Page 14 of Diamond Ring
A present that felt more serious than a gift between bros, with its black velvet case and the way the silver brings out the green in Jake’s eyes through some strange jewelry alchemy. How it brought out something in Alex when Jake wore it for starts. Something Alex shouldn’t put a label to, not when Jake has a rotating cast of women he’s seeing who he actually stays in touch with after theWe’re better off as friendsconversation.
Alex: So let’s go buy one
Jake shuffles the scouting reports, squaring them off like he would a deck of cards. A consistent enough habit that Alex makes sure not to hand him un-neatened piles of papers or move things around in Jake’s kitchen.
Jake: I want to get a Magen David.
He adds a Jewish star emoji at the end of the text.
And Jake doesn’t look any different, splayed in his chair facing Alex, though his hands are gripping the papers with a little too much force.
It makes Alex want to—He doesn’t know. Throw an arm around him. Throw a punch at whoever made him feel that way, including himself if that’s the issue.
“Tomorrow’s good,” Alex says out loud.
It’s dim in the yellowish clubhouse lighting—except for Jake’s answering smile.
He picks Jake up the next day, Jake clambering in the passenger side of Alex’s truck and fussing that he needs to move the seat back, an ongoing joke about Alex’s height as if Jake’s not the only one who rides in that seat regularly.
Jake gives him turn-by-turn instructions until they’re guided into a parking lot of an unmarked building. They have to buzz in, once through a knobless door, again to prompt the slow retraction of an iron gate.
“This is some spy shit,” Alex says.
Jake gives an un-Jake-ish grunt; his hands are balled un-Jake-ishly in his pockets.
Alex contemplates that as they walk into a lobby furnished with overstuffed, spotlessly clean chairs. Conversation drifts in from a set of shut doors, but no one comes to greet them.
After a minute, Alex sits. Jake’s still standing, his shoulders migrating toward his ears. He paces the length of the lobby, clearly keyed up.
“I can wait outside,” Alex offers.
“I don’t know if this is a good idea.” Jake shakes his head. “Not the necklace itself. Maybe wearing it during games. People will probably say stuff.”
He doesn’t have time to elaborate when the jeweler comes in. Orjewelers, because an entire family descends on them, a middle-aged man with a well-trimmed red beard who’s nearly as tall as Jake, several chattering children, and a dark-haired woman dressed like if Sofia suddenly won the lottery, in flowing clothes even Alex can tell are expensive.
“Oh”—she has a faint accent Alex can’t place—“you’ve brought a friend. Good, good.” She kisses Alex firmly on each cheek in greeting, then yells something in another language to the children, who scurry away. “Tea will be ready in a minute. But first, Avi, let them sit.”
Whatever Alex expected—a visit to the nicest jewelry store in the mall, which is where they bought Jake’s necklace after his first win—it certainly isn’t being brought tea and small cakes studded with poppy seeds. Or for Jake to give updates on apparently every relative he shares with Avi. Because he and Avi are cousins, though Alex can’t discern how from their volley of names. Something that Jake didn’t mention on the drive.
It goes on for a little while. Alex drinks his tea, once cooled, eats a couple of the cakes, trying not to scatter poppy seeds on the otherwise pristine glass table. The woman, who introduces herself at Laila, tsks at him not to worry about it, then asks him a set of questions not unlike Sofia interrogating prospective tarot-reading clients. Where he’s from. Where his family is from. How long he’s lived in Oakland and under what circumstances. “I’m Jake’s catcher—I mean, we’re on the same team.” He takes another gulp of tea.
Jake and Avi show no sign of slowing their reminiscence, though Jake glances over with a semi-apologetic shrug. Either sensing his unease, or just because their discussion has run its course, Avi gets up, brushing crumbs from his slacks. “All right, let’s talk about a necklace.”
Jake withdraws something from his pocket—the long black velvet box Alex got him. Inside it, the necklace. “I wanted a pendant to match. A Magen David.” And he saysMagendifferently from how Alex pronounced it in his head, likemugwith the first syllable a clipped “muh.”
“Any particular style?” Avi asks.
Jake flushes slightly. “Something flashy but not too flashy.”
Avi nods from side to side, considering the chain. “This is from...”
“Alex got it for me.”
If Avi thinks anything of it, he doesn’t do anything other than examine the necklace. “I have a few options, or we could make something custom. We’ll see what you like.”
He disappears, though Laila remains. They begin running through Jake’s list of cousins again, while Laila brushes seeds from the table into her cupped palm, then returns with a disposable wipe that squeaks as she rubs it against the glass.
A few minutes later, a noise like the grinding of a lock echoes from behind the door. Avi returns with several cases, along with a viewing box he places on the table.
