Chapter Three
The phone would not stop ringing.
Jake’s cell was surely blowing up with messages too, but he’d muted it hours ago. He stupidly hadn’t thought to have his room calls held, and when the third one came, he jerked out from under his pillows and grabbed for the phone on the nightstand, barking, “What?”
“Well, isn’t that a fine way to greet your mother?” His mother Helen’s English accent had faded over her thirty years in Canada, but now it sharpened in annoyance.
Groaning, Jake rubbed his face in the dark room, the hard plastic of the phone cradled between his ear and shoulder. “Sorry. Hi, Mom. What’s up? Everything okay?” He stretched, wincing. The bruises and weariness always caught up with him in mornings, the rush of game-time adrenaline gone.
“What’s up? What’s up is Janice called me at six o’clock this morning to say how exciting it is that you’ve been traded to Ottawa.”
Oh, right. That had actually happened. It wasn’t a dream. “I was going to call you as soon as I got up. I didn’t want to wake you last night.”
“It’s after nine, Jake. I showed admirable restraint in waiting three hours to track you down at your hotel.”
“True, but you know I don’t usually get up until ten-thirty after a night game.
” Flopped on his back, the covers tangled around his legs, Jake stared at the dark ceiling, a crack of sunlight coming through the curtains.
“But I really am sorry you didn’t hear it from me.
So, yeah. I got traded to Ottawa. Surprise! ”
“It is a surprise. What happened?”
With a sigh, he gave her the rundown on his conversations with Ted and Norwalk. “So there’s nothing I can do about it. I’ll finish out my contract in Ottawa.”
“You know it’s not a prison sentence.”
“I know. But I have everything the way I like it in San Fran. My house, my friends, the team.”
“No boyfriend, though.”
“Mom.”
“What? I’m just pointing it out. In all these years, I don’t understand why a wonderful man like you hasn’t found anyone yet. It’s not like San Francisco is lacking in options. Did you ever go down to that Castro place? I saw a program on TV about—”
“Stop.”
“Okay, okay. Maybe you’ll have more luck in Ottawa. It’s small, but they must have a gay bar. And I’m sure people use those apps. I downloaded one on my iPad to see what it was all about. Some handsome men on there!”
Sweet Jesus. “I’m not going to a bar or putting my face on an app. I can just see the headlines now.”
She sighed. “I don’t think people will care. It’s 2016. You know Phyllis in my ladies’ golf league? She lives in Penetang? Her daughter’s a lesbian and no one minds at all.”
“Good for her. She’s not playing professional baseball. Can we not do this right now?”
“Sorry, sorry. You’re right. It’s up to you, and I shouldn’t nag.
I only want what’s best for you. Now I know you’re not happy, but…
” He could imagine a smile lighting up her face, the wrinkles around her eyes getting deeper, her gray-blond hair waving around her chin.
“Oh, Jake, I’m so happy you’re coming home!
The Capitals are a good young team! Doing better than those bums in Toronto so far this season.
When’s your first game? Tomorrow? Janice is going to organize a bus trip next month for the seniors’ center, but obviously I’m driving up to see you! ”
Affection for her warmed Jake inside out, and he smiled in the darkness. “I’m assuming it’ll be tomorrow, but maybe tonight. It’s not a long flight from Boston. I’ll find out for you. So how are you? Did you play yesterday? How was your putting?”
She tsked. “I’m sure it would have been terrible, but we were rained out. Went to Hustle and Muscle at the center instead. Did I tell you Betty had a fall the other night? Poor thing twisted her knee, so I made her a lasagna and a tuna casserole.”
While his mother filled him in on the latest seniors’ news from their small town, Jake made listening noises at the right times, in no rush at all to get out of bed and face the day.
“Patty sent me a picture of the new baby. Cute little girl. Strange name—Sailor. But it’s not so bad as some you hear these days. Honestly, Boomer? That’s a name for a golden retriever, not a child. I think all that chlorine has affected Michael Phelps’s brain, I’m just saying.”
He chuckled, squirming a bit at the mention of his cousin. His family was quite small, and he certainly had affection for Patty, who’d been the closest thing he had to a sibling growing up. But any mention of her would lead to—
“That’s her third child now, can you believe it? Time flies. Tom and Louise are so thrilled to have another grandchild.”
Here we go. “Yes, I’m sure they are.”
“Oh, and the neighbors across the street, you know, the Duponts? Their daughter-in-law is expecting. I’m going to help with the shower.”
Guilt and irritation fought for dominance, irritation winning. “Great. Look, you know why I don’t have kids, so do we have to have this conversation again?”
She huffed. “No, I don’t know why you don’t have kids. Gay people can have children, Jake. There’s adoption, or a surrogate, or plenty of ways. Of course you need a husband first.”
“I’m not interested! It’s my life, Mother.”
After a few moments of silence, she sighed. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” Her voice was soft now and so terribly sad.
And there was the guilt. “I’m sorry I snapped at you. It’s just…I don’t know if I can be the son you want me to be.”
“Oh, Jake. Don’t ever think that. You know I love you exactly the way you are. I just worry about you. Worry that you’re not happy. I’m sorry, I know I’m an old nag.”
“Of course you’re not. Look, let’s just deal with the trade before any other life changes.”
“All right. Love you, my boy, and see you soon. This is exciting!”
He smiled fondly. “Love you too.”
After they hung up, Jake stared at the ceiling for another minute, the crack of sunlight in his peripheral vision. With a sigh, he heaved himself off the bed, threw back the curtains, and opened his suitcase. He was off to join the Caps whether he liked it or not.
“Welcome to Ottawa!”
Jake dutifully smiled at Ryan, the front office staffer who’d been sent to pick him up at the airport.
The clean-cut young man—a kid, really—insisted on taking Jake’s suitcase, and they walked through the small terminal chatting about weather and the flight.
Jake’s sneakers squeaked on the floor, and he kept his hands in his jeans pockets.
“It’s good to be home, eh?” Ryan asked.
Home. Aside from the quick series against the Caps last season, Jake hadn’t been to Ottawa since a school trip to see the parliament buildings and the civilization museum across the river in Hull. Was Canada even home anymore?
He’d grown up in Midland, but hadn’t lived there since he was eighteen. He realized with disbelief that he’d almost spent as long living in the States as he had in Canada.
“It is,” he answered, since he couldn’t exactly say no. “A little surreal.”
Yesterday, he’d woken up, worked out with the team, and prepared like he had a thousand times, getting ready to call the game with his starting pitcher. It had been just another Tuesday. Now everything had changed—his team, his home, his life. He had to make all new routines.
Shoving his hands in his pockets, he fought the urge to rip his suitcase away from Ryan and race back to the gate for the first flight to anywhere. Hell, he’d rent a car and drive. Anything to get back behind the wheel of his damn life.
At six-five, Jake was used to people looking twice at him, but as they made their way through the terminal, he could feel stares and hear the murmurs of whispers.
He hadn’t even looked to see how the trade had been reported in the Ottawa media, but apparently the news had traveled quickly.
Good thing he’d worn a plain gray hoodie and not one of his San Francisco ones.
Pics of him in his old team’s apparel would probably launch some Twitter rants.
As they passed the airport convenience store, he asked, “Hey, mind if I grab a Crispy Crunch? It’s been a while.”
Of course Ryan didn’t mind, and when Jake tried to pay with American cash—which the cashier would have happily accepted—Ryan insisted on paying, handing a silver and gold two-dollar coin to the cashier.
“You’ll have to get used to using loonies and toonies again!” Ryan laughed.
Jake laughed along, wishing he was in California, heading back to his nice, familiar house in Marin, where he had all his stuff and his nice, orderly life.
His cheeks went hot as he thought about the ridiculous salary he received to play baseball—a game he’d loved once upon a time.
It’s not like you’re hauling rocks in Siberia.
Jesus, you make millions; more than most people ever see in their lives.
Stop being an entitled douche already. Enjoy the little things.
“Everything okay?” Ryan asked.
“Absolutely.” Jake unwrapped the chocolate bar and took a bite, moaning appreciatively at the chocolate-covered, flaky peanut layers.
A small voice asked, “Mr. Fitzgerald?”
Jake turned to find two kids around eight or nine staring up at him. The girl’s black hair was tucked up beneath a red and white Capitals hat, the red maple leaf embossed with threads of silver. The wide-eyed boy, presumably her brother, had his mouth open.
“Hey, guys. How are you doing?”
Still staring up, the girl hissed, “I told you it was him!”
“Guilty as charged.” Jake smiled. “I haven’t worn the uniform yet, but do you want me to sign your cap?”
She nodded vigorously. “Thank you.”
Her brother’s lips trembled. “Mine’s at home.”
A woman Jake assumed was their mother stepped forward and squeezed his shoulders. “It’s okay, Sunil. You can share Rina’s hat.”
Rina whirled to her mother. “What? But this is my hat! It’s not fair!”