“Don’t remind me that I’ve never been to your cave,” Maks admonished. “I could always ask Cal where it is.” My cousin grinned at my lover, who used his fingers to mime a zip of his lips. Narrowing his eyes, Maks studied Cal’s face. “You look so familiar.”

“Maybe I have one of those faces,” Cal offered. I held my tongue, compelled to tell him he most certainly did not.

“No, no, no,” Maks said, shaking his head at the assertion. “I know you from somewhere. The hair, the southern accent.” He sighed as he tried to place Cal, and I regretted ever thinking the afternoon was a decent idea. “Towertown,” he decided with a clap. “You spent time at one of the pansy parlors. We ran into you a few years ago at the fair with that weird little transvestite.”

It was definitely a bad idea. I scanned the crowd of people streaming into the entry and wished I was any one of them, unbothered by awkward conversations and focused on the excitement of the home opener. Suddenly, California’s earthquakes didn’t seem as negative as they had before. How convenient it would be if a huge chasm opened under my feet to engulf me. I would tumble into the darkness, never to be seen again, no more questions asked, no more leering looks, only me and nothingness, eternal silence. As I daydreamed of my demise, I heard Cal’s thoughts before he said them, and then I heard his voice.

“His name is Rosie,” Cal stated, very obviously ruffled by the reference. “He’s my friend.”

“No offense intended,” Maks said quickly. “None at all. He looks so much like a broad it’s bananas. That’s what I meant.”

I was watching a tennis match, glancing back and forth between them while my lips remained sutured shut, fearful I would croak like a frog if I opened up.

“He’ll be happy to hear that,” Cal decided affably. “Very happy.”

“Good,” Maks grinned, giving Cal’s hand another shake, before elbowing me in the side. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Hmm?” I turned to Maks as he regarded me incredulously.

“You’re acting dingy. What’s on your mind?”

“Baseball, you twit. I’m still recovering from last season,” I grunted, rubbing my forehead. It wasn’t a lie. Being back at Wrigley after the heartbreaking World Series loss last year was equal parts exciting and exhausting. While I had some delusional hope that this season would be different, I knew realistically it was unlikely.

“Let’s get some hop juice, it’ll take the edge off,” Maks laughed, draping his arm over my shoulders as we walked into the park. I shrugged him off, but when he put it back, I acquiesced. It was easier to go with it rather than argue.