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medical history is more of a third date conversation.” “Oh? Why’s that?” “Because. No one sticks around after that conversation, and I like to live in glorious denial for a short period beforehand.”
abeyance
Jeff knew about as much as any other player in the league about Alexander Price: painfully young, cocky, first in the draft, soft hands, fast as hell, and the embodiment of dirty hockey.
“Date number two?” Eli repeats. “This isn’t a date.” Alex gives him a judgmental look. “Bro. I’m taking you to an ice-skating rink after hours. I picked you up. I opened the car door for you. This is like—shitty-Hallmark-movie levels of romantic. Of course it’s a date.”
“You realize I have access to your YouTube channel now.” “Oh, no.” “Jeff and I are going to watch all your videos on the plane. Would you rather I send running commentary or save all my thoughts for date number three?”
🤭😅
Alex’s serious expression finally breaks. “No, no. I will pick your outfit. You will pick mine. The more ridiculous the better. And then we will go out to eat at a very nice restaurant and pretend everything is completely normal and we are wearing normal outfits that we intentionally chose to leave the house in.”
☺️☺️
Alex ends up wearing high-waisted metallic parachute pants straight out of the ‘80s with a pale-pink shirt and wide-lapeled floral blazer. Eli is wearing a three-piece suit, each piece a different type of plaid, and a turquoise trilby. They clash horribly, and it is magnificent.
🤣🤣🤣
But nothing in his nearly twenty years of life has ever been quite as nerve-racking as sitting uselessly at a five-star restaurant in parachute pants and a floral blazer while his—while Eli—is off in some back room having a goddamn seizure.
“You need to be extra nice to Eli today, okay?” Alex says, running his knuckles down the curve of her arched spine. “He’s had a seizure. Which is bad. And we like him, so we need him to feel welcome and safe and shit, all right?”
🥹🥹
“You better be appreciative of my efforts, or I’ll be making a funeral casserole, Mr. Price.”
“My therapist says your first response to something isn’t really your response. It’s society’s response—or the way you’ve been trained to respond from your environment? But your second response, after you’ve had a minute to think about, you know, how you really feel, that’s the one that matters.”
!!!!!
“You realize not answering the question just makes me more suspicious, right? Is this your way of telling me you have a thing for female-coded footwear? Because I love and support you and all that, but your ankles are worth several million dollars, and no offense, you really don’t have the coordination to walk in heels. We could find you some nice flats though. Strappy sandals? At least until the off-season.”
Jeffffffffff!!!!! Lmfao
“This is Eli. Tiny YouTube chef. Best figure skater. More best than Jeff.”
Loveeee Kuzy
“I was just having a lot of feelings this morning!” Alex yells back. “And I have way too much money. Can you please just let me do nice things for you?!”
When you’re friends with @AP23 you must submit yourself to ridiculous gifts as thanks for common decency. #excessive #louboutins #heisaterriblepatienttho
Can’t a bro buy his bro a pair of Louboutins? #fuckyourheteronormativebullshit #treatyobro
“Seriously though. I think it’s stupid to say that men can’t give certain gifts to other men because they’re too ‘feminine’ or too ‘gay.’ Not to mention how problematic it is to imply that ‘feminine’ or ‘gay’ are somehow bad things.”
He’s not in love with James anymore. The realization is its own sort of relief. But he still misses him. Misses the only childhood friend he’s had. The only person he’d trusted until he met Jeff.
Loved him in the way young, lonely people love—too fast and with too much of themselves, and Alex remembers. And remembering hurts.
ELI ARRIVES BACK in Houston to a small unruly group of professional hockey players waiting at the airport baggage claim with ridiculous, and in some cases hardly legible, handmade signs.
Alex is covered in glitter and his sign is probably the gaudiest thing Eli has ever seen. It says, in wobbly gold lettering, “Eli: #2 on the ice, #1 in our hearts.”
“‘Cooking plays,’” Eli repeats. “Oh, you mean recipes?” “Yes. Recipes.” Could he be more adorable? Cooking plays, honestly.
Could he really?? 🥹
“Yes, cousins. But they’re not cousins. I’m see, sometimes, they hold hands in the house, on the couch—where no window. Touch hip. Touch neck. Soft. Like normal thing. Sleep in the same room. I’m not see kiss, ever, but I know what love looks like when it have to be secret.”
“They,” Muzz interrupts, “do not believe in the bullshit heteronormative social constraints of gender or sexuality. And I salute them.”
“And on the eighth day,” Cody intones, eerily similar to the pastor at Cody’s church back home, “the Lord made hockey asses. And Eli felt one. And it was good.” “Hallelujah,” Eli agrees.
🤣🤣🤣
“Statistically speaking, Matts,” Jeff says (and thank god for Jeff, honestly), “it’s likely every locker room you’ve ever been in has had at least one guy in it who’s interested in dick. It’s unlikely they were ever interested in yours, though, considering the person it’s attached to.”
💥💥
Alex takes a breath and reminds himself it’s okay to ask for things that he wants. That it’s not needy or annoying if it’s important to him.
“Calculus is homophobic,” Eli mutters. “What?” Alex says. “How?” “I’m gay, and it inconveniences me.”
Tienes novio y no me dijiste nada hasta ahora? ¿Por qué nunca me dices nada? ¿Cómo se llama? ¿Cuánto tiempo llevan juntos?”
“Oh. Oh my god. Please tell me there’s a goat named Jeff Cooper.” “There used to be,” Cody says. “But he was kind of a dick once he hit puberty, so they sold him.”
“That,” Alex says fervently, “is the best Christmas present you could have given me.”
“¿Por qué todos mis nietos deben enamorarse de gringos? Ay, al menos él es lindo.”
“Oh, jeez,” Eli says, moving to sit beside Alex with their plates. “Not with the vapor rub again. I think science has proven that Vicks cannot, in fact, cure everything.” “Actually,” Alex says, “that probably would help. The trainers have, like, a fancier version, but it helps with inflammation, increased blood flow, and helps bruises fade faster. Especially if you add—” “Salt,” Abuela agrees, setting down a canister of Morton on the table. She taps her temple. “I know.”
“Good. Surprisingly good. I think the vapor rub healed me.” “It did not.” “It did.”
“Aba,” he says finally, exasperated when he catches her trying to subtly fish out the bag of kale chips from Alex’s basket while Alex is distracted by a sample pusher.
“Sé que no parece, pero en realidad está bastante ansioso por este viaje. Si lo dejo enfocarse en cuidarme, le ayudará a no obsesionarse con otras cosas.”
“Me preguntaba por qué no estabas haciendo un escándalo,” she says. “Bien. Voy a devolver las cosas.”
“Ya sé. Estoy tratando de ayudarte.” But that makes no sense. How is her speaking Spanish helping him? It’s not like he needs the practice. “¿Qué quieres decir?” “Le gusta cuando hablas español. Mira su cara ahora mismo.”
He used to dream about this. About a “someday” in the vague and distant future. Where someone would love him as much as he loved them.
“I was so lonely before you. Except I didn’t even realize I was lonely. I thought that was the way I was supposed to be.”
