Fair Play (45 page)

Authors: Deirdre Martin

BOOK: Fair Play

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Theresa leaned over and playfully bit him on the shoulder. “Okay. But first you have to make mine.”

As on every
Sunday, the door to Theresa's parents' home was unlocked. It amazed Theresa how it never seemed to bother her mother that she didn't know whether she'd be cooking for two people or twenty. And no matter how many people turned up, there was always enough food. There was something to be said for learning to go with the flow.

“You ready?” Michael asked keenly.

Theresa could tell he was itching to see the look on her mother's face when they walked through the door together. She took a deep breath. “Ready.”

Holding hands, they plunged inside. They were greeted with a familiar scene: Phil was on the couch watching TV. Little Phil was on the floor, swinging two Barbie dolls by the roots of their hair, prompting his sister Vicki to scream as if she were being disemboweled.

“You gonna tell him to stop that,” Theresa asked her brother, “or should I?”

“Hey, look who's here,” said Phil, reluctantly dragging his eyes away from the TV. He took one look at Theresa and Michael together and a sly, approving smile spread across his face. “Well, well. Finally saw the light, huh?”

Theresa grinned. “Be nice.”

“I'm always nice.”

Rocking forward off the couch, Phil rose, grabbing both of them in an embrace. “This is a sight for sore eyes, I gotta tell you. Mom's gonna go mental.” He turned to his children, still squabbling on the floor. “Philly! Cut that out and give your aunt Theresa a kiss.”

Hopping up happily as if their battle had never happened, both kids gave Theresaâand Michaelâkisses and hugs. Before Theresa could go in search of her mother, Phil called out, “Hey, Ma! Come into the living room! I got a surprise for you!”

Theresa and Michael looked at each other sideways, knowing what would come next. Theresa's mother appeared in the doorway of the kitchen. Seeing them together, she made the sign of the cross three times and then burst into tears.

“Oh,
dio mio,
” she wept, coming toward them. “When I saw you two together at the funeral, I prayed for this, oh, how I prayed.”

“Ma,” Theresa began.

“I wish to God your father were here. But I know he's looking down from heaven.”

Theresa's eyes watered as she let her mother gather her up in an embrace. She too wished her father had lived long enough to see her with Michael. But she knew her mother was right. Somewhere, her poppy saw and was pleased.

Finished hugging Theresa, her mother moved on to Michael, showering his face with grateful kisses. “My hero,” she gushed. “I prayed for this.”

“I know, Mrs. F,” Michael soothed, gently disentangling himself from her strangling embrace. “We wanted you to be the first to know.”

Theresa's mother drew back with a gasp. “You're getting married?”

“Um . . . yeah,” answered Michael, beginning to smile as he seemed to warm to the idea.

Theresa rounded on him, wide-eyed. “What?”

“Well, we are, aren't we?” Michael challenged.

“That's news to me!”
If this wasn't the ultimate in Dante pushiness!

Her mother's face fell. “You're not getting married?”

“No!” Theresa put a hand to her forehead. “I meanânot
now.
Not right away. I'm sureâeventually.” She stomped her foot in exasperation. “I don't know!”

“She doesn't know,” her mother repeated to Michael sarcastically. “She finally comes to her senses and she doesn't know.”

“She's been through a lot, Mrs. F,” said Michael by way of appeasement.

“Haven't we all?” Theresa's mother returned. “We need a wedding to get this family feeling happy again.”

“Should I break out some champagne?” Phil asked.

“No,” said Theresa.

“Yes,” said her mother, staring at her with daggers in her eyes. “We'll toast your
eventual
marriage. Is that okay with you?”

“Fine,” said Theresa. She knew her mother. She wasn't going to let this go.

Phil disappeared into the kitchen, returning a minute later with a grinning Debbie in tow and a bottle of champagne.

“I just heard!” Debbie exclaimed, kissing both Theresa and Michael on the cheek. “Congratulations!”

Michael beamed. “Thank you.”

“Have you set a date yet?”

“Next August,” said Michael.

“August is too hot,” declared Theresa's mother. “Have it in May.”

“May's out. I'll still be in the playoffs,” said Michael.

Too stunned to protest, Theresa listened in amazement.

“How about July?” Michael offered.

“Perfect,” said Theresa's mother approvingly.

Phil uncorked the champagne and poured it into five glasses he'd extracted from the sideboard in the dining room. “Everyone, lift up your glass.” They all held their glasses aloft. “To Michael and Theresa and their eventual marriage. It's about goddamn time!”

There was laughter as everyone clinked glasses. Sipping her champagne, Theresa smiled. Maybe a wedding wasn't such a bad idea. She did want to spend the rest of her life with him, after all.

And have a family with him.

And live happily ever after.

A wedding made sense then.
With a reception at The Plaza . . .

Her fantasies were interrupted by her mother, who clutched her arm. “I have to ask,” she said, her gaze hopeful as she looked at Theresa.

“What?”

“You
are
going to live in Brooklyn, right?”

To which Theresa could think of only one appropriate response.

“Maaa!”