Page 32 of Elite Player
“I know, but it sounds good, doesn’t it?”
I don’t answer because Gus hops off the couch to come say hello, and I bend to the gray cat. “Hi, handsome.”
He purrs quietly, but I almost don’t hear it over Nico’s huffing and puffing about how the cat is getting more attention from me than he—my future husband—is, and I bite back a smile while petting Gus.
“Do you want something to eat or drink?” Nico asks once I’m upright again.
“No, thank you.”
“Sure?” He waves for me to follow him to the kitchen.
The apartment building is quaint, an old historic Quaker meeting site—according to the plaque out front—that was renovated. Nico’s apartment is on the third floor and much more modern than I expected, with gleaming hardwood floors, brass finishes, and mid-century furniture. I drag my fingers along the back of the high stools at the eat-in counter and admire the art on the walls.
“Did you decorate yourself?”
He laughs around a sip of water. “If it were up to me, it’d be a bunch of hockey sticks on the wall or maybe a poster or two.”
“Something with naked girls?” I ask, and his eyes briefly trip over the length of me before he shakes his head.
“Not my style.”
“No,” I agree. “Just framed photos of you and your cat.”
He winks at me. “Exactly.” Then he picks up Gus, holding him like a baby. “So, what do you need from me?”
“A chair in front of a blank part of your wall.”
He nods and immediately gets to work, moving the furniture around, all while holding his cat. It’s cute. He’s cute. This whole thing is cute.
Especially how seriously he takes it, listening to all of my directions precisely. To face this way or that, tip his chin up or down, lift Gus higher or make the cat sit on his own and keep hisattention aimed at me. When Nico stood behind me, dancing, presumably to make Gus look our way, I’d never seen a cat appear more bored. Or, really, bored at all. But Gus prefers to sleep, and as soon as we’re done, he snuggles in Nico’s lap and closes his eyes.
“For a while, I thought it was narcolepsy,” Nico explains, as I pack away my Canon and pull out my Nikon 35mm. “But the vet said he’s just a sleepy boy. Aren’t you?”
Gus doesn’t respond. Only flicks his left ear at his father’s cooing.
God, it’s adorable.
I can’t stand it, and I walk to the opposite side of the room. “I brought this camera to practice. Would you mind?”
Nico shakes his head but joins me, standing close to my side as I adjust the lens and snap a photo of his well-worn cap on a table in front of the window.
“What are you practicing?”
“I mostly work in digital, but I’ve been experimenting with film over the last year. For fun.”
He hums a sound of curiosity and asks me a few questions about the camera and the difference between the two I brought with me today. I’m no longer surprised by his almost childlike delight in life, but it’s still amazing he’s interested in what I am. With his head next to mine, he has me show him how the camera works, where the film goes, how to adjust the lens, and then he begs with a “pretty please” to let him take a photo. He snaps one of me, mid-eye-roll. I assume it’ll be blurry.
But, as I tell him, that’s also why I love using film—because of the mistakes. “When you use digital, you can take as many photos as you want. You can look at each one and redo it, but with film, you never know how it’ll turn out. Sometimes the mistakes are the most wonderful part.”
At that, his smile turns practically beatific. With the light streaming in through the window, his hair with that wave, his blue eyes shining, I lift my camera and take his picture.
“A mistake?” he teases, and I lift my shoulder.
“We’ll see.” Then I help myself to looking around the two-bedroom apartment.
He doesn’t stop me when I peek into his room. In fact, he leans around me, motioning to his bed. “You want to see where the magic happens?”
“I can’t believe there are people who say that in real life.”
