13. Chapter Thirteen

“Of course after that she never once brought hot dogs and pickles in a lime Jell-O mold to one of the family dinners again. I’m not sure what Cousin Mikey’s second wife—Dolores Marie was her name, nice gal but kind of spacy about things—was thinking to even slip a wiener into a wobbly Jell-O mold, let alone a dozen, and then haul the thing all the way to Flushing from Staten Island on the ferry for starters. Sure, it’s free and all but I rode on it once when I was going to check out a scooter for sale and let me tell you them people on the ferry ain’t kind to hot dogs in Jell-O or people who ask why they ain’t got a good hockey team like the rest of New York does, so I wager on the way over Dolores either showed someone her hot dog and gherkin mold and they reacted violently—which any sane person would—or the waves that day were like them huge waves over in Portugal. Did any of you see that episode of that show with Norman Reedus when he was biking around Portugal? I love that man. Henri don’t get the appeal of zombies, but I love them. Daryl Dixon can hold my crossbow any time. Henri wonders why Daryl don’t get a haircut and tidy up and I’m like, Sugar Bottom, it’s a zombie apocalypse no one is worried about pressed hankies, but he just rolls his eyes and sips his wine. Not sure if he’s rolling them peepers at me or at the grimy zombie fighter to be honest, but I suspect it’s Daryl or Dog. No, not Dog. Dog is cool. Did you guys ever see Old Yeller? When I was a kid…”

I glanced over at Fossie seated next to me on a stationary bike in the crowded Williams Wellness gym where we congregated on days off to work out. He was pedaling away, his jaw set, his gaze on the owners of the gym, Keyshan and his twin sister, Jemetta. The other triplet wasn’t here today, and my head was too full of worry to recall his name. I did take note of how Fossie seemed to be zoned in on Keyshan as he spoke to his incredibly pregnant sister.

I looked to the left, around Greck who was still talking, to see if Liam was paying attention to the team chatterbox, but no, he had ear buds in. Smart. I should have brought mine, but I was too keyed-up about making the big reveal to remember much of anything. I was lucky I had sneakers on my feet, to be honest.

Bean and DJ were down at the far end of the bikes, talking about Christmas. Maybe I should have gone to the rectory to talk to Pastor Gabe about the future. Surely he would have some guidance for us. But I didn’t want to intrude on his limited down time with DJ and Clifford during this crazy busy time of the year. I had to imagine a pastor had a thousand things to do right before Christmas. Big important things. Not nervous goalie telling his friends that he’s fallen skates over helmet for a tendie on a rival team things. Surely the Christian ministers were jampacked right now with holiday prayers and setting up nativity sets and talking about the star and wise men.

Someone lobbed a wet towel at me. It fell over my head. I scowled, tugged it off, and glanced around to find the culprit. It was my roomie. The guy I had been loading down with my worries for weeks now. Poor Liam. If not for Tarcy being here in Watkins Glen now, my bestie would probably have clobbered me. Rightfully so, but Tarcy was here and Liam was now a happy little camper.

I made a face at Liam and then flung the towel back at his face. He caught it, draped it around his neck, and made a circular motion with one hand. Right, yeah, I did need to speed up the big news. We had been here for over an hour and the bikes were last on our workout regime here at Williams Wellness. We’d then shower and go out for a late breakfast somewhere.

My sight flew to all my fellow rainbow players. I blew out a breath, stopped pedaling, and slid off the bike, my hamstrings wobbly. Must have put on more miles than I had realized. The other guys all slowed, probably assuming I was calling it done for the day.

Liam nodded as he eased into a lazy pace. He knew what I was planning to do today. We’d talked about it for a couple of days. I would tell the guys as Marcus had done, play our last game before the holiday break, and then drive down to Wilkes-Barre for the dinner at Ooni’s house. Then, if all went well, Marcus and Kyleen would drive to my place the day after Christmas to spend a few days getting to know my family.

During this time, we would begin writing out what we wished to say to our teams and the press. Then, once the teams knew, we would tell the world right before the AHL All-Star game out in San Jose in February. Neither of us had been chosen to play on the two teams but Liam had gotten the nod. He was thrilled, obvs, and already had booked plane tickets for him and his man, who had a free week or two in February before racing picked up once more.

“So hey, I wanted to say something to you guys,” I said as I mopped at my face with a clean gym towel. I looked at Liam. He smiled his encouragement. “Okay, so I know you all have been worried about me and all, but there is no reason to be worried. I’m not doing anything bad…I’m just dating Marcus Newley.”

Eyes flared, pedals slowed to a crawl, and I chewed on the inside of my lower lip.

“Dating Marcus Newley,” Bean repeated, easing off his bike to grab a clean towel from a small table jammed into the corner. “Okay, that’s not as bad as I feared.”

“Yeah, we thought you was maybe doing drugs or making hootch in your bathtub,” Greck spoke up.

Fossie shot Greck a look. “What is this the 1920s? Why would he be making gin in his bathtub?”

“You don’t know, he could be. There are still moonshiners. I seen this show once—”

Bean slid into the moonshiner show gabfest that was about to begin, easing in front of Greck’s bike to face me head on. He had his captain face on which could either be good or bad. I hoped good. “This is quite the announcement,” he said, keeping his sight on mine. “You’ll need representation with you when you speak to the owners and upper management.”

“I’ll go!” Greck shimmied around Bean. “I got great people skills. And the bosses love me. Mostly.”

“I think he would do better with a more professional representation at his side, but it would be amazing if you and the rest of the team waited outside in a show of support.”

DJ and Fossie nodded, vowing to be there whenever I needed. Greck did as well but was keen on trying to get Bean to let him speak because he had lots to say about love being love and not being jerks about me being in an inter-league romance.

“So you guys are okay with it?” I asked as a group of elderly folks jogged out of the gym led by Keyshan. Fossie’s head craned to follow the runners as they exited.

“It’s better than making gin in your bathtub,” DJ tossed out, which made the others chuckle.

“I guess if he’s your cup of tea, then you should dunk your bag. Wait, that sounded bad. You know what I mean. I ain’t got nothing against him personal but when he’s in the net, I sometimes have discussions with him about the size of his head. I call him a pea head, which, you know, ain’t technically true since his head is normal size, but I like the sound of pea head and it makes him retaliate by calling me a rutabaga brain. He’s fast on the chirping, so that’s good,” Greck announced, then downed half a bottle of water.

“I was worried you guys would be upset,” I confessed.

“Nah, we’re cool. Marcus is fine as long as we’re not trying to score on him, then he’s annoying as shit,” DJ said as he dropped an arm around my neck. “Think you can whisper sweet nothings into his ear when you’re all cuddly to ask him to not be so damn good? You know, let a few from good old Deandre slip past now and again?”

“Uhm, no, but good on you for trying,” I parried and got a thump on the shoulder from Greck and Fossie.

“It’s all good,” Greck said. “We’ll still love you, even if you do have terrible taste in men.”

He ducked the playful slap to the back of his head I aimed in his direction.

Liam nodded as the guys drew in around me, showing the kind of support that I’d come to love and expect from them. We were a small group of queer players in a huge league that sometimes didn’t appreciate men deviating from the straight default norm. We were closer than kin at times. We certainly spent more time with each other than we did with our families. And while I’d been worried that they’d be upset, I should have known better.

Bean drew me aside when the others peeled off to shower. “Look, I know it’s going to be a bit bumpy for you and Marcus when the teams are told. You will have my support as the captain and the LGBTQ rep for the team. Do you have your agent in on this? If not, you need to contact him or her right now.”

“I reached out to my agent. They’re going to be there with copies of my contract. I’ve not broken any clauses or anything,” I said and eased to the side to let a couple of women pass by on their way to a yoga class taking place soon.

“No, of course not. Our contracts do not dictate who we can date. I just wanted to ensure you had proper backing when you face down the big cheeses. Also, and this is just an idea you can shitcan if you wish, but after the team knows I’d approach the PR department to make a video starring you and Marcus. I don’t know what song you could use or anything, I’m not musical but those videos have been crazy popular. If you two pick a good song, something about bridges or friendship or love, then I think you might sway more of the fans. Some will hate you for being you, but they’re a small minority, and hopefully the majority will drown out the hate with rainbow glitter.” I stared at him. “Or not. Like I said, I’m not really the creative type like Criswell, but—”

“No, no, that’s a pretty great idea, actually. Thanks, Bean.” I shook his hand vigorously, my mind already working on trying to find songs for this video that Marcus and I could do. No, not could, should. Would. We would do whether the teams liked it or not. Sometimes music spoke better than mere words ever could, especially if those words came from two lovestruck goalies.

“You’re welcome. Now let’s go wash the stink off and see where we’re heading for food. I think it’s Greck’s turn to choose.”

“Ah, so Italian,” I said while making our way past the newly added weight room.

“Possibly. Either the bakery over in Elmira that’s run by some distant relative of his that’s fifteen times removed or the gas station in town for a breakfast burrito. Want to wager on which one?”

I took that bet, banking on the bakery. And I won. Bean bought my baked goods and coffee, and I got to send Marcus a text with six little words that made a world of difference to us.

The guys are cool with us. ~ B

***

“Babe, stop fiddling with your tie. You look amazing.” I forced my hands back to my lap as we crept through the snowy streets of Wilkes-Barre. “I’m not sure why you wore a tie anyway. I told you this was casual.”

Staring at the modest homes all decked out in their holiday finery, I felt acid churning in my gut. Probably too much coffee, some would say. That someone was obviously not Thai.

“I wanted to make a good first impression,” I replied flatly. Marcus chuckled softly. I snuck a peek at him sitting behind the wheel, looking so damn fine in his white sweater and black jeans.

“Baskoro, my love, they already know you,” he pointed out. “The first impression took place two years ago when you shut us out in your debut game against the Comets.”

“No, that’s not the true first impression,” I politely argued, happy for something to dwell on other than this impending dinner with Marcus and his teammates. “That was a professional first impression. This is a personal first impression that has to be made to some of your closest friends. The debut game was hockey. This is off the ice, two different things. And I know you said they were down with us being together—”

“They are. Totally down with it, so please, stop chewing on that pretty bottom lip of yours. That’s my lip to nibble.” He reached over to rub my thigh. “It’s a small party, just Ooni and Crispy, plus any dates they bring. Most of the other guys have hightailed it home for the holidays, like your team.”

Right. Yeah, I knew all of this. Deep down I had all the details about this little gathering on the evening before Christmas Eve day. Small dinner with half a dozen people at most.

“Are they bringing dates?” I asked just as we pulled to a stop sign. The snow that had fallen earlier as I’d driven down from New York State gave the roads a slight icy sheen so driving was a little dicey. Marcus handled the slippery streets with practiced ease of one who had grown up in a cold climate. I tended to tense up whenever the roads got the least bit slick, a tic picked up from my parents who abhorred driving in bad weather. Yes, parents, your kids could inherit your fears as well as your propensity for male pattern baldness.

“Not that I heard,” he replied, easing away from the stop sign, and then turning left onto a tiny street filled with middle-class homes. Each house on the street had lights in the windows. Some had those huge inflatable decorations as well. One was of a round little bear in a Santa hat and it made me smile. I’d bought Banyu a Santa teddy for his first Christmas. One of about two thousand gifts he would get, I was sure. Between his grandparents, his uncle, and his parents, the child would be buried in presents on the big day.

“Okay,” I answered, pulling my gaze from the wobbly lighted bear to the small home we pulled up in front of. “Is this Ooni’s place?”

“It is. Nice, huh?” Marcus asked as he unbuckled and tossed his door open, allowing all the warm air to get sucked out of the car.

I nodded. It was a nice place. Nothing grand but nicely tended. That was obvious. Blue siding, white shutters, and a string of multicolored lights wound around a naked white birch in the front yard. I got out of the car, rubbed my hands together, and took a deep breath. Marcus tapped my shoulder. I looked his way. His lips found mine, the kiss sweet as the candy cane Kyleen had forced me to eat when I’d arrived at Marcus’s place a few hours ago.

“It will be fine,” he assured me, then slid his fingers between mine. With his kiss lingering on my mouth, I followed, his grip steady, to the front door. No sooner had he rung the bell than the door opened to show Ooni wearing an apron over a green sweater and jeans, the apron imploring people to kiss the cook. “Hey, man, something smells good.”

“Everything smells good,” Ooni replied with a smile and hustled us inside. There he took our coats, then offered me his hand. “Welcome to my house, Baskoro. The food is almost ready. We’re going to eat in the kitchen as it saves me toting everything to the living room.”

“He made so much that it would take several hours and a forklift to move it all,” Crispy joked as he entered the hallway where we were toeing off our snowy shoes. Ooni gave him this odd look and snorted in amusement.

“It is true, I did make far too much, but I did not know what you enjoyed, Baskoro, so I maybe overdid. Finnish food is very delicious but sometimes Americans have issues with some of it, but I did make some Thai food for you in case you dislike all the fish.”

“Dude, I love fish,” I hurried to reassure him as he handed us slippers to slide our feet into, then led us into the kitchen. It was obvious even to my non-cooking eye that this food prep area was well loved. The appliances were all state-of-the-art, shiny and sleek. There were pots and pans and dried herbs hanging from hooks along the ceiling. The smells that greeted us were mouthwatering and the food…well, the long table was holding so many varied dishes that finding a place for a plate was going to be tricky.

“I thought we could eat at the island?” Ooni offered, sheepishly. Crispy laughed and hugged the lanky blond goalie into his side, holding him close for perhaps a few seconds longer than just buddies might hug. I threw a fast look at Marcus, but he hadn’t noticed the moment. His attention was on all the food.

“Ooni, this spread could feed the whole team,” Marcus said, passing me a dish from a stack on the island.

“I told him to cut back, but you know how he is when he gets cooking,” Crispy said as he handed me some flatware. “Dig in, Basky. You’re the honored guest, so you get to go first.”

And so I did, with gusto. I filled my plate with all kinds of new foods as well as some of the salmon curry that was so delicious I had seconds. Then asked for some to take home. We ate and laughed like old friends, sipped mulled wine that was served warm over blanched almonds and raisins, and then shared stories of our youth hockey days. By midnight, I was sleepy, my head fluffy fuzzy from all the warm wine and a full belly. Marcus nudged me awake a few times, then decided it was time to go home.

“Are you not fuzzy?” I asked as he helped me get my coat and shoes on. Ooni and Crispy seemed rather giggly, but not Marcus.

“No, I only had one cup of wine with the meal. Someone had to stay sober,” he teased as I swayed a bit and lunged at Ooni to hug him goodbye. “Easy now,” he said when we both teetered into Crispy, who had donned a set of stuffed reindeer antlers sometime in the past few hours. How had I missed that? A burp rumbled up out of me. The silly ones all sniggered as I was helped out into the cold.

“I don’t like the cold,” I informed Marcus as he buckled me into the passenger seat.

“I know, babe.” He patted my cheek and kissed it.

“I like your friends, though. And you…I like you a lot.” I turned to catch his lips, the kiss a little off-center. I smooched the corner of his mouth and broke into giggles that lasted about two blocks before I fell asleep to the soft sounds of Andy Serkis as he read something about Silmarils, whatever they were. Something to do with Middle Earth knowing my Marcus. Hmm, my Marcus.

I did like the sound of that as well…

***

“Daddy, is he dead?”

“No, sugar, he’s just sleeping.”

“But I brung him the coffee that you said would make him live again, but he’s still not living right.”

I ran my tongue over my mossy teeth, opened one eye to see Kyleen and Marcus staring down at me, and then burped the sourest, most rancid burp ever burped.

“Your breath smells like Goldberry’s cat box,” Kyleen informed me, then gingerly lifted a huge mug of coffee from the long table sitting in front of the sofa where, it seemed, I had slept all night. The sofa, not the table. “Daddy says you like coffee a lot, so we have some that Aunty Zada made for you. She said you should have dog hair in it, but Daddy didn’t think so. I don’t either. I get cat hair in my mouth and it’s gross. Do you want the coffee now, Mr. Baskoro?”

How did a child so small speak so loudly? My head thumped as I levered myself up and stretched out a shaking hand to take the elixir of the gods.

“Call me Basky,” I moaned and inhaled one of the most blessed smells on the planet. I took a sip. It was creamed and sweetened perfectly. “Buddha, bless you,” I whispered into the brew before taking another sip.

Kyleen beamed at me and then raced off, yelling at Zada to make more coffee because Mr. Basky was awake but still looked dead. I felt dead too—or wished I were—it was hard to separate to be honest.

Marcus sat down beside me, all decked out in gray jogging pants—yum—and a yellow sweatshirt with the name of a dance studio on the front. He dumped a couple of aspirin out of a bottle into his hand and passed them over.

“I think you look adorable when you’re half dead,” he told me, leaning in for a kiss. I held my coffee mug in front of my mouth. “Oh right, cat poop breath. Well, then a kiss on the cheek will have to do.” He placed a peck on my cheek and then sat back to stare at me. “How do you feel?”

“Like death. No,” I paused to swallow the tablets, “like death who got kicked in the head by one of his demon horses. Then the horse danced on his skull for a few hundred years. Then the horse shit on him just for the hell of it. Ha. The hell of it. Oh shit, my head hurts.” I cringed at the throbbing behind my eyes.

“Poor thing. I did try to warn you about drinking all that wine,” he whispered, easing his arm around my neck so I could rest my aching head on his shoulder. “But you said you drank wine all the time.”

“I lied. Big time. I hardly ever drink. It’s kind of not done in my household as it violates a precept. Can’t recall which one now, but yeah, I tend to skip all that. Now I remember why.” I lifted my cup to my lips, frowned, and then picked my head up so I could ingest more of the heavenly fluid. “What time is it?”

“A little after eleven. I know you have to leave this afternoon to get back to meet your parents at the airport. I wish we had more time.” He dropped a featherlight kiss to my ratty hair. It kind of hurt. Why did I drink so much wine?!

“We will have more time. In two days, you’ll be at my place for a few days. I promise my head won’t hurt nor will my breath smell like cat feces.”

“It is pretty rancid, baby, I got to say.”

“Mr. Basky! Aunty Zada is making you happy waffles so you get more alive!” Kyleen shouted so loudly my eardrums pulsed. And so did my head.

“Ow,” I whimpered.

“You still sure you want a bunch of kids?” Marcus teased just as I got a hug around the neck from a very boisterous young lady who smelled of sunshine and cinnamon.

Yeah, I was sure. Lots of kids. Less wine. For sure less wine…