"I've been ready for camp since June."
"That's the thing about you," Austin says. "Most people take the summer off."
"I took the summer off. I ran. I cooked. I took pictures of water that didn't come out."
"That is the saddest summer I've ever heard," Austin says.
"It's called being an adult," I say.
"It's called being boring," Kevin says. "No offense."
"He's boring," Grant says. "But the food is good, so we tolerate it."
We eat at the table because I own a table and I think adults should eat meals at tables. Kevin thinks this is a character flaw. He eats standing at his own kitchen counter over a paper towel.
"Mercer, pass the wine," Grant says, reaching across the table with his empty glass. I pour for him and set the bottle back between us.
"This is better than last time," Austin says, halfway through his plate.
"Last time was good."
"This is better than good. This is the pork shoulder you make when you're going to open a place on Calle Ocho."
"I'm not opening a place."
"You could if you'd stop putting everything in one pot," Kevin says. “You can’t play hockey forever.”
"The one pot is the point. Hockey has been good to me but there isn’t time for much else."
"Spoken like a man who owns one pot."
Kevin has a case at work he can't talk about except he's been talking about it for weeks. A deposition that went sideways. He does the voices now, leaning back in his chair, both hands working.
Austin starts on the boat. The new cleats came in for the deck.
"Nobody cares about your cleats," Kevin says.
"The cleats are critical. The cleats are what keep you from going overboard."
"Nobody has been on the boat, Austin."
"Wes has been on the boat."
"Once," I say. "And I spent most of it thinking about when I could leave."
"That's hurtful," Austin says, but he is grinning.
I pour a second round of wine. Somewhere between the cleat argument and Grant reaching for the serving plate, I mention it. I'm scraping the last of the crispy bits off the bottom of the pan.
"Chapin called me last week," I say. "He has a Swiss player. Twenty-two. Got traded to us from his first pro team. He asked if I'd keep an eye out for him, help him get his bearings."
I say it the way I would say anything. The pan. The plate.
"Swiss," Austin says. "What position?"
"Left wing."
"Twenty-two," Kevin says. "Baby."
