Page 65 of Unwritten Rules
“What kinds of electives?” Zach asks when neither of them follows up.
“Religion and,” Eugenio says. “Religion and the movies. Religion and environmentalism. Religion and politics. That kind of thing.”
“Next semester,” his mother says, “we’re co-teaching one on religion and sports.”
“I didn’t know that,” Eugenio says.
“We thought with, you know,” his father says, gesturing across to where Eugenio and Zach are sitting, Zach’s knees bumping the table and his elbow bumping Eugenio’s, “it felt timely.”
“That’s, uh,” Zach says, and for the first time since they sat down, meaning it, “really interesting.”
It turns out the course is on the unique intersection between religion and sports, and their role in society, and that occupies them through most of dinner and into the contemplation of, and rejection of, the idea of dessert. A long enough conversation—one that takes detours into a few stories from Eugenio’s childhood that make Eugenio flush with embarrassment and Zach from amusement—to unfray Zach’s nerves.
Which is why, when Eugenio excuses himself to go to the bathroom, Zach isn’t expecting it when Eugenio’s father says, “We both wanted to say thank you.” He adds, “For helping him this year,” at Zach’s apparent look of confusion. “He mentioned that you worked together closely during spring training.”
Zach flushes, a burning he can feel in his forehead and his cheeks, one he hopes they attribute to false modesty. “He doesn’t need much help with how he’s been hitting.”
“There’s more to the game than that,” his father says. “There’s a human element to it. His team last year, I don’t think had a good sense of how to develop catchers. Things were more difficult than they needed to be. We’re happy he has someone looking out for him.”
“Um, it’s not a problem,” Zach says.
They take a rideshare back to their hotel, Eugenio handing him a bag with two to-go boxes before sliding in. “Did something happen in the minors?” Zach asks. “Your father said something weird.”
“The fact that he said anything to you at all is kind of a surprise.” But Eugenio doesn’t continue.
It’s a short ride, though their driver occupies most of it, asking Eugenio questions that Zach tunes out. When they get out at the hotel, Eugenio lingers by the lobby entrance, pulling out a pack of cigarettes, lighting one.
It’s cooled off, and Zach’s a little cold. He’s about to tell Eugenio he’ll see him tomorrow, when Eugenio says, “Stuff last year wasn’t great. Bad development. I hurt my hip two years ago and it took forever for them to diagnose it. My parents weren’t happy with any of it—my not getting to play, the way the organization was handling it. It’s one of the reasons I wanted you to come to dinner. I thought they wouldn’t talk about it with you there.”
“You could have just told me that instead of pulling that bullshit in the clubhouse earlier.”
“They’re sort of difficult to explain.”
“I mean, I get that, but it’s still bullshit.”
“I did want them to meet you. If I can’t tell them about us, it’s important to me that they like you, okay?”
Zach glances around. Their only real witnesses are the hotel staff, who are mostly occupied with returning valet-service vehicles to the garage. “Can we talk about this inside?”
“Guys go out with each other’s families,” Eugenio says, like that’s all it was, the same as Braxton and Giordano and Braxton’s ex-wife all going to get dinner.
“You know what I mean.”
Eugenio has only smoked half a cigarette, but he finishes it and grinds it into the brick wall behind him, then discards the butt in a nearby trash can. “I bought cake if you want it.”
Some of Zach’s s annoyance deflates. “Uh, sure, I guess.”
They eat in Zach’s room, Eugenio procuring two forks from the front desk and a pile of napkins when it turns out the restaurant included neither. “I really did want you to meet them,” he says, after a while. “We’re close even if we’re pretty different.”
“You don’t say,” Zach says. Eugenio’s shirt is off, and he claimed that he didn’t want to get food on it, though laughed when Zach asked him why he didn’t strip at the restaurant. “You look like them. I mean, except for all the—” Zach gestures to Eugenio’s tattoos “—and I can’t imagine they have as many opinions about tapas.”
“You might be surprised by that once they get warmed up.”
“It’s nice, them coming up to see you play.”
“Like I said, we’re close. The rest of my family thinks they’re strange too. Growing up, it always felt like I was running interference between them and my cousins, who are probably more like what you’d expect.”
“Everyone in my family’s loud. No, wait, my cousin Shoshanna’s quiet. I think. She’s a goth or was in high school, so I have no idea if she’s like that now.”
