He smiles. "That's Mrs. Randolph. She's Francine's mom, from next door. She wanted to watch soccer, I mean 'football'," he says quietly, wrapping the word in air quotes when he says it. "Francine doesn't have cable. She's been jonesing for it. I guess Arsenal's her team. She loves some dude named Olivier. He scored a goal earlier and she went apeshit. She's fucking mint."
Paxton is nodding in agreement with a huge smile on his face. He's enamored with this woman.
When I look back in her direction she's still living in the game like she's in the stadium. She's wearing a Giroud jersey with the number twelve on the back, and she's leaned forward in her seat slightly.
"Sit down, Scout. You've gotta watch this with us. It only started fifteen minutes ago." Paxton is patting the sofa cushion next to him.
I don't normally watch sports, but this is about more than the game. This is a spectacle that I feel like I can't turn down. "I'm going to shower; I'll be back in ten minutes."
Ten minutes later I'm sitting in clean clothes, with wet hair, on the sofa next to Paxton. Spare Ribs woke as I walked in the room and stretched in Gustov's lap before walking over and curling up in mine.
Gustov shakes his head when the cat is comfortable. "I should've named her Benedict Arnold."
At halftime, Mrs. Randolph mutes the volume. "I can't listen to their nonsense. My boys are playin' good. They'll just say they're gonna blow it in the second half." She's talking to herself until she turns around. When her eyes meet mine, she squints. And then she stands and holds onto the back of her chair. Gustov immediately stands and offers his hand. She takes it and walks over until she's standing directly in front of me. She looks sharply at Gustov. "Where's your manners, boy? You gonna introduce me to this lovely young lady?"
My cheeks blush.
Gustov grins. "Mrs. Randolph, this is Scout MacKenzie. She's Paxton's cousin. She lives here with us." He's never said my name before. I love the way he says my name.
I offer my hand. "Hi, Mrs. Randolph. It's nice to meet you." Her hand is cool, but her grip is firm.
"I see you out runnin' every mornin'."
I nod. "I try."
"And I see you leave with Audrey every mornin'."
I nod again. "I work for Audrey. I'm her assistant. We carpool."
"Do you like it? Workin' for her." She's relentless with the questions.
Again I'm nodding. She's grilling me, but she's not overbearing and I find myself oddly wanting her approval. "I do. I love it. I just got my degree this spring; this is my first real job. I'm learning a lot."
She finally stops the questioning when she looks satisfied somehow with my answers. "That's the secret. You find what you love and you go for it. Life ain't about coasting. It's about pushin' the damn gas pedal all the way to the floor. Same goes for fun and love, no coasting. Pedal to the floor." She looks up at Gustov, still holding her left hand to steady her. "I'm ready to sit back down." He walks her back to her chair and helps her get seated. She looks up at him when she's comfortable and smiles. "You're a good boy."
He grins. "Thanks Mrs. R."
"And she's a good girl," she adds with a wink before unmuting the TV and giving her full attention to the booming game in front of her.
Sunday, November 26
(Gus)
"Ma. What're we doing for Thanksgiving? Same old?"
Ma's making a pumpkin pie. It's her pre-game warm up for the big show on Thursday. She does this every year. She bakes pumpkin pies starting the weekend before Thanksgiving and for about two weeks after. I eat it every day, morning, noon, and night. By the end of it, I've got the pumpkin shits and I can't even look at pie. That is, until the weekend before Thanksgiving rolls around again the next year and I'm standing here like a fucking pumpkin addict, going through withdrawal, shakes and everything, waiting for the first one to roll out of the oven so I can take half, put six scoops of whipped cream on it, and dig in. Yeah, I'm a glutton for pumpkin punishment.
"That was the plan. Same old," she says teasingly. "Is that okay? Did you want to try something new this year?" I can almost hear the hope in her voice. She wants me to suggest something different so she doesn't have to think about all the Thanksgivings of old with Bright Side and Gracie.
"I was thinking maybe we could invite Keller and Stella to come out and chill with us?"
She turns toward me. She likes the idea; I can see it in her eyes. "Have you talked to Keller, Gus?"
I shake my head. "Nah, I tried a few months back, but we never connected. You?"
"Well, I think that's a fabulous idea." She just avoided my question, which tells me yes, she has talked to him. Oh course she has, because Ma is a grade A human being.
"Awesome. I'll go give him a call."
When I finally get to my room to bring up his name on my phone, it takes me ten minutes to work up the courage to press "call." It's eight-thirty in Minnesota; I hope I don't wake up Stella if she's already in bed.
There's an answer after the third ring. I take a deep breath anticipating his voice and the rush of emotion that's sure to come with it.
Instead, a tiny, sweet, sleepy voice answers. "Hello?" It's his daughter, Stella.