Page 45 of A Very No Strings Halloween
“Well, I didn’t come to you for this.”
“Well, you’re crazy to pass on my advice for anythin’. One day my heart’ll give out and you’ll be sorry. I love ya more than anyone in the whole friggin’ universe will evah love ya, but you’re outta your damn mind.”
“Right back at ya, Ma.”
Meanwhile, I overhear my pops talking to Donna’s grandpa.
“I don’t know, Mister Opa.” I don’t think my dad gets thatopameans grandfather. “The Lightning do have a good offense, but I think the Tommies can run on them and their defense is next level.” But my father is using his peacetime,give the other team a little creditvoice. He doesn’t mean any of it. He thinks that every time the Tommies lose a game, it was a glitch in the matrix or the refs were paid off. I do appreciate the effort.
“You forget one thing, Herr O’Sullivan,” Donna’s oma chimes in.
“And what’s that, Missus Oma?” my dad says with a kind smile.
Donna’s grandma holds up a dainty finger to emphasize her point. “The Tomcatsschtink.”
Christ Almighty.
Maybe this was a bad idea.
Maybe it would be better if the Lightning were way up. Then my family would just drink and eat and lose interest in the game. Except my dad. Or maybe it would be better if the Tomcats were crushing them, so my family would be even more generous to our misguided guests who chose an enormous loser to cheer for. But it’s tied at halftime. The tension is high in the box, so my friends go roaming around the stadium to stretch their legs.
“Do you want to go with them?” Donna asks.
“No,” I answer honestly. I take a seat next to her in the back row of the luxury box. “I’d rather sit here. This is where a guy would sit if he was on a date, right? Next to his girl. Not that I’m saying you’re my girl, but in this hypothetical educational scenario that is for my own edification, you are the girl. The woman. The female date.”
I say a lot of things in my head.Good one, hotshot! Keep going! You’re a fucking stud!But never, not once in my entire life, have I ever told myself to stop talking. But I’m telling my mouth to shut itself now. My mouth, having no experience with this, keeps on moving.
“But if the lesson is ovah, I guess we can just watch the game.”
“No, class is still in session, Mr. Boston.”
“Oh yeah? How’m I doin’?”
She looks around. My father is continuing his MVPargument from the parking lot with Donna’s opa, even allowing Opa to throw in a Philly player or two. Her oma is discussing “young people nowadays” with my ma while bouncing my niece and nephew on their laps.
“I’d say you’re doing pretty great, Mouth. The wholeflying the grandparents outthing? Baller move. How did you do it?”
“Their phone number is on your fridge.” I shrug. “I took liberties. It’s what I do.”
She laughs. “It sure is, Mouth.” She sighs. “I needed this.”
I furrow my brow. “What do you mean?”
She shakes her head while staring out onto the field. “I haven’t been able to sleep very well since the séance.”
“Yeah. Right. That was intense. Hot, but intense.”
“You thought it was hot?” Donna looks slightly horrified.
“I meant cool. It was cool.” Donna’s face is telling me that is not the right word either. “I mean it had drip. Or rizz. Or whatever the kids are sayin’ nowadays. Anyway, we probably shouldn’t talk about it around my ma. Whether it was real or not. As a God-fearing Catholic she would excommunicate us. Lovingly, but completely.”
“Got it,” she says. “But you dounderstand it was real, right?”
Before I can respond to that, we’re interrupted by a lady’s voice. “Knock, knock. Mind if we come in?” Hannah Decker, owner of the Boston Tomcats, is standing at the doorway, flanked by members of her staff.
“It’s your joint—you can go wherevah you want.”
“Hello, Mr. Boston,” she says in thewe meet againtone of an archenemy.
