Page 91 of Hiding in the Outfield

She continues over my freak-out. “I don’t see how just sex is bringing him home to meet your mother. Getting all cozy in his arms on the living room floor? Making sure Dad bought stouts? You don’t drink stouts, Francesco. You had your glass of Valpolicella like usual. But just sex had a stout.”

I shift uncomfortably as what I have planned for Jackson and me the next couple of days pushes to the front of my mind. I drag a hand down my face and those thoughts with it.

“Just don’t get your hopes up, Ma. All right? I wanted Jackson to experience a family—a real family. He doesn’t get to be himself with his. To be honest, from what I’ve ascertained, it’s not even just that. I don’t think his family is…close like ours.”

Her expression softens. “I see.”

“You’re right. It’s not just about that. But it’s not much more either. I…I don’t do that. And he has a career of baseball ahead of him. A future is not in the cards, and honestly, it’s better that way.”

“Because you can’t get hurt. You can’t be fooled into believing otherwise.”

I glance away and frown against the pressure building behind my eyes.

“You never know which relationship is going to be the one that sticks. I won’t lie and say you won’t ever get hurt again; that’s not something any of us can predict, but… What I do know is this: if you don’t try at all, there won’t ever be one that sticks, bambino.”

My body tenses as it tries and fails to protect itself from the waves of pain rolling through me. I let out a slow, measured breath and will it away. “Not everyone needs a romantic relationship.”

“Very true.”

Silence settles over us.

“But you’re not one of them, Francesco. Despite the fact you’ve tried to convince yourself otherwise,” she says quietly.

I don’t respond. What am I supposed to say to that? I’m filler, someone’s temporary fun, arm candy that can be wielded to serve their purpose. Or their dirty little secret.

I’m no one’s forever.

It doesn’t matter that my mother’s right. It doesn’t matter that I desperately want forever.

I will always be just sex.

My gaze slides to the living room. Even if the man back there has become far more than that to me.

I have to enjoy the ride while it lasts.

Eventually, it’ll come to an end.

They always do.

She blows out a breath. “Okay. I’ll stop now. Just know that I like him. And I get the sense he really likes you too. Impossible future or not.”

I nod jerkily, glaring hard at the floor.

“How about I pour us each a glass of Sciacchetrà, and then we can see if there are any cannoli left out there?”

I pinch the bridge of my nose and draw in a slow breath. “Sounds good. But I’m going to need more than one glass.”

Small arms fold around me and then squeeze tight; my mom’s petite frame belying the strength packed inside. I wrap mine around her and sink into it, let the boy inside me breathe in the comfort only a mother can give.

“Ti voglio bene, bambino,” she whispers.

I drop my head to her shoulder. “Ti voglio bene, Mamma.”

THIRTY-TWO

FRANKIE

“Where are we going?”