Jack doesnāt wake up knowing this was the day heāll come out to his team. To him, coming out isnāt a leap, a chasm to be hurdled in one bound, but a series of small steps. Heād tested it out with Georgia; she was a toe forward, the safest bet, and when the floor didnāt give out under him he moved forward again, this time with Marty and Thirdy. Each step brings him further into the blind unknown, but his feet feel stable on the ground. Ā Ā
He doesnāt have a planned moment, but he knows that the days between the team knowing and not knowing are getting shorter.
After showering, Jack steps into the kitchen to pull out the supplies for the afternoon. The boys finally wore him down, or maybe heās just more open to the idea of bringing in something that is, to him, so personal into public.
Itās just a sandwich, he tells himself.
The bread is nearly fresh, baked on the weekend and wrapped tightly in cloth before being stowed away in the bread basket. Bitty fussed for hours over the bread, even longer if he counts the time spent flitting between bins at the Whole Foods, scooping grains in a bag and comparing them, weighing the pros and cons of each before finally setting them into the basket hooked over Jackās waiting arm. Bitty kneaded the dough with floured hands, dusting the kitchen in a fine white powder that seemed to follow Bitty everywhere. Bitty talked about the key to a perfect rise in pastries, but it was his forearms that Jack focused on, strong and flexing as he expertly beat the dough into submission. Jack waited just long enough to drag Bitty into his bedroom after that. Heās still finding flour in his sheets.
Jack shuffles through the fridge, pulling out the last remains of the almond butter and making a note to ask Bitty to send more. He was hesitant about switching to almond butter, and it was a point of contention between them. Jack knew that Bitty was right about the benefits of almonds over peanuts but that wasnāt enough to push him past his apprehensions of making such a big change to his pregame ritual. āYou change the type of jam on your sandwich all the time,ā Bitty had pushed, during a rare quiet moment at the haus. āHow is this different?ā Jack looked at the bread that Bitty had slid in front of him on the dinged kitchen table made with Bittyās newest almond butter recipe. Itās not that Jack wasnāt happy to eat it any other time, but before a game? āBecause jam is jam no matter what itās made of,ā Jack said, ābut itās not peanut butter if thereās no peanuts.ā When Jack took his first bite, he swallowed his words.
As he grabs the jam, he chuckles to himself, remembering how it had come straight from Georgia in a nondescript box. He called Bitty, certain he might have a clue about how a half-dozen jars of jams and jellies ended up at his door unprompted. āWell you see,ā Bitty explains, and Jack can see the guilty turn of his eyebrows from two states away, āthese are Aunt Judyās jams, so I couldnāt just up and ask her to send me some, cause of course sheād tell Momma all about it, you know how she is. Remember that one time - well, anyways, I ended up ordering them through her Etsy store through an alias and shipping them directly to you so she wouldnāt catch wise and go runninā her mouth. If Iām found out Iāll be tried for treason back in Madison, so I hope you know how much I love you to risk it.ā Jack smiled at his phone. āI love you, too, Bits.ā
As he sets all the ingredients into one of the many wicker baskets that have appeared in his home, he finds himself aching to share these stories. Itās not just a sandwich, not anymore.
