Emerson
* * *
At Jason’s house, it’s a Frisbee and barbecue evening for the host, so the backyard is brimming with pro-footballers and their significant others, if they have them. There are guys from Jason’s team, the Hawks, and guys from the city’s other team too, the Renegades.
Like Harlan, the just-retired star receiver who’s married to my friend, Katie. His rookie replacement, Carter, is here with his girlfriend, Sydney.
Everyone’s in the yard, goofing off as the sun dips lower in the sky, except for Nolan and me. We’re inside, on pins and needles.
From my spot in the kitchen, I stare out the window, zooming in on Harlan as he easily slings a Frisbee to Jason, then on Katie, who works the grill like a pro, flipping burgers and chicken. She does everything well, so no surprise there.
I watch them and wait for our agent to pick up the phone.
I have to focus on something other than the Extremely High Levels of Impatience flooding my veins as we dial Hayes again.
The connection went dead a minute ago in the middle of our call, right as he was laying out, oh, you know, life-changing details. As it rings and rings, I jerk my gaze away from the glass and meet Nolan’s eyes. Bright, wide, hopeful.
Like a mirror.
“This can’t really be happening,” I say, and I’m not sure I’m even in my body. It’s like I’m floating above us in a fevered, crazy dream. One I don’t want to wake from because it’s just so damn good here in this altered state.
I hope it lasts.
I really do.
“I think it’s finally happening, Em,” he says, kind of hushed and wonderstruck.
Another ring.
Then, Hayes’s voice crackles over the speakerphone. “Hey, hey! I hit a dead spot in my building,” our agent says, tinny at first, then he smooths out. “So, what do you think? The terms are good. The opportunity is huge. And they want you to start right away.”
Nolan’s grin is electric. “It’s sort of a no-brainer, isn’t it?”
“Well, I wouldn’t say a zombie could do this deal, but . . .” Hayes chuckles.
“I don’t think he meant it like that,” I chime in, laughing too, maybe even slap-happy.
Is this real?
Is our agent talking terms of a streaming deal with us?
I pinch my arm to make sure I’m alive. That this call is occurring on Planet Earth and not in Emerson’s Fantasy Parallel Universe.
“Yeah, we definitely need your non-zombie brain, Hayes,” Nolan says.
“Good. I advise you to say yes. This is everything we’ve been wanting for you two,” he says.
It is everything.
That’s what scares me. If something is too good to be true, maybe it is. But I set aside philosophical musings as Hayes reviews more details.
He gives us the details for our shoot and the meeting in New York with the Webflix producer, then he ends the call. As we hang up the phone, the sounds from the yard drift in. Jason’s voice, Harlan’s voice, Katie’s, Carter’s, Sydney’s.
But the one voice I key in on belongs to the person in front of me.
My best friend.
“Emerson,” Nolan rasps, and my name has never sounded so charged, so full of atoms and ions.
Full of hopes and dreams.
He advances toward me. Clasps my shoulders. “Did we just get an offer from Webflix to do our very own streaming show in New York City?” he asks in disbelief.
He sounds so fucking giddy.
He sounds how I feel.
“I think we did,” I whisper, like saying it too loud will tank the deal. Like it’s a precious thing we have to whisper about to protect.
“This must be what it feels like to be my brother and play in the NFL. To be my dad and close killer deals,” he says.
I grab his face, hold him tight. “Shut up. Don’t compare yourself. This is what it feels like to be us.”
“I like us.”
I do too. I like the feel of his face in my cupped palms. I like his hazel eyes, glittering. I like sharing this passion project with him.
I’m so glad I’m not doing this solo. I was never wired to be alone. I traveled into this world as part of a team. I’m built to be part of a duo.
And we did this together.
“So do I,” I say, as a marching parade takes over my heart. Drums beat, trumpets flare, and I am exuberant. “I feel like I did that night after you took me on the roller coaster.”
Is that too risky to say? Maybe it is. But I feel a little high right now. A little daring, like I can have it all.
“Me too.” He steps closer. It’s a declaration as he invades my space, inches away. Kisses are written all over his eyes, as if this is how we need to seal the deal. Like we did after the roller coaster. Hell, we survived our first kiss; we survived sex. We could surely handle a celebratory kiss.