Page 57 of Breakout Year
Akiva
Akiva woke up in the middle of the night to a noise pinging from his living room. At first, he thought it was his alarm. But the clock was face down, recklessly unset. Eitan had assured him he got up early, then reassured him with the four or so alarms he had on his phone.
Now he was sleeping on Akiva’s spare pillow, face lax, body separate from Akiva’s except for his hand that had found its way around Akiva’s chest. His fingers twitched in his sleep. They tickled. Akiva laid his hand over Eitan’s, threaded their knuckles together. Something he’d done on the street for the snap of phone cameras. Different here, under the thinning cotton of his bedsheet, the room lit by only the New Jersey night.
Eitan had said he wasn’t panicking, but still Akiva felt for the acceleration of his pulse. For him to wake up with a gasp, declaring this whole thing a mistake. There was taking a leap and there was stepping off a cliff, and Akiva wasn’t sure which they were doing. Fake was one thing. Has this ever been fake? Akiva didn’t want to answer that. Didn’t want to even acknowledge the question that felt as if it was hovering over them in bed.
Then the noise pinged again.
A drip, another, followed by a splash, then a gush like someone had upended a mop pail onto his floor.
Akiva leaped up, went into his living room. He was still naked. The curtains were open. Had he even checked to make sure the front door was locked? Who would think there was something in this place worth stealing? It didn’t matter, not with his air conditioner expectorating water all over the floor.
Fuck. Akiva raced over to the linen closet—a series of haphazardly installed shelves—and pulled down two fraying beach towels he’d gotten at a dollar store that were really more lint than towel.
“Here, give me one of those.” Eitan appeared at his shoulder, awake and bed-headed and wearing boxers. He held out a hand, requesting a towel.
“I got this.” Though the air conditioner released another burst of water.
“I’m here. Your floor’s wet. Let me help.”
Yeah, but I don’t want you to. Akiva didn’t mind assistance, except when he did. Pity, like a constant flow of water over rocks, a reminder of all the things he couldn’t have because he’d given up. Because he hadn’t been brave enough to say, What the fuck are you gonna do about it? to his teammates who razzed him about not eating pork and not dating women, so he’d quit instead.
He tossed both towels on the floor, swept them through the puddle with a stroke of his foot. There, almost cleaned up. Or would be, if water wasn’t still coming down. Akiva flicked off the air-conditioning unit’s switch. The water stopped. Maybe it was his imagination, but his house got instantly warmer, the air unpleasantly thick. Certainly too warm to sleep in for anyone not used to it.
“I think we got everything.” Eitan was grinning like this was all a lark.
It was a lark if you could get back in your car and drive away from it, Akiva supposed. He was being uncharitable, he knew, but he’d already taken enough charity. “Thanks, I probably can get it from here.”
Eitan’s face fell minutely. “How much would it be to get the A/C fixed?”
“I rent. It’s the landlord’s obligation to fix it.”
Eitan cast a look around the room. He hadn’t said anything disparaging about the state of Akiva’s house, but he didn’t need to, not with that look. “Will he?” Eitan asked.
Probably not. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not a big deal. I could give you—lend you—the money.”
Akiva wished he wasn’t naked having this conversation. That it wasn’t the middle of the night. For a moment, he even wished he’d packed Eitan into his car back to Manhattan rather than letting him come in. “It would be a big deal. For me.”
“I mean, I still owe you for—” Eitan cut himself off before the end of the sentence, as if he knew he’d said something he shouldn’t have.
It didn’t matter. Akiva had heard it anyway. Eitan still owed him for the date. For Akiva’s time, as if that distinction made things any better.
This was work. This was work and he’d long been done with employers who felt like their money gave them the right to demand more of him than he was willing to give. That was all this was. That was all this could be.
“Time’s up.” Akiva’s voice was raw in his throat. “I have to work tomorrow.” Eitan didn’t move until Akiva added, “My other job.”
Normally, Akiva liked that he could see every emotion play out over Eitan’s face. But usually Eitan’s emotional range went from good-natured to aggressively good-natured. Not this blankness as if Akiva had slapped him. Not his visible swallow, his nod.
It felt strange for Akiva to be sorry that he’d done something but not so sorry that he was going to apologize. If you named a character after me, what would he be like? Akiva had his answer now: someone who talked but didn’t necessarily listen.
“I should go home,” Eitan said. This time, it was a declaration and not a request for Akiva to convince him otherwise.
It was late. It was dark. Eitan needed his sleep to go play baseball, something that Akiva couldn’t leave behind no matter how much he tried.
Akiva should tell him to stay for all those reasons. Instead, he rolled his shoulders, gathered the scraps of his dignity. “Yeah, probably.” And so he threw on a bathrobe and waited for Eitan to get his clothes back on, then led him to his front door and ignored how the latch closed behind him as quiet as a kiss.
