“I guess it’s a good thing she taught me how to make almost everything you love. I’m still working on the tamales, though.” He winks, and we make our way to the kitchen. Soon the aroma of sizzling tortillas and spicy sauce filling the air makes my mouth water. Miguel moves with ease, his hands deftly preparing the dish, his movements fluid and confident. I lean against the counter, watching him, feeling that familiar swell of admiration and love in my chest.
We sit down to eat with the sun streaming through the big window over the sink, and a calm settles over me. This is what happiness is supposed to feel like—simple moments with the person you love.
Love.
Because I do love him.
Even when I can’t love myself, I know I can love him.
“So, tell me about this game,” Miguel says, his voice gentle as he reaches across the table to take my hand. “What are you most nervous about?”
I take a deep breath, my mind racing with a million thoughts. “I’m just worried about letting the team down, you know? What if I mess up or miss a really important shot? What if I can’t live up to everyone’s expectations?”
“Is Dad going to be there?”
I nod.
Miguel squeezes my hand, his thumb brushing gently over my knuckles. “Caleb, you are an incredible player. Everyone on that team is lucky to have you. And as for expectations, the only person you need to live up to is yourself. You do you, and you’ll be amazing. Don’t think about Dad being there. Think about me.”
I smile, “Thanks, baby. I needed to hear that.”
He leans back in his chair, a soft smile playing on his lips. “Anytime, pretty boy. Now, how about we finish up here and head to the park? I’m ready to show you my sweet, new moves.”
I laugh, standing up and gathering our dishes. “Alright, alright. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
Our walkto the park is filled with easy conversation and playful banter. As we approach the court, I can feel the mix of excitement and nerves fluttering in my stomach.
Miguel must sense my apprehension because he stops and turns to face me, his hands cupping my cheeks. “You’ve got this, Caleb. Remember, it’s just a game. Have fun, and the rest will fall into place.”
I take a deep breath, nodding, his words grounding me.
He grins, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Alright, pretty boy. Now, how about we see if you can still beat me one-on-one?” He snatches the ball from me and dribbles backward onto the blacktop court.
I laugh, a challenge sparking in my eyes. “Oh, you’re on. But don’t say I didn’t warn you when I kick your ass on the court.”
We start our game, Miguel dribbles forward, his eyes locked on mine, a competitive fire burning in his gaze. I mirror his movements, my body ready to spring into action.
“Ready to eat my dust,little brother?” Miguel teases, a smirk playing on his lips.
I roll my eyes, giving a playful smirk of my own. “In your dreams. You’re going down.” We start to play, the ball arcingthrough the air as we pass and shoot, our movements fluid and synchronized. Miguel is surprisingly good, his shots precise and his defense tight. I can feel the sweat beading on my forehead as I push myself harder, determined to come out on top.
“Come on, Caleb,” Miguel taunts, his voice breathless with exertion. “Is that all you’ve got?”
I grin, a surge of adrenaline coursing through my veins. “You want more? You’ve got it.”
I dribble past him, slipping through his defense with ease. Approaching the basket, I leap into the air, the ball soaring through the hoop in a perfect arc.
“Fuck yeah!” I shout, pumping my fist in the air as I land, my heart pounding with excitement.
Miguel laughs, filled with pride and amusement. “Not bad, pretty boy. Not bad at all. But the game’s not over yet.”
He dribbles the ball, his movements quick and agile as he weaves through an imaginary defense. I can see the determination in his eyes, the fire that drives him to be the best. He pivots and leaps from the three-point arc, the ball spinning from his fingers in what has to be the perfect shot.
“Score!” he shouts, his voice filled with triumph as the ball swishes through the net.
I clap, a grin spreading across my face. “Nice shot. You’ve definitely been working on that three-pointer.”
We continue to play, our banter and laughter filling the air, the tension and nerves of earlier fading away.
