Page 74 of Unwritten Rules
“Zach, people don’t do that at places like this.”
“You don’t know that. It’s different for me.”
“Because I’m not a professional fucking baseball player, you mean?”
“Stop fighting with my wife, Zach,” Lydia says, before turning to Morgan, “and stop looking for an argument. Now come dance.” And they spin away together into the music, glitter on Morgan’s arms catching the club lights.
Later, back at the house, Morgan comes into the living room where Zach’s sitting, scrolling through his phone. “Come for a walk,” she says.
The beach is full-dark, the only lights from surrounding hotels, the boats floating out on the water, the moon above them. The ocean breeze pricks the hair on his arms. They sit and watch the surf for a while, the foam moving in and out, sand crabs scuttling for new homes with each breath of the tide.
“I’m sorry,” Morgan says, after a while. “Not that I got mad, but that I didn’t tell you I was leaving.”
“You’re right. I was being an asshole. I knew you weren’t happy.”
“I thought it’d be okay. You know, if I couldn’t play, at least I could be in the game. But the closer I get, the worse it is. And it’s even worse getting big-timed by some of these assholes who can’t even throw a fucking breaking pitch.”
“You got a good curveball. I don’t know if I said.”
“Yeah, and in another lifetime, I might even get to use it.” She blows a piece of hair that’s come loose from her ponytail out of her face. “Now, I gotta go hold a fundraiser just to get to Korea.”
“I’d give you the money.”
“I know you would. That’s why I didn’t ask. I thought I’d get to play pro ball. Even through college. Like maybe the game would make an exception for me. It’s dumb.”
“No, it’s not.”
“You know, sometimes I just wish I was born in a different body,” she says, voice unsteady. “Like, if I woke up tomorrow, and I was, I don’t know, a foot taller. A hundred pounds heavier. Male. I could play. But I can’t.”
“I know what that’s like. There was this counselor in high school. I ended up crying in her office, thinking I couldn’t play, because of my hearing.”
They sit, watching the white peaks of the surf reflect the moonlight, the slow flap of shore birds, circling and diving to scoop prey from the water.
“I know what it’s like,” Zach says, again. “But not because of my ear.” But he doesn’t get any further, throat tight from the sand or the saltwater, chest constricting like someone wrapped a belt around it.
“You don’t actually have to tell me, Zach,” Morgan says, eventually, “if you don’t want to.”
“I want to. I just don’t know how.”
Morgan gets up, brushing sand from the back of her legs. She leans down and offers him a hand up. “When I was younger, and the world felt overwhelming. I’d drive out to the beach. Stand on the rocks. Yell out whatever I had to say to the water. I felt like I was carrying all this stuff inside and just needed to put it down for a little while.”
She digs her toe into the wet sand, watching water fill in the divot. “I needed practice. Saying it out loud. I had to tell myself before I could tell anyone else. I guess I’m the first person I came out to.”
“I’m gay,” he says. It comes out shaking, breathless, and he sucks in an inhale before continuing. “I guess I’ve never said it like that before. I didn’t think I’d get to play baseball, and, if I have to choose between that and playing, I guess I chose, but I am.”
She stands for a second, then holds out her arms, taking his weight as he folds himself into them, tight, her fist on his back like she’s gathering all the weight there, casting it off into the retreating surf. “Thank you for telling me. For feeling like you could.”
“You knew.” He pulls back, swiping at his face with the heel of his hand. “I figured you did.”
“It’s one thing to know. Another for you to be ready to share it with me.”
“There’s more to it. Other stuff I can’t say. Things have gotten more complicated, I guess.”
They stand there for a while, Morgan next to him, arms not quite touching, and he considers the ocean at night. How the water moves the sand and the wind blows it around. How the waves reset the shore.
“I’m sorry that I’m leaving,” Morgan says. “I didn’t mean for you to find out like that.”
“Don’t be. I wish I had the guts to tell the team to shove it.”
