Page 18 of Breakout Year
Not meant as innuendo: it was barely eleven a.m., which was categorically too early for innuendo.
He got an eyes emoji in response, followed by a sorry.
Akiva pinched the bridge of his nose. He’d forgotten Eitan was…like this. How it used to set a hot, bright hope in Akiva’s belly, until he’d realized that Eitan did that with everybody. Now any movement in his stomach was mild heartburn from his coffee.
He scrolled back through their texts, past Eitan’s long string of question marks, to an older set of messages from seven years ago.
Eitan: we’re going out
come with us
Akiva: Thank you for the invitation, but I’m going to stay in tonight.
Eitan: you looked sharp out there
Akiva: You’re only saying that because I struck you out.
Eitan: yes [fire emoji]
Eitan: bro we’re just getting drinks
Beer is kosher
I checked
Akiva: I’m prepping for my start.
Eitan: That’s days from now!!
C’mon
You owe me
Akiva: Yeah, okay.
Yeah, okay.
His only souvenir of that night.
Seven years was a long time to lose touch with someone. He spent a few minutes googling Eitan and got the expected headlines: Eitan, the one talented player on Cleveland’s rudderless ship. And the unexpected headlines: Eitan, at a press conference for the Cosmos, sinking his foot firmly down his throat. On screen, he looked tired, overstretched like rubber. Until a reporter had asked about his support for queer causes. Then he’d sat up, squared his shoulders back.
Eitan, as Akiva remembered him, ready to jump to someone else’s defense. His other souvenir of that night.
A minute later, another text from Eitan came through.
Eitan: You said you like books right?
Something about that made Akiva wary, even if he’d admitted as much.
Akiva: I do
Eitan: Where’s a good bookstore?
Akiva glanced at a file he had open, a flyer for Sue’s upcoming author event.
Akiva: I like Frigate Books in Midtown.
Eitan: Cool. Maybe we could go some time. I just want to see you.
