Now take some deep breaths and remind yourself that all that matters is you and Trevor. *double heart emoji*
I heart her message and then darken my screen, taking several deep breaths with my eyes closed. Unfortunately, it does nothing to quiet the blood sloshing in my ears. My fingers shake as I check the time on my phone again and then decide my parents will forgive me. The call rings three times before my mom picks up.
“What’s happened? Where are you? Are you hurt?” Then I hear a thump that sounds suspiciously like a pillow hitting something. “Buck, wake up! Our baby needs us.”
My mom’s panicked voice makes me wince. She probably thinks I’m lying in a ditch, calling at this hour.
“No, Mom. I’m fine. Everything’s fine.”
“Oh, good.” Her relief is palpable, even over a phone line and the five-hundred-mile distance. “You can go back to sleep, honey.”
“No, I’m up,” my dad says, voice groggy. “What’s going on, kiddo?”
“Um,” I hedge.
I want to let them know about the press conference before they find out from anyone else, but a part of me wants to gush about Trevor. It was foolish of me to keep our relationship from my parents in the first place. TheyloveTrevor. Even if us gettingtogether a month after my broken engagement might seem fast to others, my parents know about my year-long friendship with Trevor.
“This might seem out of left field, but…” I draw in a steadying breath. “Trevor and I are dating.”
“About time!” Mom exclaims as Dad says, “Letti, what month did I have for our bet? May? If so, you owe me a steak dinner.”
“You—you were betting on us?” I sputter.
My mom hums. “You did have May down. We can stop by the butcher on the way home from the farmer’s market.”
“But…”
“We knew it was only a matter of time.” There’s a smile in my dad’s voice. “That man has been smitten since he first laid eyes on you.”
My eyelashes flutter. “He— What?”
I remember after our first kiss that Trevor said he’d said he’d liked me for a long time, butlikeandsmittenare two very different things.
“Switch to video,” I tell my parents. “I need to see you for this conversation.”
The sounds of a light clicking on and covers rustling come over the phone before my mom’s halo of bedhead comes into view. She’s tucked under Dad’s arm, the two of them sitting up against their wooden headboard.
“Hey, baby.” My mom gives me the same soft smile she always does when we call. “Did you seriously not know?”
“Of course I didn’t. Why didn’t you say anything?”
Mom tuts. “For the same reason I don’t tell the plants how to grow. It’s your life to live. You’d figure it out when you were ready.”
“Even when that other player started spending time with you, we kept it to ourselves,” Dad adds. “We didn’t like his showy gifts or his attitude the one time we spoke, but we figured you needed to make your own decisions.”
My mouth drops open, and a strangled sound escapes me.
“It’s part of life, kiddo. Just like when you were learning to ride a bike. Bumps, bruises, and falling down are all part of the experience.”
I tilt my head back with a groan. “But if you’d told me, I wouldn’t have humiliated myself on national TV by jumping on top of the dugout.”
My dad’s smile turns mischievous. “But then Trevor wouldn’t have caught you when you fell.”
“You didn’t know he was going to catch me! I could have broken all my ribs.” I draw in a noisy breath, growing more agitated. “I could be in a coma right now! Then you wouldn’t feel so good about your let-me-make-my-own-choices parenting style.”
My father actually rolls his eyes at my hysterics. I don’t think he’s ever done that in his entire life. “The man loves you. He wasn’t going to let anything happen to you.”
I nearly choke on my own spit.
