Page 68 of Make the Play
The bus ride only takes twenty minutes, which is plenty long enough for Emerson to re-check the text message from Denise half a dozen times, the urge to read it again and make sure he won’t walk in when he’s not supposed to is nearly unbearable. He would’ve preferred an appointment so he knew without a doubt that he is supposed to be here, but Denise warned him she’d be busy today and the most she could do was a drop-in.
Given the massive favor she’s doing Emerson, this was not something he would challenge. Not that he would’ve challenged it under any circumstances really. Confrontation makes him physically ill. A lot of things make Emerson feel mildly ill now that he thinks about it. Including walking into unknown social situations.
One of the reasons he thrives in his teaching job is the steady routine and schedule—the predictability of it all—which makes Emerson’s nervous system feel safer. Having to do things like walk into a tailor shop where he’s only been once—with Jason, not alone no less—and where he has no idea if other people will be inside or what kind of small talk Denise might engage in, makes Emerson so uncomfortable he’s slightly nauseated.
Apprehension makes him hesitate, and he stands on the sidewalk for several minutes, pulling the sleeves of Jason’s hoodie over his hands before finally making his way inside. The front room is empty, but before he can walk to the counter to tap the little bell with the sign that saysring for service, the sound of voices filters down the hallway.
“I told you, don’t ruin this suit, Charles.”
“My name is not Charles and you know that.”
“Serves you right for what you called Andrew last week, you—oh, hello sweetheart.” Denise walks out of the back, stopping mid-sentence to smile at Emerson. “I’m glad you could make it.”
Though Denise is the one talking, the only person Emerson can look at is the familiar face standing next to her. The man has a suit bag slung over his shoulder and a wide smile on his face. He looks so much like Andrew it’d be easy to think it was him, except for the paint stains covering his massively oversized jeans and the garish yellow crocs on his feet.
Charlie leans his hip against the nearest piece of furniture, grinning at Emerson. “What a pleasure seeing you again, Emerson. I was sure after last time Jason was going to hide you away.”
“Hide me away where?” Emerson asks, confused.
“You behave,” Denise chastises, swatting Charlie on the back of the head.
“What the hell, D? I literally only said hello.”
“Uh-huh,” Denise hums, narrowing her eyes at Charlie. “I’ve got cameras everywhere mister. I’m watching you.”
“Wow,” Charlie grumbles. “I don’t know why everyone acts like I’m going to cause trouble. I’m a fucking delight. Besides, I only ruined one suit,once. It’s not like I planned to spill paint thinner on a custom silk suit a week before my gala opening and requested an entirely new one at midnight.”
Charlie stares at Emerson, as if some kind of response might be made, but he cannot fathom what kind of response any person might have to a statement like that.
“So,” Charlie says. “Not at the game with Jason?”
“No,” Emerson replies, relieved at the easily answerable question
“Why? Didn’t my idiot brother invite you? I know he wanted you there.”
“He’s very kind,” Emerson says, thinking of how often Jason includes him. “He did invite me to the game tonight, but I needed to pick up my suit. That and well, the game sounded?—”
“Like an archaic demonstration of popularity and heteronormativity disguised as school spirit?”
Emerson blinks, never sure what to make of the things that come out of Charlie’s mouth. “I was just going to say loud.”
Charlie cocks his head to the side. “That’s fair.”
Unsure what else to say and floundering for conversation, his eyes hone in on the friendship bracelet on Charlie’s left wrist—brightly colored pony beads in various shades of pink. There’s a name on there, but Emerson can’t read it. When Charlie catches him staring at it, he becomes uncharacteristically tetchy, tugging the sleeve of his hoodie down to cover it.
“Nice sweatshirt,” Charlie says.
Emerson looks down at his chest, a flood of white hot heat flaring through his body. He forgot he was wearing Jason’s hoodie.In public. In front of Jason’s big brother. Something Charlie must know from the way his eyes linger on the King name embroidered on the upper right above the Santa Leon High school logo. It hadn’t occurred to Emerson he might run into anyone he knew or worse anyone Jason knew.
Maybe if Emerson stays very still and says nothing, none of this will be real, and he can go back home and hide under his weighted blanket and never come out again.
“You know, it all makes so much sense,” Charlie muses, still staring at Emerson in a way that makes him twist his hands together. He knows Charlie is a good guy because of things Jason has said, but it doesn’t change the fact that he makes Emerson slightly uneasy. He has none of Jason’s easy going personality or even Andrew's calm demeanor. He’s like his paint splattered clothing—bold and unexpected—and while that’s not a bad thing, it’s a bit much for Emerson, who finds his unpredictable personality unnerving.
“What uh, what makes sense?” Emerson asks when it becomes clear Charlie isn’t going to elaborate further.
“In high school, all the girls used to try and steal Jason’s hoodies. The football team one with his name. They wanted to wear it around campus, you know?” It’s clearly a rhetorical question, which is good because Emerson has no idea what to say to that. “His ex-girlfriends did it too when he became coach and his team started winning state championships. Jason’s kind of a big man on campus, and in town, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.”
“Everyone likes Jason,” Emerson replies, unsure why saying it makes his insides feel like the center of a cake that isn’t quite done cooking—squishy and underdone and close to being a disaster.
