Page 102 of Breakout Year
Eitan was holding the candle—the one he’d bought Akiva all those months ago—in a small wad of aluminum foil. He was wearing one of Akiva’s sweatshirts. His suitcase had contained clothes more appropriate for a hotel conference center than for the wind, which was currently blowing sideways. It flickered the candle flame and sent a few dribbles of wax cascading down onto Akiva’s patio.
Eitan’s forehead scrunched. “What?”
“I’ve been thinking about it. You shouldn’t quit.”
More forehead scrunch. “I don’t want to leave you again.”
“Well, that’s good, because I don’t want you to leave,” Akiva said. The same impasse they’d been at in September, now clarified by the approaching winter. “I quit playing because I couldn’t see any way out of this. I could be myself or I could play. But fuck that. Fuck that. I don’t want you to have to decide. I couldn’t live with myself, knowing you gave that up for me. So wherever you’re going, I’m going.”
“Are you sure? I thought you didn’t want to do that. Your life is here.”
“Somehow, I will learn to live with the indignity of having a hot millionaire boyfriend—no matter where he winds up.”
“And Sue?”
Akiva couldn’t help his frown. His book was with Sue. She hadn’t said much about it—it was possible she hadn’t read it yet. It was possible she had and didn’t want to hurt his feelings. “I’ll figure something out.”
Eitan adjusted how he was holding the candle. Despite the wind, its braided wicks glowed against the darkness as he kissed Akiva over it. “So what should we do?” he asked.
Akiva had a high threshold for words he found moving, but that we might have been the best one yet. “They want to make you embarrassed about being publicly gay. Beat ’em at their own game.”
“I should, what, issue a statement?”
Precisely what Akiva had asked him not to do months ago, out of some foolish hope that his name wouldn’t be dragged into all of this. He was in this now. He’d never been one to pitch a public fit over what was right. Right had never gotten him rent money; right had never paid a single bill.
But now right burned hot within him. Eitan getting pushed out of baseball wasn’t right. Who even cared if people knew Akiva used to play? Who even cared if they knew he’d up and quit? He’d carried that shame for long enough. It faded with each debt he paid, paler and paler like the squares of his ledger.
“Call a reporter,” Akiva said. “Hell, call an entire press conference. If baseball wants to do this to you, make ’em wear it publicly.”
Eitan’s mouth tipped up. His eyes were lively in the dark, twin reflections of the candle flame. “Gabe is gonna hate that idea.”
Which certainly wasn’t a no. “If you quit, he doesn’t get that big payday either.”
“Big-league clubs aren’t that keen on being made to look bad,” Eitan said. “Ask me how I know.”
“People like stories.” Akiva wrapped his fingers around Eitan’s to steady the candle. “Maybe we should give them one to root for.”
Two days later, Akiva found himself on a train into the city, Eitan next to him, feet tapping arrhythmically against the floor. Sue had summoned Akiva to Manhattan with a simple directive to be at a particular office at a particular time. When Akiva had written back how mysterious, he’d gotten one of Sue’s custom avatars in response: a cartoon of her with black hair piled up to heaven and her tongue sticking out. And absolutely zero other details.
Akiva was attempting patience with the whole thing. Patience had taken the form of Googling the address to see what turned up. He’d drawn the line at pulling property records. His search had yielded only that the address was one of the infinitely tall office buildings in Midtown that housed any number of services. Sue could be visiting an accountant or a podiatrist for all he knew.
Unlike Akiva, Eitan was going into the city with a clear mission—to convince Gabe that Eitan making a statement was still a good idea. He was sitting next to Akiva, rehearsing his arguments. Akiva only gleaned a word every so often, but he could catch the gist: Pride Night, trade, New York, gratitude. Once, Akiva, said fondly enough to make his heart stutter.
Eitan heaved a breath, less a sigh and more the exhalation of someone winded from great effort. “This might not work.”
Akiva didn’t know if Eitan meant convincing Gabe or a statement itself. Either way, he didn’t have a good response to that. He just pressed a kiss to Eitan’s hair and held his hand as they descended into Penn Station.
Off the train, they split up, Eitan promising that he could get himself uptown and only kissing Akiva goodbye twice before swiping his MetroCard. Akiva was a little bit early, so he cut east then walked up Sixth Avenue, flanked by buildings on one side and scraggly trees on the other, serenaded by the constant low-level war of car horns. New York wasn’t his home, but there should be a name for a place you weren’t from, exactly, but also didn’t want to leave. He was here, rooted as much as the bare-branched street trees now battling the occasional burst of wind that cut through his coat.
If this plan worked, Eitan would leave again. And this time Akiva would go with him. He chewed on that as he walked, a habit seven years in the making—examining every choice for regrets.
The wind stung his cheeks. Eitan might end up signing somewhere warm, denying Akiva the pleasure of layering sweaters and kvetching about the cold. Akiva wasn’t entirely sure he had the constitution for humidity, but he’d figure it out. They could figure it out together.
He’d miss his synagogue. He’d miss Mark and Rachel. He didn’t want to be Uncle Akiva, who Noah and Anna only knew from FaceTime. He didn’t want to be one of those people who exclaimed, You’ve gotten so tall, because he’d missed everything in the interim.
He’d miss Sue. It was possible she would harrumph at his leaving and tell him to draft an ad for his successor. It was possible she’d, rightly, lecture him about not resting his financial future on something as inconstant as a man. It was possible she’d use it as an excuse to cut out of going to PT. He didn’t know which option would be worse.
He’d even miss his house with its creaks and groans. Wherever Eitan ended up living probably wouldn’t smell like the rain. The kitchen might accommodate more than one person, so Eitan wouldn’t have an excuse to press close. The new place might have fresh paint and shining fixtures. Akiva hated the idea on principle.
