Page 75 of Breakout Year
“Smile!” Isabel ordered. Eitan was already smiling. How could he not be? The community center was humming with activity. Kids ran all over the multipurpose room. There had already been an incident involving glitter—with Eitan as an unlucky bystander. He had glitter on one sleeve and across the lacing of a shoe. He was wearing both sneakers now: the docs had cleared him to walk, but said he needed to give it another few days before he resumed baseball activities just to make sure there weren’t any lingering soft tissue injuries.
Akiva had mostly been spared the glitter explosion—he still had the reflexes of a pitcher avoiding getting hit with a comebacker. One flake had settled on his cheekbone. Eitan was half-tempted to catch it on his fingertip. He hesitated, mostly because Akiva had been wearing the same little frown for much of the past day.
After the ballpark, he’d been quiet on the ride home. Quiet as he sat vigilant over his laptop as he worked. Quiet even as he cycled the ice pack on and off Eitan’s leg, though at this point, ice wasn’t helping Eitan feel anything but cold. Quiet as they bid each other good night. And Eitan had lain awake for longer than he’d like to admit listening to Akiva move around in the other room.
Akiva had gotten up. For one heart-clenching moment, Eitan wondered if he was going to come to Eitan’s door. Knock softly. Crawl into bed with him where no one else could see. Then a sound—water running in the kitchen—and another. Akiva returning to his own bed, door shut quietly behind him.
What’s bothering you? Eitan hadn’t asked, in case the answer was him. Akiva had heard Gabe’s directive. With the exception of that hug, he was also following it to the letter, including standing away from where all the fun was happening right now.
“Come on,” Eitan said, waving him toward the view of the camera.
Akiva shook his head. “I’m good here.”
It was possible that he was, after all this, camera-shy. He’d been hanging back for most of the visit as Eitan played a game of five-on-one basketball against a bunch of kids. Basketball was technically not a baseball activity, and he’d mostly walked around and let the kids steal the ball from him. Eitan didn’t think Akiva was acting like this because he didn’t like kids. He’d gamely crouched to tie shoelaces when summoned, but something about the visit was clearly causing him distress. Still, before they left, there was one thing Eitan had to show him. He grabbed Akiva’s hand.
“We’re not supposed to…” Akiva sounded weary in his refusal.
Grudgingly, Eitan moved his hand up to Akiva’s wrist. “Then c’mon.”
He led Akiva to a corner of the multipurpose room bounded on one side by bleachers and the other by wall, an area previously occupied by gym mats and dust and not much else. Now it held a few beanbag chairs, a tiny shelf at about kid height that contained various books—chapter books, picture books, coloring books—and a few wooden games and puzzles. Nearby, there was a rack of headphones in case kids wanted a break from the noise.
“What’s this?” Akiva asked.
“The first time I was here, there wasn’t really a quiet place to read. There still isn’t, I guess, but…”
For that, he got Akiva’s hand in his, the two of them tucked away from view. Once, just a brush of their palms, quick enough Eitan almost thought he imagined it.
“You didn’t need to do this.” Akiva dropped his hand but didn’t step away.
Eitan grinned, not for any snap of a camera but for the pleasure of watching Akiva smile back. “I wanted to.”
It was that simple, really. Around them, the world could keep spinning and people could keep telling Eitan he didn’t fit into whatever shape he was supposed to. In that moment with Akiva’s hand molded to his, everything had felt right.
That night at Eitan’s apartment, Akiva walked him to his bedroom door. “You good from here?” He was looking past Eitan to where various items of clothing were already strewn on the floor beside Eitan’s bed.
You could add more, starting with your pants. What Eitan would not say, not even in jest. Akiva would frown, not the faintly amused one Eitan liked so much, but something downturned and real.
“I’m all set,” Eitan said, because good would have felt like a lie. He counted the floor tiles between them—five, but it might as well have been infinite. “Thank you for all of this.”
And when they both went to their respective rooms, Eitan pulled the pillow over his ear so he wouldn’t be tempted to listen for anything else.
The next day, they went to a park. Eitan liberated his duffle bag from his trunk, unzipped it with a flourish. Inside, a few dozen baseballs he’d been schlepping around in case he encountered autograph seekers. They set up at a picnic table on the side of the park that overlooked a narrow grass field. Only a few kids were around, mostly chasing a soccer ball at the other end. It was possible Eitan had under-planned this. It was possible that outside the community center, no one in New York wanted to speak with him.
“At least it’s a nice day,” he remarked to Isabel.
She had her camera on a padded strap around her neck, a fancy model with a mystifying number of buttons and knobs. She raised it and took an occasional shot. “I thought we’d be swamped with fans.”
Me too. Eitan’s plan hinged on that. He’d wanted to see the city. More than that, he wanted to feel like he wasn’t just a guy who got up and played in an isolated ballpark all day. “Where’s Dave when you need him?”
“Dave?” Isabel asked.
“My least favorite paparazzo. Usually, I can’t shake him.” He hauled himself up onto a picnic table, resting his feet on a bench. A moment later, Akiva sat next to him, the few inches between them enough to make the air feel weighted. Eitan didn’t know how they’d look if someone snapped a picture and posted it online; he also didn’t much care.
Akiva reached into the bag, pulled a ball out. His fingers wrapped around the stitches. He cycled through a few pitch grips, possibly reflexively. A simple fastball, index and middle fingers across the seams. A curveball with a spiked knuckle for some extra bite. Finally a changeup, with his middle and ring fingers arcing over the ball and his thumb and pointer resting on the side in a circle.
Eitan nudged him with his shoulder. “You struck me out on one of those.”
Akiva flushed, ducked his head. “I did.”
