Page 13 of Diamond Ring
“Hey,” Alex says, because he doesn’t know what else to say.
A couch cushion rests between them, though Jake is spread out, feet against the leg of the coffee table. He blots his eyes with a tissue.
“Hey,” Alex says again. He reaches for Jake, who slides over, letting Alex slump against him. It’s easier to talk like this, with the world spun down to the two of them.
They sit like that, for a while, for long enough that Alex should probably feel awkward, but he doesn’t. Mostly worn out from the day, from carrying with him all of this stuff that nothing ever seems to displace.
If Alex starts crying, he won’t be able to stop. He lets out a few stuttering gasps. “I miss him.”
An oversimplification for what followed him around most of his childhood.Alex, whose father died.Alex, the angry kid who turned into an angry teenager.Alex, who’s sitting on the sofa of his overpriced apartment slumped against his teammate who he wants to kiss most of the time.Alex, who wants things he can’t have.
Jake runs his hand through the hairs on Alex’s neck that he keeps cropped short because otherwise wearing a catcher’s mask is a sweaty nightmare. His fingers feel impossibly close.
“Thank you,” Alex says, after a few minutes, the flicker of the candle marking time. “Usually I’m alone for this.”
Jake doesn’t move to his side of the couch, doesn’t interject space between them. Another contemplative brush of his fingers. “It’s not a big deal.”
“When did your friend die—what day?”
Jake thinks for a second. “It’s probably terrible, but I’d have to look up the obituary. I know the funeral was in December. His dad worked for the DOT, and the secretary of transportation showed up. That’s mostly what I remember. Not anything anyone actually said.”
December, the offseason. “We could do something,” Alex says.
“We probably won’t even be in the same state.”
“I could come visit. Or you could come up.”
“Rhode Island in the winter?”
Jake’s right; it’ll be cold and dark and raining sideways. Except in his aunts’ house, which is somehow both drafty and well-insulated. “If you want.”
“Okay.” Jake runs his fingers along Alex’s neck before getting up and carrying their plates back to the kitchen. From it, the sound of running water, of dishes being put in the dishwasher, of various things being shifted around. He comes back with a glass he hands to Alex. “I should probably head home.”
Jake’s place is a quick walk on a warm night. There’s no reason for him to stay other than it’s ten p.m. and Alex doesn’t want him to go.
“We could watch a movie,” Alex says. “I mean, you’re not throwing tomorrow.”
Jake hears what he’s trying to say. “All right.”
There’s nothing on that Alex really wants to watch. Jake picks a drama about a bank robbery gone wrong. It’s slow, contemplative. Alex’s eyelids start to feel heavy at some point, Jake’s legs warm against his. He must drift off, because when he wakes up the next morning, he’s on his couch, a blanket over him and a pillow under his head. A text from Jake, a slightly stomach-churningNeed to ask you something.Followed by an almost immediateLeft the danish in the kitchen.Whatever it is, it can’t be so bad that Jake would deny him breakfast.
The candle is still going when Alex is about to leave for the game; he’s not sure if he should let it burn or stanch it. Eventually he blows it out; the lingering curl of smoke makes him feel slightly less alone.
Whatever Jake wants to ask him, he doesn’t ask while they’re running side by side on the treadmills, Jake’s loping strides and Alex’s plodding catcher-ish ones. Or while they’re planning for their last regular season games of the year. Well, supposedly planning, but mostly speculating about who they’ll play in the division series.
Alex’s phone buzzes while they’re recounting the possibilities. A text from Jake that wouldn’t be unusual, except Jake is sitting next to him. He has a lap full of scouting reports with his phone on top of them, the glow of it obvious on his face.
Jake: What are you doing tomorrow?
Alex: Playing baseball
Jake: Ha ha
It’s probably meant to be sarcastic, though he’s wearing a smile that means that Alex will say yes to whatever he’s proposing.
Jake: I want a necklace
Not that surprising. Jake is a pitcher; pitchers love necklaces. He has at least five of them, not that Alex is counting: Two heavy gold ones. A silver one he got for his bar mitzvah. A wiry titanium one that’s supposed to balance his bodily humors or whatever, which sounds like woo nonsense even to Alex. And the one Alex got for him for their first start—not quite matching friendship bracelets but close.
