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Sid keeps them in a shoebox beneath his bed. Nearly two hundred postcards collected over five years sent from every hockey city in America and Canada and then some.
They start (Sidney—) and end (—G) the same and the length of the message on the back varies from card to card.
The first one he ever got has a glossy photo of The Statue of Liberty on the front and four simple sentences on the back.
Geno had already been back in Pittsburgh for four days when it arrived and he rolled his eyes when Sid showed it to him.
“Mail,” he mumbled around another spoonful of sugary cereal, the kind he doesn’t keep at home because it’s not in his meal plan but Sid keeps stocked. “Is like…” He trailed off and curled his hand into a ball then moved it slowly across Sid’s kitchen table. “Bug with shell?”
“Snail? Snail mail?”
Geno nodded and went back to his breakfast and Sid briefly pressed the postcard to his heart, overwhelmed with fondness for the man that had recently fallen into his life.
Sid has stuck the card to his fridge along with the ones from Dallas, Nashville, and Glendale. Toronto, Ontario, Buffalo and Boston. He sent one from Philadelphia— the liberty bell on the front and an absolutely scathing review of the city on the back.
No matter where Geno went or how little or long he’d be gone for, he sent a postcard.
“You know you don’t have to do this,” Sid told him. They were standing side by side in the lobby of Sid’s building as Sid opened his mailbox. He found two post cards—one from Columbus and one from St. Louis. “I feel bad you’re spending money on postage.”
“Think I can afford,” Geno had said. He flashed his wealth in different ways, expensive wine and watches, but this was new. “You not like?”
“No, I like them. Everyone likes getting mail. Good mail, not like, bills and stuff.”
Geno smiled and wrapped an arm around Sid’s shoulders. “Then I keep sending. Is fun. Give me something to do on ride from airport.”
He can track the evolution of their relationship through the messages on the back.
I want you to meet the guys from Denver.
I’m going to tell my parents about us from Anaheim.
I love you from Calgary.
Home doesn’t feel like home without you from Moscow.
Geno was in Sid’s bed still sleeping off jet lag from his impromptu flight back to Pittsburgh when that one arrived.
“What are you going to do with the rest of your summer,” Sid asked as he climbed back in bed beside Geno.
Geno stirred and lifted his arm so Sid could tuck himself beneath it. Geno had sighed and buried his nose in Sid’s hair and said “am already doing it.”
Geno began to send them when they were together just so Sid would have something waiting for him when they got back.
Summer vacation in Miami and bye week in Vail. He even sent one from Cole Harbour, angling his body so Sid couldn’t read over his shoulder as he scribbled out a note on the counter of the gas station where he bought three postcards for ninety nine cents.
It’s very pretty here, Sid read off the back of the card when they got back to Pittsburgh. I like your family, I hope they like me too.
“They loved you,” Sid told him and when Geno looked like he didn’t believe him Sid set the card down and kissed him. “I love you so they love you.”
The cards are a constant in their relationship.
The amount of time they spend together varies from day to day, week to week, season to season.
The cards still come through winning and losing streaks. Through seasons that are cut too short or through long playoff runs.
From Columbus then Washington. Ottawa then Nashville.
Sid still feels sticky and dizzy with champagne when he finally checks his mail four days after getting back to Pittsburgh.
He’s been staying at Geno’s, partying and sleeping off hangovers only to get up and party some more. There’ll be a parade and another party and someone said something about going to a Pirates game where Geno will throw out the first pitch and after that, probably another party.
Geno laughs as he stumbles into the lobby after him, held up by someone wanting to congratulate him for the win. His cheeks are pink and his smile is wide and he leans against the mailboxes as Sid turns the key.
“Oh shit,” Sid says as a mountain of mail threatens to spill out. Most of it is crumpled, jammed in by an annoyed postal worker but the postcard with the Tennessee state flag on the front is perfect. “Wonder who this is from,” Sid asks as a couple of magazines hit the floor. Geno bends down to pick them up.
Sidney, Sid reads, not sure what’s going to happen tonight or two nights from now but I know you’ll be there with me. Have something to ask when we get home.
Sid flips the postcard over like there’s going to be more on the other side then looks down at Geno who is still on the ground. He’s dropped to one knee and Sid’s mind can’t catch up, he can’t put it together until Geno actually says the words.
Sid drops the postcard so he has both hands free to hold Geno’s face as he kisses him.