Page 55 of Make the Play
Thankfully his looks are easy enough to ignore, at least most of the time. Emerson’s been attracted to men before. He knows what it’s like to have a physical reaction to someone he has no chance with. The difficulty is, that it’s not Jason’s looks that have Emerson’s heart beating faster and his thoughts dwelling on how warm and safe Jason is in every way.
Jason is Emerson’s favorite person in the entire world. He’s the person he wants to see even when he doesn’t want to be around anyone. Jason is everything good in the world, and Emerson is maybe a little bit in love with him.
“Emerson?”
Startled, Emerson looks up to find Denise watching him.
“Sorry, were you talking?” he asks, waiting for her annoyance. People always get annoyed when he zones out.
“I was just asking what the occasion is. Andrew only mentioned needing it by Saturday, not what it was for.”
“Homecoming,” Emerson answers. “Me and Jason are going together.”
“You two make a very sweet couple.” Denise’s expression softens. “Did you want to match his suit?”
“Couple,” Emerson croaks. “No, we’re not—no. He’s not…he doesn’t…we’re going together. As chaperones. Non-romantic chaperones because Jason is straight, and we’re just friends you see.”
“Sure thing, doll face.” She doesn’t press or prod, but her eyes never leave Emerson’s face, making him squirm. “You look so much like her.”
“Like who?”
“Your mother,” Denise answers. “Beth.”
Goosebumps spring up across both of Emerson’s arms, and it’s all he can do not to collapse against the wall.
“You knew my mom?”
“Sure did. I was a senior when she was a freshman. You can imagine I wasn't too popular back then. I didn’t fit into what a girl was supposed to look like, especially in high school. I’ve always been butch and loved menswear. Your mom though, she was an angel. Always sat with me at lunch even when no one else would. The second you walked into the store I knew. You look exactly like her.”
Giving in to the weakness, he slumps against the wall, the words hardly processing. He’d known it was possible to meet people who knew his mom coming back to her hometown, but so far he’d not had much luck. Mabel was the only person who had worked at the school when his mom was there and she didn’t remember his mom. He knows because he asked.
“I was sorry to hear about her passing,” Denise says, guiding Emerson over to a small seating area. “I never saw her again after she graduated. Last I heard, she got pregnant and moved to the east coast somewhere.”
“Pennsylvania,” Emerson offers. He spins his ring while trying to ignore the tears he feels pooling at the corners of his eyes. His aunt and uncle never talked about his mom after she died. Sometimes, it felt as if they thought they could will away Emerson’s grief by pretending she never existed at all. He wondered sometimes if his aunt even missed her sister, or if having to raise Emerson was just a reminder of the sibling she would’ve been happier to forget.
“What was she like?” Emerson asks, desperate for a memory of her that isn’t his own. He was so young when she died that sometimes he’s not sure if the things he remembers about her are real or simply things he wishes had been true.
“She was like sunshine,” Denise answers, lowering herself into the chair opposite Emerson. “She was the kind of person who helped everyone, even when she didn’t have the time or resources. She was always smiling too, made you feel like she actually wanted you around, you know?”
“Yeah,” Emerson whispers, finding it easier to remember her now. She’d always made Emerson feel so loved, as if the things he liked and did and needed were okay.
His mother always smelled like roses. She had red hair and Emerson’s nose and eyes. She had a loud laugh and liked dresses. These are the things he knows are true.
“I might have a photo of us somewhere in my garage. I could look for it, if you’d like,” Denise offers.
The depth of desire this invokes is boundless. How desperately he wanted to see photos of his mother growing up, his own paltry few photos hidden away in his room, where his aunt and uncle couldn't shove them away in the attic like she never existed, were never enough to sustain the longing.
Lost for words, the most Emerson can manage is nod.
Denise smiles in return, and it softens her features. “I’ll let Andrew know if I find it.”
Emerson’s heartbeat seems too fast for his body, every thud of it inside his chest uncomfortable. Sometimes he becomes aware of his own pulse in a way that makes it feel like he’s on the verge of a panic attack. It’s difficult to explain to other people the way he can randomly become so aware of the seams on his socks or his own heartbeat that he quite literally wishes he could take his own skin off, or maybe lay on the floor and become one with the carpet.
Closing his eyes and breathing deep, he waits. Any second Denise is going to push for more conversation, to ask questions Emerson can’t answer about his mother or the suit. He’s too flustered to think about what she might ask to script a response, which only makes his heart rate increase. To his surprise, all that happens is the soft background noise of classical music. When he opens his eyes, it’s to find the lighting has been dimmed, somehow making him feel less exposed.
“Andrew likes it like this, thought you might too,” she says in explanation. “I left a portfolio on that table in front of you if you wanna flip through and see if any of the styles catch your eye. I just remembered an important email I forgot to send, but I won’t be more than fifteen minutes, if you’ll excuse me.”
It’s not until the door to the office on her left has clicked shut that Emerson reaches for the black portfolio on the table, hefting it into his lap. His fingers draw back and forth over the spine in a rhythmic pattern until he’s calmed his breathing. Several more moments pass before he opens the book to reveal an array of suits in various cuts and styles. The first few are simple, reminiscent of the stuffy, traditional ones his aunt always forced him into. He continues to flip the pages, hardly paying attention when his gaze lands on something different. His first and only thought is being picked up by Jason in this, how it might feel to have those warm, kind eyes directed his way in something like this. It’s silly he knows. Jason isn’t actually his date, but Emerson’s never even been on a real one. Never dressed up for a guy, or even himself, and the idea of doing it makes unexpected butterflies flutter in his belly.
