Page 14 of The Road to Home Base
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It wasn’t easy sneaking past all the guests but Rome knew the best route. We went out the front door of the house and walked along the driveway that continued up to the guesthouse. If anyone felt the need, they could leave the pool area, walk beyond the partition of hedges, and watch us drift into his house. But those weren’t my concerns, although I did feel a modicum of concern for Rome and his reputation.
Not your burden, I told myself as we approached his front door.Don’t lock yourself up with another closet case. You have a black eye to remind you of what happened the last time.
Rome pushed inside and I felt a relaxing wave of cool air. Out of the August heat and into the February chill. The entry smelled like fresh soap as my loafers landed on gray-stained wood floors. Before me lay a mudless mudroom with an open closet nook to my left and laundry to the right. Rome advanced down the hall, which opened up to a kitchen similar to the one in Hiroshi’shouse. But unlike his, this one was not as clean.
No, that was the wrong word I realized the more I looked. An assortment of non-perishable food items was strewn across the countertop, many with labels I didn’t recognize and all in Italian. No less than four hoodies draped the back of some chairs. Picture frames filled with Mediterranean skinned, dark-haired folks adorned one wall, and every single person in them smiled as wide as joy would allow.
This space was notnotclean, it was more…used. I briefly wondered if Rome, among his growing number of talents, also enjoyed cooking.
He’s Italian, I reminded myself. The gray quartz island beneath the canned and packaged goods dominated the area, which Rome walked around to the archway leading into the living room. I stopped beneath the decorative frame to appreciate the new space, when Rome put his hand back on my hip and gently guided me out of the room and into a new hallway with a room on either side. We went to the right first.
Rome stepped in and welcomed me. It was an office, mostly used for trophies and a gaming station. I ignored the wide, curved monitor on the desk, the thousand-dollar gaming chair, and went to the wall opposite the windows. There was built-in shelving and my eye specifically targeted the centermost cubby filled with something gilded and shiny.
I turned as my face widened in surprise. “You have a Gold Glove, too?” Rome had coveted Hiroshi’s so much, I instantly understood their worth. And now here I stared at one of his own.
He beamed with pride as he rocked forward on his toes. I also detected satisfaction in the kindness of his eyes, thankful that I could appreciate the outcome of his hard work.
“That’s incredible, Rome,” I said. The words left my mouth. Genuine. Truthful. It felt good to partake in appreciating something I didn’t quite understand. “And what are these?” Ipointed at three full-sized silver bats set against wooden plating. I peered down and read the etching before he could answer. “Silver Slugger? No ego, is this a big deal, too?”
“Yep. Sort of the same thing as a Gold Glove but a little different. It takes batting into perspective.”
Feeling the urge, I reached out and rubbed my hand down his arm. His bare arm. Feeling the bulk of his bicep, the definition of his tricep, would not help me in my short, short pants. “Rome, that’s incredible. So these are the ones you bring with you?”
He nodded. “When I get my butt kicked inCall of Duty, I like to turn my head and remember that if I ever met the guys I play with in real life, they’d be impressed.”
“I take it you play anonymously?”
He nodded vigorously. “Oh, absolutely. I triednotdoing that once. It did not go well.”
“I can imagine. There’re more baseball fans out there than I realized.”
He chuckled lightly through his nose. “You have no idea. Come on, two more stops.” He brought me across the hall. This stop was brief. “My room,” he said, almost shyly.
I spied a California king-sized bed with a masculine bedspread of gray, white, and dark blue fabrics; the tufted headboard extended up a couple of feet. A wood crucifix hung on the wall over the bed. Curious. Windows sat to the right overlooking a green lawn, with a bathroom to the left. Before I had time to peek at the pictures he kept on his nightstand, Rome closed the door and ushered me back down the hall and into the living room.
A massive sectional couch took up most of the space with an equally large ottoman at the center of it. The television mounted on the wall was the size of the sliding door in my apartment leading out to my balcony. Built-in shelving to either side was filled with more pictures of some very Italian-looking people anda few teammates I recognized.
“This is where I crash when I get home from a game,” Rome informed me. “I’ll park my butt here for an hour and watch something mindless, then go play video games for an hour. And then I sleep.”
I leaned against the back of the sectional. Rome stood before me, tall and muscular, carefree and content, like all he wanted was for me to visit his humble little space. “Is that so you can wind down?”
He nodded. “We play a lot of games in the season, but you’re still spun up after each one.” He hitched a thumb over his shoulder and said, “Anyway, I wanted to show you those trophies. Show you my space. I hope you can appreciate the game a little more. I think you takeamazingphotos, Alex, and I hope the communications team invites you back.”
I grew a lopsided grin and crossed my arms. “You like my photos?”
“I went through the portfolio on your site. That photo of the Zakim Bridge at night?” His eyes went wide as he shook his head as if in disbelief. “I want that framed. It’s such a beautiful picture. You’re so talented.”
Thathit me harder than I thought it would. Something settled in my chest that made my stomach do a barrel roll. I swallowed and looked away. This test at friendship between us had the propensity for much, much more and I was not in the proper headspace to process that.
He needed to know that. Deserved to know that. It was a simple thing to let him know. Easy words he would understand.
Can we just be friends for now? I just got out of something. Something abusive. I need time before hopping back in. But I don’t want to lose this connection.
Simple, right?
Instead, I said, “That’s really sweet of you to say. Thank you,Rome. I appreciate it. Really.”
