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“Subject of the night. Catchers.”
“What about us?” Eli asks absently. Skype is on and theoretically he and Jonathan can see each other. But mostly it's Eli listening and talking to Jonathan on a bluetooth headset while he moves around the apartment, cleaning up. He's taking a six am flight Thursday morning and he irrationally doesn't want to leave a mess. Plus, he needs clean clothes.
It doesn't seem to bother Jonathan though, who seems content with watching him flash across the screen now and again. “Just tryin' to understand why people are so obsessed with nailing you guys.”
“Uh, you married me. You don't really get to criticize anyone's taste in catchers.”
“You're different. People love you. Everyone wants you.” Jonathan says, and he sounds cranky. “You people get people in trouble.”
“No, pitchers are just constitutionally incapable of controlling their impulses. Case and point, Timmy getting completely shitfaced and kissing all the catchers last year. I thought you were going to kill him.”
He catches a glimpse of the screen and Jonathan looks thoughtful. “You're not wrong. That whole Vogey and Stew debacle...”
“They knew what they were doing and they did it anyways. I don't know why you feel sorry for them. Besides, it worked out.”
“It worked out for Vogelsong.” Jonathan counters. “Stewart got fucked.”
“What do you call Vogelsong's wife divorcing him and taking their kid home?”
“That was a mutual decision, Vogey said so. And a fair one at that. Dude was a closet case, why would Nicole have wanted to stay married to him?”
“Sanctity of marriage? Fuck if I know. They get along though, and that's what matters.” Eli sighs, stuffing the last load of laundry into the washer. He grabs the basket and dumps the dry laundry in it, moving back to the living room. He sits at his desk so he can see his computer better and starts folding. “I'm wondering how she's adjusting to the whole Cabrera thing.”
“What about Cabrera?”
“Him and Vogey are practically married. S'freaky. I told you they hooked up during spring training, right? Well, they've already moved in together-”
“Doesn't Cabrera's mom live with him?”
“Yeah, and apparently they're making that work. But anyways, they're living together and... okay, they're me and you. Only in an extremely condensed time frame. But they seem happy. He's adopting every stray the Giants pick up.”
“... what?”
“I am not even joking. You've got the Outfielders'n'Ryan. That's literally what everybody calls them. The Outfielders'n'Ryan.”
Jonathan just shakes his head and takes another drink of something that Eli can't identify. If the brightness in his eyes, the strengthening of his accent and the slight slurring is any indication, it's probably rum. “What about the new guy?”
“Pence? No idea. Haven't really talked to anyone, don't know anything about him. But I'm going to guess that he's part of-”
“THIEF!”
Eli freezes, staring at the screen. Okay, Jonathan is way more hammered than he originally thought. He puts the last bit of laundry, a folded pair of boxers, into the basket and nudges it aside. Jonathan has a slightly manic look on his face, hunched forward over his own computer. Over his shoulder, Eli notes Mercutio napping on the couch.
“What the hell, J?”
“Those are mine!”
“What are yours?!”
“Those boxers! You have my green eggs and ham boxers!”
“Uh, yeah. I don't know if you remember this but you kind of ripped mine off in that bar bathroom in Kansas City.”
“You had more at my apartment!”
“You destroyed those too, you sex addled bastard. It was two days, I had three pairs, and you ripped them all off of me.”
“You still stole my boxers!”
“You're so drunk it's ridiculous. I tell you what, I'll wear them back Thursday.”
“Does not help. I will only end up ripping them off of you.
“You'll have a lot of fun doing it.”
“Unf. Fuck. Yes. I will.”
“Now, take your computer into your room. There's things I wanna watch you do that I don't want your cat present for.”
“Sí, papi, sí.”