“Okay. Not going to lie, that was awesome,” I say of John Legend being the special seventh inning stretch singer.

“You’re telling me. I’m just glad I didn’t end up dumping the tickets on StubHub,” Brian says. “To be honest, I was a little on the fence about asking you to come with me. I mean, the daytime farmers’ market excursion slash potential urn reconnaissance mission is one thing. But a just-for-fun ball game is another. You know, I’m still not over the death stare you shot me when I showed up at Wet Hot the other day.”

“First off, it’s WeHot. One t,” I correct him.

“Whatever. You know what I mean.”

“Secondly, if we’re being honest here, you walked in and I didn’t know what was going on or whose idea it was. Then when I learned Debbie was behind it, I was upset she felt the need to send for backup. It wasn’t that it was you per se. It was more just the fact that she sank to a new depth to show me she didn’t think I could handle the urn. Don’t take it personally, okay?”

Even I surprise myself with my rational assessment of his impromptu reentry into my life.

When he doesn’t answer, I decide to show my gratitude. “Regardless, I owe you a thanks for inviting me to the game. It’s a beautiful night and I’ve never had seats this good to anything in my life.”

“Cheers to that,” he says, smashing his beer against mine. A splash lands in the tray full of loaded nachos. “So I have to be honest about something.”

“You wanted the jumbo soft pretzel instead of the nachos?” I jokingly ask, snagging the chip with the most cheese.

“You weren’t my first choice to take to the game tonight.”

“Gee. Thanks.”

“Wait—that came out wrong. What I mean is...there was a girl, a nurse I work with, Bella, who I was dating. Actually, I wouldn’t even call it dating. More like just—”

“Spit it out, Jackson.”

“She’s a huge Dodgers fan, and for her birthday I was going to surprise her with these seats, but I found out from someone in Internal Medicine that she’s sleeping with some guy in Radiology and I just... I prefer things to be a little simpler than that. So I ditched that plan and ended up asking you instead.”

Brian’s explanation comes out a mile a minute. He needs to take a breath. Eat a chip. Relax.

“Well, I’m not so sure things on my end are any more simple than a love triangle at Cedars, but I do appreciate the ask. And these nachos. Here, this is a good one.”

I grab a chip with extra jalapeño and ground beef on it and put it up to his mouth, the equivalent of giving Leno a chew toy so he doesn’t destroy a pair of my shoes. Redirection at its finest.

“I just want you to know, I’m glad that I asked you. And that you said yes,” he tells me as he crunches down the chip. The redirection may not be working so well, but at least there’s a clear compliment in there. “It’s just nice to have a no-pressure night out, you know? I can be myself and not worry if—”