“Leo, Ollie, this is Matteo,” I say, gesturing between them. “Matteo, my twin brother Leo and his boyfriend Ollie.”
Leo extends his hand with the same assessing look our father gave earlier. “So you’re the reason my sister’s been unreachable on Friday nights. I was beginning to think she’d joined a cult.”
“In a manner of speaking,” Matteo replies smoothly, and I nearly choke on air.
“Leo is an architect,” I interject quickly. “And Ollie teaches kindergarten, which requires substantially more courage than anything the rest of us do.”
“True heroism,” Matteo agrees with a nod to Ollie.
The conversation might have stalled there—that awkward moment when nobody quite knows what to say next—but then Matteo glances at me and says, “Little Thief, did you put sunscreen on? Your shoulders are already turning pink.”
Leo’s eyebrows shoot up, and then he absolutely loses it—doubled over, hands on knees, wheezing with laughter. “Little… oh my God… Little Thief? That’s fucking perfect.”
“I hate all of you,” I announce to nobody in particular, but there’s no heat in it.
“Oh, we are going to get along just fine,” Leo tells Matteo, wiping tears from his eyes. “I have twenty-eight years of stories that explain exactly why that nickname is so accurate.”
Mom calls us to the table then, saving me from immediate humiliation. As we take our seats around the patio table laden with food, I watch Matteo slide naturally into the space beside me, his hand finding mine under the table.
“You good?” he murmurs, just for me.
I squeeze his hand. “Better,” I whisper back. “I’m perfect.”
The day unfolds in a parade of small moments that I mentally snapshot and tuck away. Mom fixing Matteo’s collar when she thinks no one’s looking. Dad quietly manning the grill, making sure there’s always food ready.
Instead of one big dinner, he wants us to just eat whenever we feel like it. And since it’s his birthday weekend, no one complains.
Leo shows off the architectural sketches for his latest project, and Matteo asks exactly the right questions that make my brother light up like a Christmas tree. It’s when Ollie starts clearing the plates that Dad makes the announcement.
“Perfect day for Carter Family Baseball,” he declares, clapping his hands together. “Teams of three. Losers do the dishes.”
“Oh, fuck yes,” Leo says, jumping up. “I call Ollie.”
“I call Matteo,” I counter automatically.
Dad looks between us and sighs. “You two still can’t be on the same team? You’re twenty-eight, not eight.”
Leo and I exchange glances.
“The Fourth of July Incident of twenty-eighteen,” I remind everyone.
“The Thanksgiving Debacle,” Leo adds.
“The Easter Egg Hunt that ended with a hospital visit,” Mom chimes in, shaking her head.
“Fine,” Dad concedes. “But partners aren’t allowed on the same team. Leo, Matteo, and your mom against Raven, Ollie, and me.”
Matteo looks adorably confused. “I’ve never actually played baseball.”
Five pairs of eyes swivel to him in perfect synchronized shock.
“What?” I ask, horrified. “Ever?”
He shrugs, the motion elegant even in its casualness. “Not exactly a common pastime in my family.”
“Well, you’re getting a crash course today,” my father declares, already heading for the garage to retrieve the equipment. “Nothing too complex. Just the Carter version.”
The Carter version of baseball involves one pitcher, one batter, and one fielder per team, a wiffle ball, and highly contested rules that change depending on who’s losing.
