We laugh it off, finish the game, and head out into the chaos of the Bronx night. It’s one of those sticky New York evenings—hot air, car horns, sidewalk steam. We grab slices from some place that swears Sinatra once ate there, and we’re still riding the high of those seats—every pitch, every beer, every slow-mo replay of our faces on national TV. Surreal.
But the next morning, I walk into the kitchen and my wife’s already there—standing like a lawyer waiting to deliver her opening statement. Calm. Too calm. She slides her phone across the counter. It’s paused on a video of us, mid-laugh, behind home plate.
“So,” she says, stirring her coffee, “how was the game… with Karla?”
And now I’m living in a rom-com subplot I didn’t sign up for. I try to explain—your best friend, your last-minute suggestion—but she’s already scrolling through the comments. Texts are still coming in. One from her cousin in Miami reads: “I thought they broke up??” Another from her aunt in Tegucigalpa: “¡Qué descaro!”
But the crown jewel? Two days later we go viral on Spanish TikTok. A slow zoom of us laughing with Bad Bunny’s “Tití Me Preguntó” playing underneath, captioned: “cuando dice que son solo amigos 😏”. Half a million views. I’m a meme now. A wholesome one, maybe. But a meme nonetheless. 2 replies
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