“What brand? I bought the blue bags. Is the blue bag wrong?” Fontenot looks worried that he’s doing it wrong already.
“I’ll ask her.”
Berger finds me in the hallway after. The kitten is in my hands and I’m trying to get her to look at the camera for a video. She’s looking everywhere except the lens. Power move. I respect it.
“Marchetti. Solid selection. The tabby was my second pick.”
“You had a second choice?”
“I had a draft board, a mock draft, and a trade scenario in case someone wanted to swap.”
“Of course you did.”
He falls into step beside me. The kitten puts one paw on his finger when he reaches toward her. Then pulls it back and tucks into my shirt.
“She’s particular,” Berger observes.
“She’s a Marchetti cat. We’re particular about new people.”
“I’m not new people.”
“You’re new to her.”
We walk. He tells me about his plans for an Instagram account tracking her development through a series of metrics he’s already designed. I’m listening but I’m also watching the tabby sleep against my forearm because she decided mid-sentence that she was done being awake.
“I’m going to name her after someone from one of the books we’ve read,” I say. “I haven’t decided who yet.”
“You could name her after the character in the first hockey book we read.”
“Valentina? I don’t know. She doesn’t seem like a Valentina.” I contemplate putting that big of a name on her and it’s not working for me.
“What about the other character, Alan?”
“No. Not feeling that either.” Then it hits me. “Maybe Valentina’s best friend. The sidekick comic relief guy, Parker.”
“Male names on female cats is a strong aesthetic choice. And it’s not that masculine.”
I watch the kitten, snuggled in my arm, trusting me with her life. “Yeah. Parker. I think it fits her.”
“Parker is excellent for a cat.” He considers this with the gravity of a man evaluating a Supreme Court nominee. “Does this naming after a romance book character relate to your general emotional investment in the genre, or is this more of a personal attachment to the specific character?”
I look at him. The hallway is empty. Just us and a sleeping kitten. Berger is asking the question the way Berger asks every question, direct and without any awareness that it might be a loaded one.
Over the months, Berger has become one of my closest friends on the team. Maybe it was our love of food and ranking restaurants, or book club, or a dozen other things we have in common. And friends don’t keep secrets.
“Both,” I say.
“Both meaning the books are personal?”
“Meaning I’m gay, Berger.” I glance over to check his reaction. “The books are personal because the love stories are good, but Parker feels personal to me. He’s a guy who likes guys. I’m a guy who likes guys. So yeah. Both.”
He nods. Once. Not dramatic. Not a pause for processing. A Berger nod.
“That tracks,” he says.
“That tracks?”
“Your reading preferences, your investment in the Parker-Graham arc specifically, your general energy. It tracks.”
