Page 90 of Matched By My Rival
I fidgeted with a coaster. I was probably more nervous than the day I’d come out to them as pansexual. It didn’t help that we were surrounded by Haymaker memorabilia, autographed photos of Hayworth athletes who’d gone pro—mostly football and soccer, but also a few female basketball players—and sporting equipment displayed as décor.
“I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about my future this year,” I said. “I want to work with younger kids.”
“What about our plan, honey? We talked about all this.”
“You don’t want to coach high school football?” Dad asked, cutting to the heart of it. I was grateful for his direct approach.
I shook my head. “I know I went into education as a fallback plan, but I really like it. When I picture teaching, it’s not to a classroom full of teens with more interest in their social lives than the subject. It’s working with younger kids, kids who are still excited to learn. Kids who are still innocent and sweet and little sponges soaking up information.”
“You have always been good with children,” Mom said reluctantly. “I can see why teaching younger grades might appeal to you. If you’re sure you really want to give up the chance to coach…”
She trailed off as if she hoped I might jump and say that I’d changed my mind. When I didn’t, an awkward silence settled over the table until Dad broke it.
“It’s your life,” he said. “You should be the one to decide your future.”
They were trying. That was something.
“Of course, it hardly matters if you get drafted,” Mom said with a little laugh. “This is all just Plan B.”
I winced, unable to hide my expression.
“What?” she asked, her hand tightening on the sweating pint glass before her. The pale ale had hardly been touched. Maybe I should have waited until she’d downed more of the beer. Taken the edge off.
Maybe this news should wait until later. After I’d talked to the coaches. Or graduated.
“You can tell us anything,” Dad said.
I let out a breath, nodding. “I know.”
My parents were amazingly supportive. I knew this would be okay in the long run. It didn’t make it easy to disappoint them though. When I’d come out, it had been the same. Mom and Dad had said all the right things, even when they hadn’t fully understood what pansexual even meant. Their love had been evident, their desire to understand.
Of course, I hadn’t wanted to come out to anyone but family. I’d been in high school, not at all ready to proclaim my sexuality to the world. Mom had been relieved, telling me that it would certainly make my life easier if I wasn’t out publicly.
But I suspected Mom was a lot more attached to the idea of me playing football than me being straight.
“I, uh, have some other changes I want to make,” I said.
“Okay,” Dad said encouragingly. “We’re listening.”
I wet my lips, then lifted my water to take a few gulps. My mouth was dry as the desert despite swallowing half the contents of my glass.
“Football,” I croaked.
“What about it?” Mom asked, sounding wary.
I took a breath to settle my nerves, and a strange sense of calm descended on me. I’d made my decision. My parents would understand—if not now, then eventually. And I’d already told the most important person of all. If I’d lost Simon because of this choice, my parents’ reaction hardly mattered.
I would take it back if it meant having Simon—but it never would. I couldn’t have footballandSimon. I couldn’t have football and freedom. I was in a catch-22.
My parents would understand or they wouldn’t. But I was done hedging my bets.
“I’m going to quit football,” I said.
Mom looked shocked. “What?”
“When you graduate college?” Dad asked. “Or before then?”
“Today, I think.”
