#zimbits au

She explains in soothing tones, patient and gentle in a way only a mother of a four year old can.  One of his eyes was given to him by his mother. A brilliant blue that shines when he’s happy and plays with the light. When his eyes first opened, she and Bob melted when they say her eye looking back up at him.  His other eye is black. There’s no whites of his eye, and he can see just fine, but the contrast is startling.  His other, she explains, will be given to him when his soulmate is born.  It’s not the first moment that Jack resents his soulmate for being born second, that they didn’t have to hear the taunts. There are other kids in the daycare without their second eye, but the loudest and the proudest are the kids that have both. A pair of brown eyes, subtly different colors as they play on the playground, one blue and the other green...  But Jack’s is the most obvious, his icy blue eye beside that of darkest night. Dean takes his toys from him, Vanessa pinches him, and even Gerard whispers mean things to him when he thinks the teacher’s not looking. Jack is ready for this to be over. 

Jack wakes up every morning and bolts to the mirror in the bathroom, pulling up his little step stool he uses to step up and brush his teeth with. He looks into the mirror and sighs with disappointment. He doesn’t care that his soulmate hasn’t been born yet. He doesn’t even want to meet them. He just wants the mean looks to stop.  It’s May and he shuffles into the kitchen, not bothering to look at the mirror that morning. He opens his eyes and Maman drops her plate, “BOB? WHAT DAY IS IT?” The shattered glass is forgotten as he darts to a calendar, trying to find the correct date. Papa bolts into the kitchen, half dressed with his big camera slung around his neck, the kind he lets Jack hold and look at every once and a while.  The bulb inside flashes as his father points the camera his way. Jack blinks and rubs his eyes - his eyes!  Jack’s little feet pad through the house, trying to get to the first floor bathroom.  “It’s the fifth!” His mother squeals, racing after her son and her husband.  She finds Jack trying to jump up and down in front of the mirror, so short he can’t see himself in the mirror. Bob chuckles and lifts Jack up.  “Brown and blue!”  Jack doesn’t care, he can see the whites of his eyes, he looks normal.  He’ll never get bullied again.

He’s interrupted in his wobbly mission by an arm reaching up into his line of sight, plucking the peach filling right off the top shelf.

“Need a little help there, bud?” The voice is a bit accented, maybe French? Bitty is bad at those, but it sort of sounds like it. It’s familiar though, and he turns to look up at the person offering him the cursed can of peach filling and realizes that he knows this man.

Oh god, where does he know this guy from?

Now, mama didn’t raise an impolite barbarian. He’s a genuine southern gentleman all right. Bitty knows he’s met this man somewhere before, and he’s not going to make a fool of himself by forgetting a name to a face. The problem is that he has, in fact, completely forgotten this man’s name.

“Oh! How are you? Thank you so much for your help, I really appreciate it!” Bitty says as he accepts the can. He scans the label and mentally flinches at the names of things that are-definitely-not-real-peaches listed inside.

The man is looking at him with a little bit of shock, a little bit of confusion as well. “Euh, well, I’m…I’m good – well – doing well.” He’s looking at Bitty with a bit of colour on his cheeks now. “How – how are you?”

Bitty tries to wrack his brain for all the different places he could possibly know this guy from. Did he go to Samwell? It’s possible. He only graduated last year after all, they could’ve had a class together and were only briefly acquainted.

“Things are going well for me too,” Bitty holds up the can pointedly before placing it inside the basket on his arm. “Just getting supplies for the vlog. Someone requested easy recipes with pre-made ingredients, and no matter how much I loath to use anything but authentic Georgia-grown peaches in my pies, I should be able to branch out to help some college kids feed themselves on their own.”

The man adjusts his own basket, hanging mostly empty in his hand, only item obtained so far is a pack of Vitamin Water and some protein bars. Maybe he’s an athlete? Bitty was sure he met all the guys on the hockey team. Heaven forbid this handsome man be a former member of the dreaded lacrosse team.

“You make pies?” Now that Bitty’s heard him a bit more, he’s pretty sure his accent might be Canadian? He sounds a bit like Ransom whenever he’d come home from a break.

Bitty laughs. “Lord, I don’t know anybody who’s spoken to me for more than a few minutes and doesn’t know I bake. I was hoping by now with the cookbook coming out that more people had heard of the vlog. Though I guess I wasn’t showing that to many people when I was at Samwell.”

The man perks up. “You go to Samwell? Or…went to Samwell?”

Bitty pauses and squints back up at the dark-haired man. Well. Not former classmates then. He realizes he may just have to bite the bullet on this one.

“I’m sorry…Where do we know each other from again?”

The man blinks quizzically down at Bitty. Bitty stares back. Both parties proceed to get trapped in a somewhat awkward silence, neither quite sure where to go from here.

“-Know each other?” The man asks. Lord, this guy is a little helpless, isn’t he? Bitty sighs. He sure is handsome though.

“Yeah, sorry, I’ve been trying to remember where we met. I thought we may have shared a class at Samwell together, but apparently not. Sorry for my rudeness, I swear I’m usually much better at remembering peoples’ names!”

“Uhm – I’m – Jack,” he holds out his hand for Bitty to shake. Bitty takes it graciously.

“Nice to see you again, Jack! Sorry again, I’m Eric. Eric Bittle, although I usually go by Bitty. It’s a nickname from my time playing h-” Bitty’s hand freezes as everything clicks into place. “-playing hockey. It’s a hockey nickname. Oh my god, you’re Jack Zimmermann.” Bitty pulls his hand back like he’s been burned. “Oh goodness, we don’t actually know each other do we? Oh Lord, I’m so embarrassed. I’m so sorry! I thought I recognized you, and I didn’t want to be rude of course. But, oh goodness, I didn’t realise I recognized you from being a famous hockey player. Didn’t realise I know your face because you won the Stanley Cup last year!” Bitty slaps his hand over his mouth. It doesn’t hide how red his face has gotten with his growing mortification.

Jack Zimmermann, top scorer for the Providence Falconers Jack Zimmermann, won a Stanley Cup in his first year of being drafted Jack Zimmermann, Bitty may-or-may-not have seen posters of this man’s face for sale at Target Jack Zimmermann, is shyly scratching at the hair on the back of his neck. “Eh, it was a team effort, yeah?”

Bitty flails a bit. “I bet this was so weird, I’m being so weird, I’ll just – let me let you get back to your shopping – goodness. So sorry!”

Jack waves his hand dismissively. “No, please, I – this was – this was fun. I liked talking to you.” Bitty watches Jack’s ears begin to burn red. “Uhm, if you want. I’d like to-” Jack fumbles to get his phone out of his back pocket. “I’d like to hear more about this – this – vlog? Of yours. And did I hear something about a cookbook?”

Bitty slowly takes Jack’s phone as its handed to him. “Oh. Um, yes. Just some recipes I’ve created. A lot of family heritage, some tips to help young adults survive on their own. Hence the,” he lifts the basket on his arm slightly, “You know.” Bitty stares down at what looks to be a default iPhone background. Is this phone new? Bitty imagines one could probably purchase a good number of iPhones with the salary of a professional hockey player in the NHL. “Did you, uh?” He waves the phone a bit. “Me?”

Jack smiles a bit and Bitty is suddenly sure he must be dreaming. “I’d like to get your number, if you’ll allow me to have it.”

Oh.

Oh!

“Yes, of course! Yeah, let me just-” Bitty quickly pulls up the contacts and enters his information in a new profile. “Here! Here you go. Thank you! Ah-” Bitty wishes something would spare him from this torture. “Not – thank you doesn’t – I mean. It would be lovely, to be able to talk to you again.” Bitty hands Jack his phone back and works up a non-hysterical smile.

Jack gazes down at his phone with something akin to wonder. He places the device back into the pocket of his shorts and meets Bitty’s eyes. “I’d like that a lot…Bitty.”

Bitty blushes. “Well, I should probably let you get on back to your regular grocery shopping then. And hey, if you ever need advice with baking! You’ve got my number.”

Jack nods. “I’ve got your number.”

Bitty turns on his heel and makes his way down towards the end of the aisle. He’s stopped by Jack calling his name right as he’s about to ‘round the corner.

“Hey, uh, Bittle!”

Bitty halts and turns his head back to look at Jack. “Yes?”

“I don’t know if you’re doing something this Friday, but I know you mentioned playing hockey and, well,” Jack takes a step forward. “We’re playing a home game that night, and if you’re free, or if you’ve got a couple friends who’d be interested,” He scratches the back of his head again. Bitty is hopelessly endeared. “I’d like to offer you a few tickets to the game, if you’re ok with that?”

Bitty grins. “I would love that, Jack. Thank you”

Jack nods quickly and strides away. He’s gone when he turns behind a display of some brand of cereal or another. Bitty smiles softly and heads toward the fruit aisle to restock his supply for the blueberry scones he’s got planned for later this week. He feels his phone buzz in his back pocket. Bitty takes it out and glances at the screen.

Eric Bittle, host of “Butter My Biscuits,” had acknowledged the temptation when he mixed his dough on the screen.

“I have to tell y’all, drunk baking can be fun, but I wouldn’t recommend it for your first — or even your fiftieth — pie crust. Save the good vodka for while the pie is in the oven, or when you’re making zucchini bread or something like that.”

Alicia knew from watching every episode of “Butter My Biscuits” ever produced that Eric thought the best thing to do with zucchini bread was not to make it at all.

With her hands slightly cleaner and a renewed commitment to follow Eric’s instructions precisely, she restarted the video and concentrated on rolling the dough in smooth, even strokes. When her crust was the proper size and thickness, she watched Eric fold his crust gently around his rolling pin and lay it in the pie plate. She stopped the video and watched it again before trying it herself.

Not half bad, even if it wasn’t as pretty as Eric’s.

Now for the top crust.

“Hi, Maman.”

Crap. She’d pressed down too hard and ripped it.

“Siri, stop the video. Hello, Jack. How was your walk?”

“Good,” Jack said. “It’s less boring if I take my camera.”

“What did you get pictures of?” Alicia asked as Jack pulled the camera out of its bag, no doubt in preparation for showing her several dozen artfully framed photos of geese.

“Just some stuff by the river,” Jack said, lifting the camera and clicking the shutter before she was aware he was about to take a picture. “You look like you’re having fun. Is that the baker guy you’re always watching? The one with the accent?”

“Eric Bittle,” Alicia said. “And yes. I like his voice. He always says anyone can learn to make a homemade pie crust, so I’m putting his theory to the test.”

“Don’t let me stop you,” Jack said.

He stood and watched for a few moments when Alicia started the video again, only leaving after Eric did a little victory shimmy after he got his pie in the oven.

Alicia put hers into bake as well, then made herself a martini to drink while she cleaned up. Jack would have helped if she asked — he really was a lovely man, and she and Bob had every right to be proud. He’d been home for three weeks now, almost recovered from the knee injury that ended his season. He’d be leaving soon, as he was about ready to transition to more serious training.

Alicia was glad he’d come to spend time with her and Bob in Montreal instead of moping around his condo in Providence. Jack really needed to get out more. After he’d come out as bisexual — part of the whole mess when Kent got outed by Deadspin — he hadn’t dated anyone, male or female. At first, he just wanted to let the story die, she had thought. But Kent had brazened it out, seen with a different guy on his arm every month, it seemed like. Once that got old for the paparazzi, two more players had come out.

At this point, she was pretty sure no one would care if Jack stepped out with a nice boy.

A nice boy like Eric Bittle, cute and blond and just Jack’s type. Eric Bittle, who had giggled on camera when he said, “Now, some of y’all have asked how I learned to bake. It was my MooMaw who taught me. She always said the best way to a man’s heart was through his stomach, and that sounded like a good plan to me.”

She took another sip of her martini and pulled her iPad towards her. She didn’t want to start anything if Eric was happily coupled, but she was pretty sure he wasn’t.

Nope. He had broken up with someone six months ago and was quoted several times lamenting his single status, most recently only two weeks ago. The boyfriend -- caught on camera cheating with a dancer in the Boston Ballet -- was bigger than he was, although Eric was kind of small, so that didn’t mean much.

The timer went off and she pulled her pie from the oven. It wasn’t as pretty as Eric’s -- and she hadn’t even attempted a lattice or those cute cut-outs -- but she thought it was pretty good, especially for a first effort.

She snapped a picture and opened Twitter before she could think better of it.

if the best way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, does that go for you, too @ButterMyBiscuits? Asking for @jzimmermann1!

And she uploaded the picture.

Alicia served the pie for dessert, to the general approval of Jack and Bob, and didn’t think any more of it.

Until the next morning, when Jack sat across the breakfast table with his phone out.

“Are you really trying to set me up with that baker guy?” he said. “Etienne called me. My Twitter is blowing up, he said.”

“Etienne?”

“He handles my Twitter account for me.”

Of course Jack didn’t tweet for himself.

“Ah. I may have suggested that Eric Bittle take an interest in you.”

“The baker on TV?” Jack said. “With the accent?”

“Yes,” Alicia said. “The cute one.”

“I’ll tell him to disregard it,” Jack said. “I love you, Maman, but I don’t need you to find me dates.”

“Really?” Alicia said. “How long has it been since you had a date?”

“I’ve been laid up.”

“And before that?”

“What are we talking about?” Bob walked in, still in workout clothes, from the gym in the basement.

“How long since Jack here went on a date,” Alicia said.

“Been a while, eh?” Bob said.

“Maman tried to set me up with TV chef,” Jack said. “On Twitter.”

He paused while he tapped at his phone.

“There. I apologized for you and asked him to disregard your message.”

“Um, Jack, how did you do that?” Bob asked.

“I sent him a message,” Jack said.

“Yes, but how?” Bob asked.

“On Twitter?”

“You two follow each other?” Alicia asked. “I had no idea you liked baking that much.”

“No? I just found his tweet and replied.”

“Oh, Jack,” Alicia said. “You’d better call Etienne and tell him what you did. Before everyone who follows you and Eric loses their mind. But first, show me his tweet.”

Jack held out his phone wordlessly.

The tweet on top said, if @jzimmermann1 can make a pie like this, I’ll be impressed. Almost as impressed as I was by his goal in Game 7 last year. But tell me the truth, @AliciaActs -- who made the pie?

Jack’s reply was underneath

My mother made the pie after watching your show. I’m sorry she bothered you. Please ignore it. But the pie was delicious.

A hundred likes and fifty replies already. At least Jack had notifications turned off. No doubt her own mentions were exploding as well.

“Why don’t I set this so you follow him?” Alicia said. “Then maybe he’ll follow you and you can communicate in private.”

She followed Eric Bittle, and noticed that he already followed Jack. Which meant Jack could have DM’d him. Now he would think Jack didn’t want to talk privately.

She opened a direct message and handed the phone back to Jack.

“When you replied to his tweet, everyone could see it,” Alicia explained. “You might want to apologize for that -- in private. In a direct message.”

“Need help?” Bob asked. “Gotta work that old Zimmermann charm.”

“No,” Jack said. “Please. No.”

******************

Alicia checked to make sure Jack’s room was ready and set the table for dinner. He was coming to spend one last weekend before training camp started, to celebrate the fact that he had been cleared to start camp with the team.

“I should be there around six p.m.,” Jack told her when he called the week before. “It would be better if we just eat at home that night.”

“You have a workout in the morning?” Alicia guessed. “I’m sure you’ll be tired. Your father can make something on the grill.”

“Fine,” Jack said. “But I’ll bring dessert.”

Alicia sliced peppers and zucchini to go on the grill when the meat came off, and put together a green salad.

“Bob?” she called. “Is the grill ready? Jack should be here soon.”

“Just about,” Bob said, stepping in from the deck. “I’ll put the steaks on after he gets here. Did you make a pie for dessert like you’ve been practicing?”

“Jack said he’d bring dessert.”

“Jack? Dessert? Are you sure he’s not just bringing a bag of fresh fruit?”

“He said dessert.”

The door opened, and Jack poked his head in.

“Maman? Papa? Do you mind if I brought an extra guest?”

Following Jack was Eric Bittle, dressed in neatly pressed slacks and a crisp shirt with a red bow tie. In his hands was a white pastry box.