Tipping the Balance by Christopher Koehler Page B

said.
     
    “Dude, you’ve got a social life? Since when?” Philip said, ignoring Brad’s jibe.
     
    “Since Dad didn’t want the tickets,” Brad said. “Duh. You were standing right there. You didn’t want them, and it’d be a shame to let box seats go to waste.”
     
    Philip shook his head. “No, it’s been longer than that. You’ve been taking afternoons off. You’ve been enjoying yourself.” He said it like it was an accusation. “So who’re you going out with? It’s someone , not just a random friend. You’re going out with someone.”
     
    “I’m just going to the ballgame with a friend of mine from crew, okay? Don’t make a big deal about this,” Brad said, rolling his eyes. He flushed. He felt like the time when he and Philip were kids and his brother destroyed a lamp their mother had loved. Philip had blamed him, and nothing Brad had said exonerated him. Helpless. Sick to his stomach. Suddenly, he couldn’t breathe.
     
    He had to get out of there. He dropped his cereal bowl in the sink and charged out of the kitchen, elbowing Philip aside on his way by.
     
    “Jeez, Brad, I didn’t mean anything—”
     
    “Get over yourself already, Philip. Didn’t you hear Randall? I have to put clothes on.”
     
    Brad slammed his bedroom door behind him, and he leaned against it, gasping for air. “Get a hold of yourself,” he whispered.
     
    He dropped into his armchair. Was he “going out” with someone? With Drew? He thought it was just two dudes going to a ballgame. Or would be, when he called Drew.
     
    And he would call Drew, he knew that much. Somehow, and in a very short time, Drew had become his go-to guy for fun. There was something about the other man…. Drew got under his skin. He just liked being around him. It made him think of those times when Drew grabbed the oars after regattas, or at least tried. Sure, the sight of the shorter man trying to carry all eight oars with them sticking out in all directions had just been hilarious. But it had also been damned nice of Drew to try, and he’d been so grateful when Brad had come to his rescue. After the balls-out effort at the PCRCs, when all Brad wanted to do was vomit and die, he’d looked up, and there’d been Drew, waiting for the oars. Waiting for him. No one had ever waited for him before.
     
    And there was that fluttery, tingly feeling in his gut when he saw Drew in that Speedo.
     
    Steadfastly ignoring reality, he rooted through his wallet for Drew’s card, even though his number was already in Brad’s phone, because it let him put off the inevitable that much longer.
     
    “Drew? Hey, it’s Brad….”
     

     

     
    Saturday evening found Brad and Drew at the ballgame. They still drove separately, which Drew supposed allowed them both to maintain the fig leaf that this wasn’t a date. Drew didn’t really know what to think on that score. Brad didn’t seem to be gay, but he sure seemed to be in Drew’s life all of a sudden, and that was no bad thing.
     
    Fortunately, the delta breezes had returned, and the night was cooling off nicely, so sitting in the open-air box was a treat. “So this is how the other half lives,” Drew said, kicking back and putting his feet up on the chair in front of him after they sat down. “That was great of your dad to give you the tickets.”
     
    “Yeah, I guess,” Brad said, shrugging.
     
    “Free tickets for box seats at the baseball game isn’t generous? I know it’s minor-league baseball and all….”
     
    “No, it’s not,” Brad said, explaining how he came by them.
     
    Drew looked around the mostly empty box. “Embarrass who?”
     
    “That’s just my dad,” Brad said. “That’s always been my dad. Randall’s always liked my brother better; Mom liked me. Too bad Mom died when I was in middle school.”
     
    “I’m sorry,” Drew said. Without thinking about it, he placed his hand on Brad’s arm.
     
    Brad looked down at Drew’s hand, puzzled but not