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On the Sunday after Jack returns to Pawtucket, he’s wrapping up his morning jog along the Boulevard when he runs into Georgia, Joelle, and Emmy having a morning picnic on the grass by the playground. Emmy is still uncertain on her feet, but has anchored herself on the side of her stroller. She lets go as Jack slows down on the pavement and pulls his earbuds out of his ears, lurching toward him at toddler momentum.
He reaches down with a sweaty hand to intercept her before she propels herself out into the mixed-use path where cyclists and runners are passing by in a steady stream. “Hey there,” he says, turning her back toward the blanket where her mothers are sitting.
“Hi Jack, nice to see you in the neighborhood,” Joelle greets him, picking up a bowl of strawberries she and George have between them and stretching a hand up to offer him the fruit. She’s got highlights of blue and green woven into her braids today.
“Thanks,” Jack says, stepping off the pathway into the grass so he can reach for a strawberry.
“You had a nice trip?” George catches Emmy and pulls her back onto the blanket, tickling her tummy as she wriggles and squeals. “No going out into the road, mija,” she murmurs to her daughter. “Mommy and Mama want you to stay safe.”
“It was good,” Jack nods, tugging at the hem of his shirt so he can wipe the sweat from his face. It’s sticky today -- though nothing compared to the humidity he left behind when saying goodbye to Eric at the airport on Friday. In contrast to central Georgia the muggy breeze off the Seekonk River feels positively cool. Still, he knows he needs to stay hydrated or he’ll regret it later.
As he pulls a water bottle from his belt, he has a split second to decide whether to elaborate or not and decides that it feels easier, more natural, to slip it in now rather than to ask George for a meeting in her office. If he does that it will feel like a confession, like he’s apologizing for the extra work his life will create for the team. This is just … responding to a colleague’s friendly question about his vacation. “I spent the 4th of July with my boyfriend, Eric, and his parents down in Georgia. In Madison,” he clarifies, since he knows they’re familiar with the area.
He feels the surge of adrenaline after he says my boyfriend, Eric because the words have left his mouth and there’s no going back; his hands are shaking ever-so-slightly as he fumbles to unscrew the cap of his water bottle.
He doesn’t miss the glance that passes between George and Joelle. The twitch of a smile at Joelle’s lips, the quirk of George’s eyebrow. The part of him that isn’t struggling to stay calm wonders if there’s anyone who hasn’t suspected.
“First time down in Georgia?” Joelle asks, with a warm smile, leaning back on her hands so she can look up at him without craning her neck.
“Apart from games, yeah,” Jack says, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. It feels surreal to just say what is true without worrying whose secrets he’ll betray. “It was good,” he says again, feeling a smile emerge as it inevitably does when he thinks of Bitty. “He’s down there for the summer, so -- so I hadn’t seen him for awhile. We had a good time.” He looks down at his hands clutching the now half-empty bottle of water, then back up at the two women regarding him from their blanket as if he is unremarkable.
He’s been carrying maybe half a dozen “telling George” scenarios in his head and even the ones with a positive outcome, the ones he’d been more and more sure of in recent weeks, had never approached anything this … undramatic.
He sucks in a careful breath, counting to five in his head, and lets it out again at the same measured pace to try and bring his heartrate down.
His hands, he notices, have already stopped shaking.
“I remember the first year Georgia and I were dating,” Joelle said, “I was in graduate school at RISD and we started dating in -- what, February? March? I’d already taken a summer internship down in D.C. so we had literally just moved in together when I had to be gone for twelve weeks. It was the worst.”
George shakes her head, smiling, “We talked on the phone every night. We met in New York a couple of times. But it never seems like enough, you know?”
“No, it’s not,” Jack’s grinning now, feeling the tightness between his shoulder blades ease. “He’s flying back to Boston in three weeks and I’m already counting the days.”
“Y’all should come round for dinner,” Joelle says, “when he’s in town.”
“I, uh --” Jack says, glancing at George and then back at Joelle.
“We’d love to have you, Jack,” George says, “but talk to Eric. See how your plans come together.”
“I, yeah,” Jack says, nodding gratefully. “Yeah, I’ll tell him you asked.” He realizes, picturing it, how much Bitty will enjoy meeting this family. “He’ll probably insist on bringing pie,” he says. “He doesn’t like to show up empty-handed.”
“A good Southern gentleman,” Joelle grins. “His mama raised him right.”
Jack laughs, “Yeah -- yeah, she did.” He’s blushing and he knows they can see it, even under the flush on his skin from exertion. He glances down toward the corner, thinking of his shower and the apricots and yogurt in the fridge. “Well, I’ll leave you to your morning,” he says, snapping the empty water bottle back into its holder.
“Jack,” George says, just as he’s lifting his earbuds back up to his ears. “Thank you. For trusting us.”
He nods. You’re welcome seems like the wrong thing to say.
She grins. “Eric Bittle, right? Think he’d consider signing with the Falcs in a coupla years?”
He rolls his eyes.
“Hey,” she says, serious again. “I’m working from home tomorrow. Stop by for coffee after your run and we’ll talk, okay?”
He swallows. “Okay.”
She nods, accepting his confirmation. “You and Eric get to call the shots here. All of them. On how out you want to be. But you’ll have our -- and the team’s support -- however you decide to play it. And I’d like to chat about what the Falcs might be able to do for you, okay?”
He’d known the team would be supportive, because he’d signed the papers that said as much, but it still means something for her to say it aloud.
“Okay,” he says again, and hears the waver in his own voice. Deep breath in … and out.
“Now go on and enjoy the rest of your Sunday,” she says, with a shooing motion that reminds him of his mother. “Emmy, shall we wave goodbye to Jack?” She waves at Jack where Emmy can see, although Emmy appears to be distracted by a couple walking past with a Newfoundland. “Can you help me say ‘bye Jack’?”
“Bye, Emmy,” Jack says, waving as he thumbs the volume back up on the episode of Only a Game he’d been listening to.
“See you soon, Jack,” Joelle waves. Jack jogs off, feeling a reassuring certainty in his stomach that she means it, and they will.