Page 43 of A Very No Strings Halloween
I roll my eyes at that even though he can’t see me. Guy sucks up to his wife even when she isn’t around. What’s that about?
“She comin’ with my grandkids?”
“Yeah, they’re already up in the box with Ma.”
Me and my pops, brother, and friends are doing what we’ve done for the last couple of decades. We’re tailgating in the Minuteman Stadium parking lot. We don’t have to anymore. I have a luxury box with full catering. But tradition is tradition. Especially when it comes to the Tommies.
“Billy, what are you so quiet ovah there for?”
“Sorry, Pops,” I say, like I’ve done something wrong by not running my mouth.
“He’s thinking about his special guest!” Murph says in a singsong voice. Murph is demonstrating the exact kind of behavior I was worried about when I invited Donna to this game.
“Hey, you be cool and you be nice—all right? All of you. Or I’ll get you kicked out of the friggin’ stadium, and you know I can.”
“Whoa, chill, bro. We’ll be nice to your girlfriend,” Titus says. He sounds very disappointed, which I do not like.
“She’s not my girlfriend. She’s a veryimportant…neighbor.”
Now, you may think this is where Murph, Titus, my brother, and my dad would ask why I would invite a female neighbor to a Tomcats game. Even an important neighbor. And maybe question why this neighbor is so important and why I’m acting all nervous while I’m waiting for her to show up.
Except they’re men. So they ask no follow-up questions and return to debating the MVP and the successful season the Tommies are having so far.
“Hey, guys.” I turn to find Donna approaching and giving a nervous little wave. She’s looking adorable, with her Philly Lightning cap, hair in pigtails, filling out a Lightning jersey in a way that team does not deserve to have their jersey filled out. I never thought in a million years I’d enjoy seeing someone in that jersey, but there it is.
“Oh, hey. Everyone, this is Donna. Get yourboosout now and get it over with.” The boys boo Donna and her Phillies jersey good-naturedly. Donna curtsies in her jersey, and my heart does a little flip. Damn, she’s cute.
The men all shake her hand and introduce themselves to her.
Then they return to the hibachi, but there’s a hush now, like they don’t know what to do with themselves. It’s not like women aren’t around sometimes during tailgates. Maybe no one quite as smoking hot as Donna. But maybe it’s the fact that there’s an enemyin our camp now and they don’t know what to say to her if they have to be nice.
Awkward silence was not the start I was hoping for.
I’m about to punch through this ice, but Donna is the first to speak up.
“Do you mind if I have one of these?” Donna points to one of the cans of Sam Adams.
“Knock yourself out,” Murph says, vaguely glancing at her face. I can tell he’s trying really hard not to acknowledge the lightning bolt on her hat or her shirt.
Donna smiles. “Thanks.” She takes out her keys, punctures the can, turns it on its side, cracks the tab open, and shotguns it.
I laugh, and the boys immediately take notice.
I don’t know who starts the chant, but soon every single guy, including me, is chanting, “Go! Go! Go!” We’re still Tommies, and she’s still a Lighter, but for one glorious shotgunning of a beer, we are all one.
Donna empties the can with a satisfied sigh, crushes it, and throws the can into a nearby barrel. We all clap, and the boys give her high fives. I couldn’t be prouder. The energy is much more relaxed now, and the conversation returns to its normal shouting.
“Where’s your mom?” Donna asks.
“Oh, she’s already up in our seats.”
“Up, huh? Nosebleeds?”
I grin. “In a manner of speaking.”
I tell the guys we’re gonna bounce and bring her up to our seats. The look on Donna’s face as she takes in the private luxury box is pretty satisfying. We’ve got comfortable seats, an amazing spread of food and drinks, a huge, big-screen TV in the corner, and of course, a wide, direct view of the field.
“Billy…how can you afford this?”
