14. Sean #2
My dad walks in last. Pádraig O'Malley is in a suit and tie, hair combed, face composed like it always is when he’s trying to be the version of himself he believes God expects.
His gaze flicks to Emiliano, then to me, and he nods once. It’s not cold, but it doesn’t exactly feel warm either. Just… acceptance in progress. I know this isn’t what he envisioned when he thought about my life. And I’m sure he and my mother had a long discussion after we all went to bed.
But I can’t let his disappointment rule my life.
“Morning,” he says.
“Morning, Dad,” I reply.
My mom sets plates down like she’s trying to keep everyone busy enough not to say anything stupid. Coffee is poured, buns are passed, and small talk fills the gaps. Emiliano sits beside me at the table, knee brushing mine under the wood, and I look down at my plate with a soft smile.
I catch my dad watching us, and then he looks away. That tiny act feels like mercy somehow.
Mass is exactly how it always is: the smell of incense and the creak of pews. The old familiar rhythm of hymns and prayers living in my bones.
I should feel comforted because this is where I used to feel most at home. Instead, my body is hyper-aware of every person who might look at us too long.
Every whisper.
Every glance.
My family slips into our usual pew, mid-church, close enough that people recognize us but not close enough to be on display. Emiliano slides in beside me like it’s normal.
Like he belongs here.
The priest’s voice echoes through the church, and my mom crosses herself, my sisters bow their heads, and my brothers do the motions like muscle memory.
I do it too, hands moving automatically.
Beside me, Emiliano does the same, and somehow that makes me realize the truth that’s right in front of me.
He isn’t my rebellion against my faith.
He’s my life, and if the God I’ve been raised to love is what they claim Him to be… Emiliano and I were made to find each other. To share this life together.
During the sign of peace, my mom turns to Emiliano first.
“Peace be with you,” she says softly, offering her hand.
“And with you,” he replies, taking it and smiling.
Then my dad turns. While I’m shaking the man in front of me’s hand, he looks at Emiliano for a long beat.
My defenses are immediately up. Then my dad extends his hand. “Peace be with you, son,” he says.
Emiliano takes it, and for a second, I think I see him blink too hard. “And with you.”
My chest aches; it’s such a small thing in the grand scheme of things. But small things are how you build a bridge.
I feel Emiliano’s hand slide to my knee and give a subtle squeeze. Blinking fast, I stare at the hymn book like it’s suddenly fascinating.
After Mass, the church steps turn into a gauntlet of greetings.
Old family friends pat my cheek. Someone calls me “Seány” like I’m still twelve.
My mom beams like she’s proud of me just for existing.
Emiliano stays close but not possessive, smiling politely, shaking hands, and answering questions with calm confidence.
“Where are you from?” someone asks.
“New York,” he says, smiling easily.
“And you play baseball too?” another asks, eyes lighting up.
“Yes, ma’am,” Emiliano replies.
David, of course, can’t resist. “He’s the Mets ace,” he announces like he’s a press release.
Sam elbows him again.
Emiliano’s mouth twitches, and he turns to my brothers, who are now in a silent argument. “It’s fine, really.”
Then a woman with sharp eyes looks between me and Emiliano and says the thing that makes my spine go rigid.
“And you two are… friends?”
My heart stops, and before I can panic, my mom answers.
“This is my son’s boyfriend,” she says, warm as anything. “Isn’t it sweet that he’s celebrating the holiday with us?”
Boyfriend.
Out loud and proud, from the mouth of my mother.
The world doesn’t end.
The woman blinks, smiles, then pats Emiliano’s cheek. “Well, aren’t you handsome.”
Emiliano leans in slightly, his voice low. “See? You’re surviving.”
I glare at him, but I’m shaking inside. He notices and squeezes my hand.
Lunch back at the house is loud in a familiar way, with food everywhere.
My mom insists everyone eats. Ciara pretends she isn’t soft and then hands Emiliano extra potatoes like it’s no big deal.
Leeann cracks jokes about her roommates at UCSC.
My brothers are arguing over sports like they’re allergic to peace.
Emiliano fits in seamlessly, and it makes my heart happy.
He laughs at David’s nonsense. He keeps up with Scott’s sarcasm and nods at Kieran’s quiet observations like he respects them. He’s polite with my parents. He even helps clear plates without being asked.
And my mom is watching him like she’s already planning our wedding.
At one point, my dad catches Emiliano’s eye and says, almost awkwardly, “Thank you… for loving my son.”
“You don’t have to thank me for that,” Emiliano says. “I’m always going to love him.”
Fuck me. If this man is gunning for me to propose to him, he is well on his way to getting one.
When we leave Monterey, it’s late afternoon, the sky turning soft gold over the coast, and my body feels wrung out. Emiliano drives this time, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on my thigh like it’s normal. I stare out the window, watching the ocean disappear behind hills.
“We did it,” I whisper, like I can’t believe it.
Emiliano’s thumb strokes once over my leg. “You did it,” he corrects.
I swallow. “My dad didn’t—”
“He didn’t lose you,” Emiliano finishes, his voice calm.
We drive back toward San Francisco because Emiliano has to check in Sunday night for the Giants series, and the reality hits again.
All the schedules and flights.
The distance.
The cost of loving someone who is also a baseball player.
I glance over at him, and he’s just calm. Knowing him, he’s already decided this is worth it.
Monday night, after Emiliano’s game against the Giants, the stadium is loud with victory, flashes, and phones.
They win because my man was throwing heat.
Emiliano’s on the field with that composed, lethal calm, and I’m in the stands trying to pretend my heart isn’t in my throat.
When the final out is called, the Mets pour out of the dugout like a wave.
Emiliano finds me near the tunnel like he always does, like his body knows where I am before his eyes do.
He’s sweaty and smiling when he reaches me. His gaze drops to my mouth, then flicks back up like a question. My pulse jumps. I nod before fear can talk me out of it. Then he cups my face and kisses me.
Right here.
In view of everyone.
No more hiding from the crowds and cameras.
A real kiss, one the crowd instantly reacts to. A mix of cheers and shocked noise and phones lifting like weapons. My brain goes into a white-hot panic.
Emiliano pulls back just enough to murmur, smug and soft, “Let them watch.”
My heart pounds. “Emiliano—”
He kisses me again, quickly, then rests his forehead on mine.
“You’re it for me, Cobre,” he whispers. “And I want the world to know it.”
I swallow hard. “Yeah?”
He smiles like he won something bigger than baseball. “Yeah… it’s me and you.”