Page 22 of Make the Play
“Are you eating butter for lunch?” he asks.
“Butter,” Jason echoes, looking down at the desk before laughing. Jason peels back the plastic lid to reveal the contents inside, bright green grapes in one and chunks of cut up honeydew melon in the other. “No butter here. Just fruit.”
“Oh,” Emerson says, feeling a little silly and a lot embarrassed.
“Myabuelaand dad did it, so now me and my brothers all do it too. Even though it drives my mom nuts when she’s looking for actual butter and all she finds is leftover rice or fruit. But it’s a waste to throw away perfectly good containers, you know?”
“Sure,” Emerson agrees, unable to stop thinking about Theo and Jason’s brother. He’s never had a brother or a best friend, but if he did, he’s not sure he’d want them dating. It feels messy, and Emerson doesn’t like messy things. “Does it bother you?”
“Does what bother me?” Jason asks, holding out the container of grapes to Emerson, who does not actually like grapes but isn’t sure if it would be rude to say no. He accepts one, almost putting it in his mouth to be polite then feeling revulsion rise at the idea of the skin on the grapes in his mouth. He ends up passing it back and forth between his fingers.
“Your uh, your brother and your friend dating.” At this point, Emerson isn’t sure if it's rude to bring the conversation back up but he’s curious, and also very bad at small talk. Turning it around on Jason is so much safer than having him ask Emerson questions about himself, questions that he probably wouldn’t know how to answer without being too honest or lying, both of which are apparently socially unacceptable.
“It did at first. A little bit. Or a lot if I’m being honest.” Jason drops down into one of the chairs, using his foot to not at all subtly turn the other chair towards Emerson before peeling back the foil on his sandwich. “Not so much now. They’re both happy as hell now which is all that really matters. I love them, and if they’re happier together then that’s all that matters.”
He shrugs, taking a massive bite of his sandwich and leaving Emerson reeling.
There’s so much to unpack in just a few sentences. Jason’s ease with saying he loves his best friend and family and the way he so clearly only wants the best for them. It makes Emerson’s gut ache in the kind of way where he can’t tell if it means he’s emotional or hungry—a sort of pinging emptiness.
“You want some?” He asks, offering the container with honeydew melon now. “I always pack a bunch in these containers at the start of the week and end up hitting the vending machines instead. Then come Friday, I realize I didn’t eat any fruits or vegetables all week,” he says, half-laughing at himself like he’s said something funny.
Never in his life has Emerson met anyone whose baseline temperament seems to just be happy. Jason’s is, and it has the ache in his chest throbbing. What must it be like to be so relaxed and at ease with yourself? He can’t even imagine.
Sometimes Emerson wishes he were like a character in a novel, the kind who knew his own feelings and what to do with them, and not someone who has a screenshot of an emotions wheel on his phone because indigestion and anxiety feel exactly the same. Whatever he’s feeling now is confusing and overwhelming, and Emerson plops himself into the chair opposite Jason. He opens his lunch bag, hiding his uneaten grape in the bottom before unpacking his own food, desperate for the opportunity to focus on something more familiar.
6JASON
Leaning back in his chair,Jason watches Emerson carefully unzip his lunch bag. There’s something mesmerizing about the movement of his hands. As a coach and avid football fan, Jason spends a lot of time looking at other people’s hands, particularly men’s. He can tell from the shape of a guy’s fingers and the breadth of his palm what his grip might be like or how much strength it might possess. Looking at Emerson, it's obvious his hands are anything but those belonging to an athlete. His fingers are long and delicate, with pale skin and not a callous in sight. He has really nice hands, Jason decides, taking another bite of his sandwich to avoid saying that out loud. Usually he doesn’t filter himself too much, but he suspects Emerson might not be quite as comfortable with his unsolicited praise as Theo, and he’s definitely not about to tease him the way he does his brothers or other friends.
He might not know him well yet, but he knows enough to be certain that Emerson requires something different. Probably because Emerson is different. Maybe it’s the low hum of anxiety around him or his unexpected honesty. Or maybe it’s the fact that Jason very strongly suspects he’s neurodivergent and struggling, but everything about him calls to that part of Jason that needs to protect. Jason’s taught and coached long enough to know a lost boy when he sees one, even if he’s aware enough to know Emerson isn’t a boy and isn’t actually in need of rescuing. What it does seem like he could use is a friend, something Jason always likes more of. Especially because he likes Emerson and his no nonsense quirks.
“So what did you pack besides Ranch Doritos?” Jason asks, trying to make some casual conversation.
“It’s kind of boring.” Emerson answers in a monotone voice, carefully lining up his lunch on the edge of the desk beside him. There’s a hunch to his shoulders, as if boring might not be his own thoughts on his lunch but someone else’s. “I uh, I eat the same thing every day. Just a peanut butter sandwich, chips and, um, a banana.”
“Listen, peanut butter is one of the best foods ever invented,” Jason grins, hoping to put him at ease. “My favorite candy ismazapán. It’s so fucking good. It’s this little round disk of peanut butter perfection. Growing up it was harder to find, but I buy them by the box at thepanaderia. Man, I could go for one of those right now. Have you ever had one?”
“I honestly have no idea what that even is,” Emerson admits, popping the lid off his Tupperware and removing his sandwich, which as far as Jason can tell is nothing but peanut butter on plain white bread. Not even jelly. Jason loves jelly. Then again there’s very little Jason doesn’t love.
“It’s a Mexican candy, myabuelaloved them and got me and my brothers hooked when we were younger. Well, most of us. Charlie’s a weirdo and hates peanut butter.”
“Abuela?”
“Let me guess, I don’t look Mexican,” Jason says good-naturedly. “I get that a lot. My mom’s white and my dad’s mixed. His mom, myabuela, immigrated here when she was a teenager. Out of all my family, I definitely got my mom’s complexion.”
“I was actually going to ask what‘abuela’means,” Emerson says. “I don’t speak Spanish.”
It’s not often Jason gets embarrassed, but his ears heat, and he scrubs a hand over his face. “Sorry. I guess I’ve got a little bit of a sore spot from growing up being told I don’t look Mexican like them, but I shouldn’t have assumed that’s what you were going to do, that wasn’t fair. I’ve gotten that kind of comment my entire life, especially since my brothers are darker than me. Although, Alec looks a lot more like our mom, and the twins look a lot like my dad.”
“I have my mom’s hair,” Emerson says so quietly Jason barely hears him speak.
“Yeah?” Jason says, unsure why that little tidbit feels like a treasure. He gets the feeling Emerson doesn’t share a lot about himself with people, so the fact that he is now makes Jason feel damn good. “Well for what it’s worth, it’s very nice hair.”
Automatically, Emerson’s hand flies up to touch his hair, untameable as always. When he catches Jason watching him, his cheeks flush pink. He drops his hand, grabbing his chips and shoving one in his mouth, averting his gaze. There’s something handsome about the way his blush colors his pale cheeks and Jason can’t help but stare.
“Thanks for telling me, Emerson.”
Green eyes fly up to meet his gaze. The peanut butter sandwich is halfway to his mouth, but he doesn’t take a bite, lowering his gaze. “You’re welcome.”
