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“My apologies,” Mateo said, quickly folding the slice in half and taking a large bite. Freddie nodded in satisfaction.
“They aren’t very friendly up here in New York,” Jack whispered to me.
I snorted. “Are you kidding? That’s the nicest I’ve ever seen Freddie act to a customer. If you weren’t with me, he would have thrown a salt shaker at you!”
That night, we went out to the Bronx to visit Mateo’s uncle. Liam and Jack were surprised that a ten-mile trip as the crow flies took over an hour by subway, but I just rolled my eyes at them. It would’ve taken twice as long by car.
Mateo’s uncle and aunt were sweet, even though they spoke very little English. Mateo introduced me as “a woman I am seeing,” which made the two older Cubans fawn all over me like I was the most distinguished guest to ever grace their home.
“You take good care of Mateo!” his uncle told me as we left. “He is lucky. Very lucky.”
“I feel like the lucky one,” I told them. He might not have understood the words exactly, but he understood what I meant.
Early Sunday morning, we loaded everything into a roof box on my car and started driving south. The guys had taken a full week off work, so we decided to have some fun on the return trip. In Virginia, we visited a few Civil War battlefields, along with the spot at Yorktown where Cornwallis surrendered to Washington to end the Revolutionary War. Liam made a joke about New Zealand remaining in the British Commonwealth for a few extra centuries, and how they’re the nicest people in the world because of it. The other three of us couldn’t argue with that logic.
We spent a night in Atlanta, where I had lived before moving to Clearwater when I was eleven. I didn’t remember much from my time there, but there was one stop I insisted on.
“Look at this stadium!” I said, sweeping my hand across the view in front of us from the upper deck bleachers. “Truist Park is approximately a billion times nicer than Tropicana Field.”
“The stadium is nice,” Jack admitted. “Too bad it’s filled with Braves fans.”
I elbowed him, which made him spill a little bit of beer. He gave me a glare. “Spilling beer at a baseball game? That’s a terrible crime. You’re just like your sister.”
I gasped, then burst out laughing. Jack looked relieved. We had all been making jokes about Brandi’s situation. That was my coping mechanism: dark humor. But the guys still hesitated and wondered if they would go too far.
A crack split the night, and the crowd roared and jumped to its feet. I pumped my fist and grinned at Jack.
“There’s nobody like Acuña on the Rays. That’s why the Braves are winning it all this year.”
“That’s cute you think so,” Jack said, putting a comforting arm around me. “I’ll be there to console you when the Braves get swept in the first round again.”
“Randy Arozarena is a very good outfielder,” Mateo said heatedly.
“You’re just saying that because he’s Cuban.”
“That is exactly why I am saying it,” Mateo agreed. “Cuba has the best baseball prospects in the world. Arozarena, Yordan Alvarez, Adolis Garcia…”
“Remind me why this is better than cricket?” Liam asked. “Is it because you have four bases instead of two?”
“That’s exactly why,” I teased. “Four is better than two.”
“I’ll say,” Jack added.
The four of us grinned at each other when we got the joke.
*
We drove the final seven hours from Atlanta to the Tampa Bay area the next morning. Strangely enough, driving into Clearwater felt like returning home. It hadn’t felt that way when I arrived by plane and rental car a month ago, but now I was filled with warmth and happiness. I decided that was a good sign as we unpacked my car and hauled everything into Jack’s guest house. Despite my protests, he was letting me stay here for free for a few months. He would “allow” me to pay rent once I was more established and had consistent income from my photography.
We celebrated with pizza and beer. Since the guys had helped me move my stuff all the way down the east coast, I let them decide where to order it from. To my dismay, they chose Pizza Hut.
“I can’t eat this while the taste of Freddie’s is still fresh on my tongue,” I said while sitting down at the kitchen table in Jack’s house.
Jack tore into a piece, crust-first. “I don’t know. You can’t beat stuffed crust.”
“This is my favorite pizza,” Mateo said. “It was the first food we ordered when I came here from Cuba.”
“I’ve got a soft spot for Pizza Hut,” Liam said with a big grin.
