friends know, and now Anna. And I love hearing how much shit the guys on the team give you for dating your nanny.” She grins as I roll my eyes. “Plus, I’m sure that after their victory parade, it’ll be good to have our family in the know. I don’t want it to feel like it’s this big secret we have to keep hidden.” She wraps her arm around my middle and leans her chin on my chest.
“Except when it comes to the media, right?”
She shakes her head from side to side, contemplating. “I mean, maybe just a bit longer?”
“Whatever you want, tesoro. It’s about me and you right now.” I kiss her head.
“And Anna. Don’t forget our initials, mister.” She lifts her bracelet up to my face.
“Would never dream of it.”
Later that night, we’re both getting ready for bed.
Our bed.
It only took three quick trips up the stairs to get Isabella fully moved into our room. I didn’t realize how sad-looking the right side of my empty closet was until I started to organize it with her things.
Which reminds me that I need to take my woman shopping soon. This closet isn’t going to fill itself.
Isabella’s currently in bed with my biggest competition… her Kindle. I knew my girl loved to read, but I clearly underestimated how deep that love runs. “Just one more chapter,” she mumbles without looking up from her screen.
“Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard that one before,” I say as I lift the comforter and settle into bed alongside her. It’s not odd for me to catch her reading out on the balcony under a couple of thick blankets or in a nook on the couch when I come home from practice.
We seem to have slipped into this new sense of normalcy, one I never knew I was capable of having.
I think of the moments when I walked in after a long day of work to find Anna and Isabella curled up on the couch together, or in the kitchen making an absolute mess. For the first time in a long time, it feels like I’m walking into a real home. One full of love and warmth. Full of things I never deluded myself into believing I could have with my kind of lifestyle in the public eye.
But Isabella made it easy. She made it easy to come home, because now, along with Anna, she is my home.
My phone dings with a notification.
It’s a text from Torres. It’s late, and I’d usually wait until the morning to respond, but I don’t want to interrupt Isabella as she wraps up her chapter. I’m trying to behave, since I won’t be on my best behavior once she puts the Kindle down and I give her fictional book boyfriends a run for their money.
I open the text and see a flyer for a charity baseball game being hosted at our stadium.
Torres:
Yo, man, I know it’s late and this is last minute, but this charity event is to help raise funds for hurricane relief in Puerto Rico. I know we always donate and do our part, but I think if you and I show up to this and play a couple light innings, it’ll draw a bigger crowd. What do you think?
I look back at the flyer. A bunch of celebrities have signed up to play with some Monarch players. It stings for a moment that I wasn’t asked directly from the Monarch organization to join in on the event, given that I’m their starting pitcher and I am Puerto Rican. But I quickly get over it and understand why.
I never go to anything that isn’t mandatory. I write a hefty check and ask for regular updates on the charities I’m involved in but never actually show up to kiss ass and shake hands. It’s always been the hard line I keep against the relentless media and their attempts to write a personal interest story on me.
Torres:
BTW, I already told Daisy that you’d do it. So don’t look like a douche. Plus, I know Isabella will be invited, so that should get your ass in gear.
Me:
I’ve had just about enough of you referencing my ass.
Me:
And yeah, I’ll do it.
Torres:
SHIT, FOR REAL, brO????
Torres:
Damn, Isabella is a miracle worker. She finally reached close enough to pull that stick out your ass, then?
Me:
What the fuck did I say about my ass? Go to sleep and leave me alone before I change my mind.
“Why is Anthony texting me about being an ass whisperer?” Isabella asks, scrunching her face as she rereads her text.
“Ignore him.” I grab both of our phones and set them to charge before turning my attention back to the sexy woman in my bed.
“There’s a charity event this weekend. At the stadium, and you’re invited. I’ll be playing to raise money for hurricane relief in Puerto Rico.”
Isabella clicks her Kindle off and sets it on her nightstand, then shimmies under the covers. “That’s amazing! We’ve been lucky to not have any bad ones hit the Caribbean so far this year, but sometimes the infrastructure left reeling in the aftermath can be just as bad, if not worse, than the actual storm. I lived through a couple of bad ones while I was down there, and they were for sure scary, but the worst part was what came next. No electricity or water. People waiting hours in line for gas so they could turn on their generators—if they were lucky enough to even have them. And feeling like the government wasn’t doing shit. Like they were just waiting to see how we would dig ourselves out of the devastation.” She shakes her head at the memories. “Anything we can do to help, we should. And I know a couple of grassroots organizations on the island that could get the aid directly into the hands of the people who really need it instead of having shipping containers filled with relief sitting on a dock for months on end.”
I slip my hand behind Isabella’s neck and bring her close enough to kiss her. I don’t think I’ll ever stop being in awe of this woman, of her heart, or of her fearlessness when it comes to helping others.
“Thank you,” I murmur against her lips.
“For what?”
“For helping me see that I wasn’t checked in or fully aware of the things happening around me. I’ve been simply existing for far too long, and I’ve made peace with sending off money and counting it as my good deed. But now I see that there is more to be done, especially when it comes to my people on the island.”
She nods. “It would probably mean a lot more for people to see you outside of your official role, out there making news waves and bringing more attention to the cause because you have such a large platform. But not only that. When people are in the trenches, they don’t need fake smiles and rolls of paper towels thrown their way. They need to see you in the trenches with them, shoulder to shoulder. Showing up to things where they can talk to you about their experience and feel the connection happening in front of their faces. There’s never a way to fully understand what someone is going through when you’ve never been through it yourself. But you can listen. You can give people the time of day, make them feel seen and heard. And with a little magic, maybe even make them smile, laugh. Forget about their circumstances for a moment and focus on the joy instead.” She traces the slope of my nose with a delicate finger, leading it down to my lips, and I kiss it gently. “If there’s one thing I learned about the Puerto Rican people when I lived down there, it’s that nothing, and I mean nothing, keeps them down. I thought we Dominicans were the life of the party until I saw how Puerto Ricans got down.” She chuckles. “Not only do they rise above adversity time and time again, but they do it with a sense of pride.” She smiles softly. “Once, we were in a complete blackout, heating up canned soup over a portable electric stove. All the neighbors were out, and apparently, so were the mosquitos. My cousins were miserable, having lived these same scenarios in the Dominican Republic. I don’t remember exactly what one of them said, but it was something silly like ‘Why wasn’t I born in Bora Bora?’ Most of us laughed, but one neighbor shook his head good-naturedly and said, ‘Yo soy Boricua aunque naciera en la luna.’ And that phrase has always stuck with me. Because I’m a proud Dominican, but I was born here in the states and don’t have the same experiences as the majority of my family. But that sentiment, of being who you are, no matter what your birth certificate states, will forever stay with me.”
I let out a deep sigh as I let those words sink into me.
My little Spanish lessons, which may have started as a way for me to get closer to Isabella, have now turned into serious business. Whenever I’m not on the field, I’m doing self-appointed homework, since I truly believe my woman is taking it easy on me when giving me small assignments. But I don’t want easy, I thrive when pushing myself.
Which is why I know exactly what that sentence meant. “I’m Puerto Rican, even if I had been born on the moon.”
Direct translations usually suck, because the Spanish language always has a flair for the romantic while English is pretty straightforward and to the point, but the sentiment isn’t lost on me.
The idea that you are a whole version of yourself, of your culture, no matter where you were born or how you were raised, soothes a part of me that’s always struggled to figure out exactly where I belong.
Always feeling like I’m part of this or that.
Puerto Rican but not from the island. Hispanic, but I don’t speak Spanish.
Dealing with the ignorant “Oh but you don’t look Puerto Rican” comments all my life, because there is apparently only one acceptable version of what a Latino man should look like. Another strike against me not feeling worthy enough to claim my people loudly, proudly.
Yet with each passing day, with the woman by my side—who doesn’t even share my same exact lineage—I’m getting closer to my roots.
And for a man who could afford to buy anything, she has no clue that she’s given me the greatest gifts of all. Acceptance, education, and love.
There goes that word again, tumbling in my mind in a nonstop loop.
One of these days, once things have settled and I believe she’s ready, I’ll tell her how deeply and madly in love I am with her.
But for tonight, I’ll have to settle with showing her.