Page 111 of Hiding in the Outfield

Jake’s face twists. “Dad, she’s like a baby compared to me.”

Dad rolls his eyes. “It’s only six or so years. Plus, she’s prime age for having children. She’ll bounce right back just like your mother did.”

And there goes my stomach again. I can only imagine what Shelby would do if Paulie said something like that to her. She’d slap him across the face and then show him the door. Of his own house—and Frankie wouldn’t let him back inside.

Rightfully so. God, we Olanders really suck.

“No, no,” Mom says. “She’s much better suited for Jackson. She’s bubbly and outgoing. That’ll balance his more reserved, serious nature.”

There are reasons I’m so reserved. And they’re sitting across from me.

“Why aren’t you eating?” Dad says suddenly. “Are you sick? Now is not a good time to get sick, son. Rebecca, do you have one of those pouch things that head-off colds?”

Mom starts digging through her purse. “Yes, I have one in here somewhere.”

“I’m not sick.”

Mom shoves an orange tube packet my way. But I wave her off.

“Really, I’m not sick.” Though I do feel like I’m about to get sick.

“Then why aren’t you eating?” Dad’s thick dark brows meet.

I guess now’s as good a time as any. My heart rate goes from zero to sixty. “I have something to tell you guys.”

Mom and Dad stare at me, waiting. A buzzing fills my ears. I can do this.

“You can’t set me up with Melanie. I’m already kind of seeing someone.”

Mom’s eyes light up, and she starts clapping.

“And he’s really amazing.”

She freezes, and that light dies. And so does the small amount of hope I didn’t realize I still held.

The clinking of dishes and silverware of other patrons echoes around our silent booth.

“What did you just say?” Dad asks quietly.

I bite my cheek. I drop my hands to my lap to hide their shaking.

“You heard him, Dad,” Jake says. I can’t read his tone, but he’s as still as death beside me.

Mom opens and closes her mouth. “Are you saying you’re g⁠—”

“Quiet, Rebecca,” Dad hisses, and Mom flinches. He looks around the diner. “God, Jackson. You chose to drop this here? What were you thinking? We need to go somewhere private and deal with this.”

“You’re right, dear,” Mom says, over her shock and ready for action. “We can fix this. I remember one of my girlfriends telling me that they had a cousin who was able to pray it away. We’ll visit Father O’Grady.”

Yeah… “No.”

My mom blinks at me. “What?”

“There is nothing to fix.”

“I beg to fucking differ,” Dad says.

And just like that…I don’t fucking care anymore. I was so goddamned nervous about this meal. But now? Now, I’m just fucking tired. Tired of hiding. Tired of this family.