Page 58 of From Fling to Ring

Pretty sure I never pulled that off.

“Ty, don’t be a snob just because you’re a big deal athlete,” his dad says, patting him on the back and passing him his own Bud. “Speaking of which, my buddies and I watched the video of your last game. You’re looking good, Son, except for that assist that went to the other team.”

Not sure what that means, but guessing it’s not good.

Tyler laughs at the jab, not in the least offended. “Leave it to Dad to cut right to the chase.”

Mr. Brooks turns to me. “By the way, Lucy, I am not Mr. Brooks. I am Peter.” He throws me a stern look. “Unless you prefer Mr. Brooks.”

“Okay, let me think about that,” I say.

I don’t want to call Tyler’s father by his first name. It feels weird.

He stirs a couple steaming pots on the stove, then opens the oven to pull out a huge meatloaf.

I’m starting to feel like I just took a trip in a time machine.

“Dad. Not another meatloaf. You can’t turn up the class a little for company? Like maybe make your chicken parm or something?” Tyler says, shaking his head.

“There he goes again, Lucy, being a hotshot snob.” Mr. Brooks sets the meatloaf on a crusty homemade potholder and turns to me, hands on hips. “Now tell me. Is meatloaf one of the best meals on the planet or what?”

I nod enthusiastically. “It is. Truly.”

I actually do know some people who hate meatloaf. But lucky for me, I am not one of them. If I were, however, I’d choke some down anyway, just to make Mr. Brooks happy.

“You know, Dad, I can get you a chef so you don’t have to do stuff like this.”

Ruby bounces into the room. “Did you hear that, Dad? A chef. How cool would that be? What kind of stuff do they make, Ty? Surf and turf every day?”

“They make whatever you want.”

“Rubes, bring all this to the table, will ya? And Tyler, I don’t need a chef, or any other stranger in this house. I like making Mom’s dishes. It makes me feel like she’s not too far away.”

At that, silence falls over the room and dammit, I get a big damn lump in my throat.

Mr. Brooks leans toward me. “He’s also always bugging me about getting a cleaning lady. Offers to pay for it and everything, like his old man is in the poor house or somethin’.”

“Dad, have you looked around here?” Tyler asks.

Mr. Brooks shakes his head. “I keep this place perfectly clean. Maybe not as well as your mother might have, but it’s perfectly respectable.”

Tyler looks at me. “Lucy, if you use the restroom while you’re here, which I recommend against, just be careful. Very careful.”

The Brooks rib each other all through dinner, taking the time to give me background on their stories so I don’t feel left out, and I realize I’ve not felt so warmly embraced at a dinner table… maybe ever.

These people are the real thing.

Tyler Brooks is the real thing.

“So what’s your deal, Lucy?” Mr. Brooks asks, getting another round of Buds.

That we drink straight from the can.

I am in love with this family.

“I grew up here, went to Catholic school, continued the tradition at University of San Francisco, and now work at the SF Freekly.”

He scrunches his eyebrows. “Is that the paper I see all around the city in those newspaper boxes? The free one?”

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