12. Jordan

TWELVE

Mila:

Whatever you said to Uncle Luke to make him paranoid, fix it. He keeps asking me if you've talked to me about anything important lately.

Jordan:

Uhhh. Sorry? I kind of mentioned liking men and then hung up. That was a couple of weeks ago.

Mila:

I am going to kill you.

Jordan:

I'll call him! I promise.

I sentthat text three days ago, and I need to follow up soon. Uncle Luke and Mila talk a couple of times a week, and if he asks her again… Well, let's just say my sister can be super creative when it comes to revenge.

So on this rainy Thursday morning, I decide to blow off my first class of the day and stay snuggled in bed instead… and call my dad.

"Jordan? Is everything okay?"

"Yep. Can't a guy call his dad randomly?"

"We've been over this," he reminds me. "Also, aren't you supposed to be in class?"

"Maybe. But I figured talking to you about the big things happening in my life was more important."

He pauses for a second, then says, "Hold on." He covers the microphone, but I hear his voice talking to someone else before he adds, "Okay, I'm back and ready to talk."

Shit, I forgot he'd be at work. "You don't have a meeting or anything, do you?"

"No, I was just about to grab some lunch with Toby. He'll bring me back some sandwiches."

Guilt is a knife that stabs me through the heart. "You should go; this can totally w?—"

"If you're about to say this can wait, and ‘this' is what I think it is, then you're wrong. I'm here, I'm listening, and I will damn well enjoy the roast beef sandwich when Toby brings it back. Plus Grant should be out of his meeting by then, so he can eat with me. It's a win all around."

"Well, when you put it that way…"

"I do. Now talk."

I grin and pull the covers up a little more as the wind blows rain against the windows. "You know how I bought a new suit?"

He sighs. "Yes, Jordan. I know."

"Well, the guy who sold it to me is insanely attractive. And before then, I'd never been attracted to a man I'd met in my actual life, just to, like, Ryan Gosling and George Springer?—"

"Who?"

I roll my eyes. "He plays for the Blue Jays."

"Sure. So you're saying you found celebrities attractive but figured it might just be their celebrity power?"

"Yes!" I knew Uncle Luke would get me. "That's exactly right. Though apparently straight guys aren't attracted even to famous men. Who knew?"

"Straight guys," he says deadpan. "And probably most other people. Okay, you're attracted to celebrities of both sexes?—"

"All genders, actually," I correct. "I think I'm probably pansexual. Though I did some reading online, and a lot of people say ‘bi' even though they're also attracted to nonbinary and trans people. I haven't decided on a label yet."

"You don't have to," he assures me. "If anyone tells you otherwise, refer them to me."

Aw. "I can stick up for myself now, Uncle Luke."

Another sigh. "I know, kid. Just sometimes I like to feel like you still need me."

I sit up, letting the covers fall away. "I do. Who did I call when I ripped my suit? Trust me, Uncle Luke, I'm always going to need you."

"You're such a good kid," he says fondly. "Dopey sometimes, but good." I want to argue, but he doesn't give me the chance. "Getting back to what you said earlier, though… tell me about the insanely attractive guy who sold you the suit."

"Blaise?" I smile.

"Uh-huh," Uncle Luke murmurs. "That's what I thought."

"What? No. It's not like that," I protest immediately. "We're friends. I mean, sure, realizing I was attracted to him helped me understand myself better, and he's been, like, mentoring me in the whole liking-men thing, but we're not dating or anything."

"Jordan—" There's a tiny pause. "Never mind. You're an adult now. Technically. Just… bear with me for a second and listen, okay?"

"Oh-kaaaaay?"

"Condoms are just as necessary for anal sex as they are for vaginal sex, and I know the team requires semi-annual physicals, but you also need to be getting tested regularly for STIs."

"Oh my god." I never thought I'd have to sit through "the talk" again. Whyyyyyy???

"I don't know if you already did this once you turned eighteen, but if you didn't you should talk to a doctor about going on PrEP. I know I've mentioned it before—it's not just for gay men. But," he continues, because yes, I'm getting "the talk" again, "remember that HIV isn't the only thing you can catch. Condoms really are important unless and until you're in a committed, monogamous relationship. And even then, some couples still use them."

"Uncle Luuuuuuuuuke," I whine. Though I hadn't thought about PrEP. When I was only seeing women, I was always super careful about using condoms and asking if they were on birth control, and PrEP seemed like overkill. But maybe I should? Blaise and I haven't had anal yet, but I want to, and if I end up liking it as much as I've liked everything else, I'm going to want to do it often.

"I'm done, I swear. Except don't be afraid to tell your partner if something is uncomfortable, lube is a lifesaver, and make sure you know how to find a prostate. Okay, now I'm done. Unless you have any questions?"

I do, but even as close as we are, I'm not asking him to answer them. "I'm good, thanks."

He lets out a breath. "Great. Duty done. Now… is there anything you need from me? Have you thought about whether you want to tell people about this, or just let them find out naturally…?"

I love that he doesn't even consider the possibility that I might want to keep it secret, and I hate that I need to tell him that's what I'm doing.

"For now, I'm not telling anybody," I hedge, easing into the subject carefully. "Mila and Jamie know, of course, and I'm sure you've told Grant."

"Actually, no. I didn't know if you wanted me to."

I love my dad so much. "Thank you. I do want you to, though. And it's fine if you talk about this with the uncles. Um, Blaise knows, obviously." I don't bother to explain why that's obvious. We both know Uncle Luke figured it out. "But I don't want the attention that would come with an NCAA athlete coming out, and since I don't have a boyfriend I want to publicly claim or anything, I don't see any reason to."

"I think that's sensible," Uncle Luke says slowly. "Especially given you don't plan to be a baseball player forever. Making a big public announcement would put you, your team, and probably a lot of your friends in the spotlight. But… when you said you weren't telling anybody, did you mean anybody? What about your friends? And some of your teammates? You said Boyle's sister was queer, so it's unlikely he'll be homophobic."

I hesitate. "Boyle would be cool," I begin, "and so would Polly and most of the others. FU is a liberal school, and even if someone wasn't okay with it, they'd probably keep their opinions to themselves." Mostly, anyway. "I'm just not sure I want it to be out there just yet. You know how it goes—if I come out to the team, that's dozens of people who know, and people talk. With Hannaway's fuckup, there are a lot of eyes and ears on us right now, and I don't want them picking up on this and running with it. Coach was pretty firm about only wanting us in headlines for our win record, and I agree with him."

He doesn't say anything for a minute, and I know he's struggling with this. He's never not been out, not from the moment he told his mom he was gay and she kicked him out. He believes strongly in everyone's right to be their authentic self, but I know he also respects everyone's right to set their own narrative. Right now, those two beliefs are warring in him.

"I'll support whatever you decide to do, you know that," he says finally. "I do think you might find it hard to not share this part of yourself with the people you spend the most time with—those who you trust with it, anyway. Especially if it's something you plan to explore, which it sounds like you do. So just think about that."

I turn my head and stare toward the rain-splattered window. I hate that he's right and that it would make things harder. "I will."

"And if you do decide you want to come out, but your coach is still harping on about not making headlines, let me know."

My smile is involuntary. "Uncle Luke to the rescue?"

"If I have to." He chuckles. "Your season opener is this weekend, isn't it?"

The change of subject is kind of a relief. "Yeah. It's a home game, and we're pretty well set up for it."

"You'll kick ass. Grant and I are going to be in LA toward the end of February, and we thought we might extend it over a weekend and come down to see you and come to one of your games. You're playing at home the last weekend in February, aren't you?"

I mentally flip through the season schedule and realize I have no idea. It's almost definite that he does, though. "I think so. Did you check the schedule?"

"Grant did. I'll send you an email to confirm once we get the details locked in. Plan to have breakfast with us on the Sunday."

"Yeah, of course. And dinner on the Saturday."

"That's not necessary. I know you like to go out with the team."

I roll my eyes. We talked about this last year. "Jeez, it's not like you're here all the time. I think I can miss one night out to see my dads. Or I'll just go out later."

"We can work it out when the time comes. I love you, kid. Stop skipping classes."

Laughing, I reply, "Love you, too, and I'm not making any promises," then end the call.

When I get to the locker room for practice that afternoon, the guys are clustered around Reiner's locker, yelling encouragement and trash talk about… something. I dump my bag and go to see, but just as I get there, they groan in disappointment.

"What's up?" I ask.

"Timmins's brother sent him this game app he's developing, and so far nobody's been able to get past level two," Laringo says.

"Reiner didn't even get past level one," Boyle adds, smirking, and Reiner flips him off.

"This thing's impossible," he complains, passing the phone—Timmins's, I'm guessing—to me when I hold out my hand.

I glance down at the screen. It looks like a basic tile-matching game, the kind that exists in a billion different versions. "None of you got past level two? What kind of athletes are you?"

"Dude, you haven't even played it yet," Polly points out.

Scoffing, I say, "I will, and I'm gonna smoke level two. Then you can all bow down and worship me."

"Oooohhhhh, listen to Marks talking smack." Laringo smirks. "I bet you'll fail level two just like the rest of us."

"Hell, I bet he'll fail level one," Reiner snipes.

"You're on. What do I get if I win?" I've been playing these games instead of studying for the past eight years. This is going to be a cakewalk.

"Drinks on us all night after the game Saturday," Polly suggests, and we all agree.

"And if he loses?" Boyle asks. "It's gotta be something epic."

"Drinks on him for all of us?" Reiner suggests, but Boyle vetoes that.

"He'll just use his dad's credit card like last time. There's nothing epic about that."

I hide my wince. The lecture I got from Uncle Luke after last time was pretty damn epic. Not to mention, he made me pay all that money back, with interest, over the summer.

"What, then?" Polly asks.

Laringo's face lights up in a wicked grin. "He's gotta dye his hair purple—school colors."

Pfft. "Done," I declare. Please. My hair grows superfast, but even if it didn't, I know from my friend Cara that bright colors fade a lot when you wash your hair in hot water. That dye will be gone in a couple of weeks, max.

"Not done," Coach growls from behind us, and we jump and spin around. "Why the hell is Marks dying his hair purple?"

We look at each other. He doesn't usually care about shit like this. "Uh," Polly starts, then explains.

Coach sighs, shakes his head, then says, "No bright hair colors. Nothing that will stand out in a crowd. We're trying not to get attention, remember? Get to regionals, and the whole team can dye their hair purple, me included. Until then, pick something else."

The guys look at each other, and I really hope they don't go back to the idea of me paying for everyone's drinks Saturday night.

"What about ear piercing?" Boyle asks Coach, who huffs.

"They're not my ears. Marks?"

I think about it. I'm pretty sure piercing holes close over if you don't have anything in them. I seem to remember Uncle Luke assuring Mila of that when she got her lip pierced and then decided she hated it. And she doesn't have a hole there anymore, so…

"As long as I can take the earring things out for games and practice." I don't like the idea of having anything on my ears when I'm wearing a batting helmet.

"Deal!" Reiner crows. He's way too excited for something this normal.

They all crowd around me—including Coach—as I start the game.

Two minutes later, they're all crowing and high-fiving at my defeat.

Fucking level one.