“Oh stop being silly, Al. Myron?”
“Yeah, Mom?”
“Your father bought tickets to a Mets game. For Sunday. Just the two of you.”
Myron swallowed, said nothing.
“They’re playing the Tunas,” Mom said.
“The Marlins!” Dad shouted.
“Tunas, marlins—what’s the difference? You going to be a marine biologist now, Al? Is that what you’re going to do with your leisure time, study fish?”
Myron smiled.
“Myron, you there?”
“I’m on my way, Mom.”
He hung up. He slapped his thighs and stood. He said good night to Esperanza and Big Cyndi. He stepped into the elevator and managed a smile. Friends and lovers were great, he thought, but sometimes a boy just wanted his mom and dad.