“YOU’RE GOING to have to pick truth eventually, you know,” Sebastian says.
I flop down next to him. In the past hour or so, I’ve prank called Penny, balanced on my head—a party trick I haven’t broken out in a while—pointed out, correctly and without using my phone, every visible constellation in the sky, and posed like Rose in Titanic on the ledge of the tower. I think the last one freaked out Sebastian more than me, because he yanked me back into his arms.
Why was I ever afraid of heights? I can’t remember. It felt so fucking good to stand up there with my arms spread wide, no railing, my heart about to beat right out of my chest. I turned in his arms when he grabbed me and kissed him until I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t focus on anything but the taste of soda and chocolate on his tongue. I’m still breathing fast as I turn my head into his side. His masculine scent calms my racing heart.
I have no idea how he knew I needed this when I texted him to pick me up, but I’m grateful.
“Or you could keep giving me ridiculous dares.” I sit up on my elbows. He brushes a dead leaf out of my hair. “You haven’t dared me to strip yet.”
He rakes his fingers down my bare arm. “I’ll take it into consideration.”
“It’s my turn. Maybe I should dare you to strip.”
He snorts. “You’re on a sugar high.”
“I forgot how magical Coke tastes. My nonno used to keep quarters in his pockets so he could get us one to split if we came across a vending machine.”
“He doesn’t do it anymore?”
I swallow; it feels like I just ate a shard of glass. It’s been years since his death, but it doesn’t take much to bring the feelings back. That chasm in my heart is all too happy to open, releasing dozens of memories. Good ones, like the quarters and slightly-warm sodas at the Shore, and bad ones, like the moment Dad picked me up from school—a rarity—and turned to me with heaviness in his expression to tell me the news.
“He passed away when I was fifteen. Heart attack.”
“I’m sorry, Mia.”
I sit up properly. “It’s fine. It’s been a long time now.”
“Doesn’t mean the feelings go away,” he says softly. “What was he like?”
“What?”
“Tell me about him. You know more about my family than I do about yours.”
“There’s not much to tell.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Not much, or don’t want to?”
I rip up the leaf he rescued from my hair. “Both, I guess.”
“We could play a new game.”
“Oh yeah?”
“A truth for a truth.”
“Tired of the dares?”
“I want to know everything there is to know about you, Mia.” His voice is quiet, even though there’s no one around to overhear us. “I want to understand you. The other night, at the ballgame…”
The pieces of leaf fall to the floor. “Sebastian—”
“You can choose what to tell me. And when, and how. But I want to know all of it eventually. Everything about you, the big things and the small things, too. I didn’t know until tonight that you like Coke and Junior Mints. I want to know that shit as much as I want to know about your family. Tell me your past and what you want for your future, and I’ll tell you mine.”
He reaches out, entwining our fingers. He’s gazing at me like I’m the aurora borealis. A beautiful force of nature, a ribbon of light that he’d be content to stare at forever. I love him. I can trust him. If there’s anyone I want to talk about Nonno with, it’s him.
“My nonno was the one who got me interested in space. He never went to college, he didn’t even finish high school, but he was always interested in the world—history, philosophy, science. He had this telescope, and I still remember the first time we looked at the stars together. He made me want to explore them, and he’s the one who encouraged me to keep pushing. I kept it up after he died. Got myself into McKee with a big scholarship.”
“I didn’t realize.”
I shrug one shoulder. “It was here or MIT, and McKee offered me more money.”
“And yet you tell me you’re not a genius.”
“I’m really not. I’m just curious, and stubborn, I guess.”
“I’m sure he was proud of you.”
My breath catches in my throat.
Some part of me knows that Sebastian brought me here because he knew there wouldn’t be distractions. No work to bury my head in, or other people to talk to instead. The resentment I expect to feel doesn’t come; I want to give him more. We left things on a precarious note after the Binghamton game, even though the night ended up being so perfect.
“He’s the only one in my family who tried to understand me, and he’s been gone for years. It’s like I said, my family thinks I’m here to get my teaching degree. They think—they think that I’m going to teach science for a few years before marrying some guy and settling down and having a bunch of kids, same as all the women in my family. There’s no other option. That’s it.”
Sebastian rubs my knee comfortingly.
I bite the inside of my cheek. “They don’t know that I’m trying to get into this study abroad program in Switzerland, or that I want to get my PhD, or that I want to work for fucking NASA.”
“But you’re—”
“And I can’t even hate them for it, because they’re good people, and they love me, and I know they want the best for me. They just have this idea of what’s best that’s not my idea of what’s best. Whenever I talk to my mom I want to scream at her, because she loves me so much but in all the wrong ways.”
The words tumble from me in a rush, akin to forcing poison out of a wound. I haven’t said all of this aloud to anyone other than Penny, and that was after several drinks.
“That would be a waste.” He reaches forward and tucks my hair behind my ears, one and then the other. He brushes his lips against mine. It’s the softest kiss we’ve ever shared, and yet I wish it would go on forever. “Not that there’s anything wrong with being a teacher, but that would be a fucking waste. Your mind is incredible, Mia. It’s meant to help discover the future. You’re the smartest person I’ve ever met.”
I laugh a little wetly. “Come on.”
“I’m serious.”
I sniffle. “I thought if I could just… prove somehow that I’m meant to do this, then when I came clean, it would be okay. That’s why I’ve been working so hard to get into this study abroad program—the director of it is going to be at the symposium. But Giana got so angry when she found out. I know I have to tell them, but I’m afraid they’re not going to understand. Or even try to understand.”
“Mia.”
I feel the burn of tears in my eyes, but I blink carefully, so they don’t spill over my cheeks. “Give me a truth.”
“I think we should—”
“Give me a truth, please.” Every time I imagine the look on my mother’s face during this horrible, inevitable conversation, I want to cry. “I want one of yours.”
Something cracks in his expression.
“Please,” I whisper. “Don’t make me be vulnerable alone.”
He pulls me into a hug. I hug him back, relishing in the smell of his cologne, feeling the warmth of his body in the now chilly nighttime air. He hooks his chin over my shoulder and says into the night, quiet enough I have to work to listen, “I’m quitting baseball.”
“What?” I try to pull away, but he holds me in place. Whatever I thought he might say—maybe something about his parents, or about his past with the Callahans—wanting to quit baseball never crossed my mind. I’ve thought about it for him a few times, but I wouldn’t have suggested it. “But it’s your life.”
“It was my father’s life.” He keeps whispering, as if he’s afraid of the very air around us overhearing him. “I know I have the talent, but it’s not what I want to do with my future. I can’t do it just because it’s what my father imagined for me.”
I keep my voice as soft as his. “What do you want to do instead?”
“When I graduate, I’ll have access to my inheritance.” I feel him swallow against my shoulder. “I was thinking that I’d travel. Just… experience all the places I haven’t yet. Learn to cook for real, work my way up through the ranks in the restaurant world. I could leave McKee after next semester; I have the credits. Cooking makes me happier than anything else. It’s art to me. It’s… it’s a kind of poetry. Everything you’ve said about space, I feel about food. I want to be in a kitchen, not on the baseball field. Not anymore.”
Giving up baseball—a career that will one day lead to millions of dollars and maybe even a place in history—to wash dishes in a restaurant until they decide he’s ready to prep the vegetables.
I manage to wriggle out of his arms so I can meet his gaze.
He’s biting his lip, his eyes wide with nervousness.
That’s when it hits me. No one else knows about this. I’d be willing to bet that was the first time he ever said those words aloud. The interview with Zoe Anders, the expectations from not just the baseball community, but his family and his late parents, the draft in July—it’s all pressing in, and he knows that pretty much anyone he talks to will tell him to stay the course. To forget about cooking, or travel, or anything else he might want to do, just because he’s genetically blessed the same way his father was.
I knew the moment I began to apply to college programs that I couldn’t go through with becoming a teacher. I couldn’t let myself do that just for the sake of my family. When it all comes crashing down, it will be hell, but it’ll be worth it, because I’ll have the degree that I need for my future. Even if Sebastian could play baseball professionally, he shouldn’t have to.
“You should do it.”
He blinks. He’s probably had this conversation in his head a million times—I know I did—and I’m sure that whoever he pretends to talk to doesn’t react the way I just did. I understand his worry. His family is full of athletes. James already plays his sport professionally, and Cooper is trending in that direction too. This would be a huge step in a completely different direction, and I know better than anyone how difficult that can be to reconcile.
“You’re sure?” he says.
“Yeah,” I say. “You’re incredible at cooking, and you have the passion for it. This is a good plan, Seb. I want to see you in that chef’s jacket.”
I hear the relief in his laughter loud and clear. “You’re amazing.”
“I’m just telling you the truth.”
“It was you, you know.” He presses another kiss to my lips. “You’re so focused and committed, and I realized that I wanted to feel that way too. Just not for baseball. For the thing that’s mine and mine alone. Thank you, Mia.”
My heart dances at his words. I know how he feels, and I’m proud of him for taking the leap. There’s nothing easy about it, but if it’s what’s in his heart, then it’s what he needs to do.
“Maybe you should go on that cooking competition show, then,” I say slyly, poking him in the ribs.
He snorts. “Let’s see about telling my family first.”
