Page 104 of Make the Play
“They do,” Jason confirms. “Though we’ve got to actually find it.”
Eager to see it all for himself, Emerson takes the lead, stepping out of the safety of Jason’s embrace to walk to the edge of the pool and lay his palms flat on the cement wall. He leans over, mesmerized by the way the small stingrays glide across the bottom of the tank barely disturbing the water. Not quite ready to touch them, he skims his own fingertips over the surface of the water watching the way it ripples.
He’s not sure how long he stares, scanning the tanks and taking note of the various sting rays that circle. There are starfish clinging to the rocks in the center, and towards the edge what appears to be anemone and sea slugs clustered around the coral. It’s incredible, so much like the books he’s read and yet different too.
“I wonder if my mom came here.”
“If she went to school here then yeah, definitely.”
The idea that his mom might’ve sat in this same spot makes Emerson’s insides squirm. It’s not bad, but it’s not exactly good either. It’s something in the middle, as comforting as it is painful. If they’d made it out here when he was little, his mom might have brought him here, like the other parents. Well they probably couldn’t have afforded it, but maybe during a field trip. His mom might even have been able to take off work to chaperone.
“You see the shark?”
“No,” Emerson answers. “Maybe it’s hiding.”
Jason’s hand settles at the back of Emerson’s neck, his palm warm and the touch grounding. He doesn’t press or hurry Emerson, just stands there quietly as Emerson gets lost in thought and plays with the surface of the water. Ten minutes later, Emerson’s right arm is freezing from touching all five of the rays in the tank, twice, but he’s yet to find the shark.
“I’ve gotta use the restroom,” Jason says, squeezing the back of Emerson’s neck once before pulling it away. “I’ll be right back.”
“Okay,” Emerson replies, never taking his eyes off the tank. He’s not sure how much time passes when the shadow of someone falls into his line of sight.
“Are you looking for Freya?” a woman asks. Emerson turns to see who spoke, finding a woman with long braids pulled back through her Santa Leon Aquarium cap. She’s also got on a Santa Leon Aquarium polo and a name tag, so she definitely works here.
“I don’t know who Freya is,” Emerson tells her, staring at her name tag. Kaliyah is her name.
“Freya is our Epaulette shark,” She answers. “You’ve been staring at the tanks for a while and thought you might be looking for her. Most people expect her to be bigger than she is, and with her brown coloration and dark spots, she’s easy to miss hiding in her habitat, especially when she’s in her favorite hiding spot. Want me to show you?”
“Please,” Emerson answers, following her around the back side of the touch tanks. She leans over, pointing to a small inlet in the clustered rocks near the edge. “She’s right there, see her tail peeking out? Her spots help disguise her and repel predators. The funniest thing is, if you know what to look for she’s easy to see, but she thinks if you can’t see her head, you can’t see her.”
“She’s smaller than I expected,” Emerson confesses, wondering if he’s tall enough to lean over the tank and reach her. He doesn’t think so, and the thought makes him sad.
“She usually stays there most of the day unless it’s feeding time,” Kaliyah offers. “Which, lucky for you, is right now.”
Lucky is a perfect word to describe how Emerson feels. Lucky to have been able to move to Santa Leon and start a life of his own making. Lucky to have found a job that, while most days takes the bulk of his spoons, makes him feel satisfied and proud. Lucky to have met Jason, to have found not only a best friend but a boyfriend. Lucky to have found someone who happily lets Emerson nerd out and watch the same movie for the upteenth time, or seeks out sensory hours at an aquarium so Emerson can live out his childhood dream of petting a shark.
So damnlucky.
As if the day couldn’t get more perfect, right as Kaliyah lures Freya out with the promise of food, Jason returns—his presence noticeable even before he wraps himself around Emerson from behind. Jason’s chest fits snug against his back, strong arms holding him tight, as Jason hunches to rest his chin on Emerson’s shoulder.
“Surprise,” he whispers, turning his hand over. Clutched inside his palm is a small plush seahorse, maybe five inches at most and a beautiful bright blue like the sea on the horizon.
“What’s that?” Emerson asks around a sudden lump in his throat.
“A friend for Sharky,” Jason answers, healing a part of Emerson he didn’t break. “Can’t have him getting lonely when I cuddle you at night.”
Emerson’s throat is too small, his heart too big, and words escape him as he curls his fingers around the plush. Not something to be ridiculed or hidden away, but a gift from someone who understands Emerson. Who celebrates all the parts of him, even the ones society deems difficult or childish or confusing. His thumb strokes over the soft plush, tracing the stitching in a soothing and rhythmic pattern.
“Seahorses are monogamous,” Emerson whispers. “And very queer-coded.”
“Well that’s fucking awesome.” Jason’s breath is warm across the shell of his ear, the laughter in his voice going straight to Emerson’s very gay, very-in-love heart. “I passed the gift shop on the way to the bathroom and had to get it for you. Clearly, it was the perfect one.”
You’re the perfect one,Emerson thinks, breathing in the scent of salt air and Jason’s body wash, familiar and comforting as the truth of what he’s suspected for weeks settles around him. He’s in love with Jason. Not a question or a maybe, but a fact. He knows it the same way he knew the first time his mom made him an Eggo waffle when he was five years old and it became his breakfast of choice for the next two decades. He knows it the same way he knew after reading Lord Of The Rings for the first time that he would never be the same.
Maybe it’s his autistic brain finding something it likes and not wanting to let go, or maybe it's his love-starved heart recognizing something special in Jason. Or maybe it’s all of that wrapped into one amalgamation of attraction, affection and friendship.
Whatever it is, Emerson knows one thing for certain—Jason King is it for him.
Since the day Emerson’s mom died, he’s been adrift, felt like an out-of-place alien searching for somewhere he might belong. That place had never been with his family, hadn’t been in middle school or high school or college. He’d hoped moving to his mom’s hometown might magically provide the sense of belonging he’d always lacked, but not even Santa Leon with its picturesque views and perfect weather could fill the cracks in Emerson’s fragile heart.
