Page 123 of Checking Out the Librarian

“I have to take the field.” He didn’t want to.

“I’ll be watching.”

The innings passed more slowly than Connor wanted. Every time he glanced over, someone was showering Jonathan with attention. Or rather, begging to see Pawsley and cajoling Jonathan, who was letting them touch the kitten’s head with soft fingers, but keeping Pawsley protectively against his own chest.

It meant that Jonathan was letting people into his space, and he could see the tell-tale signs of exhaustion and over-stimulation. He was personally acquainted with the feelings, but even more of an expert in recognizing them in small children, and now, apparently, Jonathan.

Hopefully Jonathan was more self-aware than a second-grader, but the real kicker about exhaustion and over-stimulation was the difficulty with self-diagnosis. Sort of like being hangry, which, come to think of it, Jonathan probably teetered on the edge of too.

“You’ve got a real cheering section today, Connor.” Danny bumped his shoulder while they jostled for their gloves and caps from the mess on the bench.

“Yep.” For a brief moment walking out to his spot on the field, he imagined having his parents and his sister here too. They’d made it to some of his college games, not the ones in California or the Southwest, but the home weekends in Eugene.

His mother had driven the five hours over the mountains, until they all understood Connor wasn’t going to be a starter, merely a utility infielder to sub in if something happened. The last game he’d played in 2019 was probably the last live baseball they’d seen, because his 2020 schedule had been cancelled during the pre-season.

On his university team he’d been the only openly queer player. Tony had been in the closet, then signed and gone pro before he might have come out. There had been a couple guys who Connor had thought wanted to be like him, but wouldn’t take the chance.

Nobody on Queers for Beers even swung a screen door on their queerness, let alone hid in a closet or in denial. It was fun. They were super-competitive for all being people with day jobs, partners, kids and thirty-year old knees who came out to smash the softball to left field when they could.

He got to be the starting short stop and the biggest bat, and he’d turned Trixie down every time she asked if he wanted to be co-captain. Summer break was not a time for email responsibilities.

He loved this team. His parents would want to watch him play again, he knew that, and he had to believe they’d watch him with this team and be thrilled.

Had to believe.

He dropped into his ready stance as the batter entered the box.

One person in a funny hat and a folding chair was everything he’d thought he’d wanted, but once he’d tasted it, he wanted to see Jonathan sitting with his mom. He wanted two folding chairs, two cups of overpriced coffee, two terrible hats.

He was exactly like the mouse, and Jonathan had given him a cookie, and now he wanted the whole thing.

His whole family in his cheering section.

After they won, because of course they won, and after they ate with the team and laughed under the field lights and brushed away too many mosquitoes, he helped Jonathan pack his spectator gear into his car and kissed him against the driver’s door.

And then somehow Jonathan was kissing him against the driver’s door, Ribby was trying to nuzzle between them, and they were laughing and remembering other doors and other kisses, telling each other not in the parking lot, can’t do that here, not with the four-legged chaperones.

They’d been right. Taking home nothing more than kisses, they’d each driven away.

Later, after he’d showered and settled on the couch, he sent Jonathan a photo of Ribby with his head resting on Pawsley’s towel.

Connor

He was excited to sniff it

I petted him the whole time he was messing with the towel. Now he’s clam

Calm

Jonathan

Did you know I try to guess the word before you send the correction?

It gives me as much joy as a New York Times word game, but without a subscription

Connor

I’ll type faster