MR. LANDEY: He says he’s been waiting for Mary Poppins to come live with him since he was four.
Mama, I may need some help here.
LAURENTS SCHOOL
BROOKLINE, MASSACHUSETTS
VIA E-MAIL
Dear Ted:
I just got a call from Elizabeth Jordan, the social worker over at the Boston Institute for the Deaf. Apparently there’s a six-year-old boy named Hucky Harper who’s secretly expanded his roster of potential heroes to include Anthony Keller (thus providing Mary Poppins with her first serious competition). Now I know why your son is so desperate to learn sign language.
Liz needs me to send a formal note over to the Institute vouching for Anthony’s character and his sense of responsibility—and since Anthony and his brother are all but biologically inseparable, I’m including one for Augie as well. Let me know if anyone else should be added to the short list of junior guardians who’ll likely be hanging out with the new Batman and Robin.
Ted, please make sure Anthony realizes that this isn’t a game you give up on after it gets old, or something you do to get the girl. According to Liz, Hucky hasn’t had an easy time of it. His mother put him up for adoption at birth, but since the pendulum is still stuck on “Too Many Deaf Kids/Not Enough Available Parents,” she’s only been able to manage three short-term foster situations for him. For the past year he’s opened up to practically nobody—until he began communicating with your son (granted, via tactics that would have gotten them both bounced off the 1919 White Sox). So he doesn’t need to lose anyone else from his life whom he expects to have around for a while. Especially Mary Poppins and Anthony.
Incidentally, did you know that you’re dating a former Playboy model named Amber?
Lori
KELLER CONSTRUCTION
BOSTON • GLOUCESTER • WALTHAM
ELECTRONIC TRANSMISSION
Dear Lori:
How do you know I’m not? While I’d prefer moping around like a lost puppy until the next time I “accidentally” run into you while you’re proofing progress reports alone in Southie, that wouldn’t be mortal of me. And incidentally, I’m dropping off my son’s diorama on Monday. How big is your loading dock? (I’m kidding. Marginally.)
Tony C understands what’s at stake here. That’s what happens when you grow up without a mother. Besides, you should have seen the two of them from where I was sitting in the bleachers—my son pretending he was Carlton Fisk and Hucky pretending he didn’t care. (Not for publication, but Tony C swung on the wrong invisible pitch. We don’t need to tell him that.) And I think the lifelong Anthony Keller–Augie Hwong Fraternal Confederacy is enough proof that these kids know how to stick to anything and anyone they care about. But just to play it safe, add Alejandra to your bill of lading. Her resistance to Tony C is collapsing under its own weight.
I have two tickets to the Celtics-Clippers game on December 9. If I give you one of them in advance, we can run into each other spontaneously again. It’s a small world.
Ted
P.S. We’re having about twenty people over for Thanks-giving on Thursday, so there’ll be enough food for the entire Colonial Army. You can always pretend that you’re just stopping by to wish two of your students a happy holiday—or to preview the diorama so you won’t need pulmonary resuscitation on Monday.
P.S.2. I didn’t realize what a bad influence you’re turning into until they wrapped up Tony C’s last baseball game of the season with the traditional “2-4-6-8, who do we appreciate?” Would it have been appropriate to point out that it should have been “2-4-6-8, whom do we appreciate?” and then make them do it all over again?
LAURENTS SCHOOL
BROOKLINE, MASSACHUSETTS
VIA E-MAIL
Dear Ted:
Yes.
Lori
Dear Betty,
Leave it to the uninitiated to think that “Lauren” is your real name.
The bad news is that my brother is forcing me to take sign language with him after school in case I ever need to have a conversation with Hucky Harper, who didn’t turn out to be a delusion after all. This is the price I pay for making Tick listen to Cabaret with me in 1999. When he said, “You owe me big time” after the sixteenth replay of “Don’t Tell Mama,” I knew he wasn’t kidding. The good news is that even though Mr. Landey never saw All About Eve, he still taught me how to sign: “Fasten your seat belt—it’s going to be a bumpy night.” I might as well get the kid started in the right direction. He’s six years old, he looks exactly like Tick did when we first met, and he probably doesn’t know who Bette Davis is either. If you can imagine.
What was it like when you and Bogey first set eyes on each other? Did you know right away? Because I think that’s what’s happening to me and Andy. I mean, as long as he was calling me Spidey and Wonderboy, how could I not call him Bright Eyes and Lightning Lad? (I think I’m going to switch to Aquaman once he joins the swim team.)
So far, these are the facts:
1. When we went to the movies together, I waited in line for our popcorn and Slurpees so he could go inside to find seats. Then he called me on my cell phone from the tenth row center and said, “Hurry up. It’s lonely in here.”
2. When he came over for dinner, he paid as much attention to my parents as he did to me. He helped Mom make the chin-chiang salad, he asked Dad to show him a couple of t’ai chi moves, and then they watched the first inning of the Pats game together. If you didn’t know any better, you’d swear he was auditioning for the role of their son’s fiancé and they were ready to cast him.
3. I can’t stop staring at the dimple in his chin and if I think about touching it one more time, I’m going to buy a bag of hammers and break all ten of my fingers.
4. We both agree that if there’s really a Hell, all they feed you there is cilantro and calves’ liver.
5. I’ve gotten into the habit of watching him across the class-room during third-period American history, when he’s least likely to get bored and catch me staring. I love the way his eyebrows squish together whenever he doesn’t understand something and how he runs his fingers through the hair on the back of his neck if his hands get fidgety. I also love the way his ears blend into his cheeks without any kind of a dividing line (how come I never noticed ears before?) and how wide his eyes open just before he sneezes. I guess there are plenty of handsome guys walking around if you just take the time to look, but if any of them are more handsome than Andy, they sure don’t live in Brookline. I really need to be more careful, though. Once when he was wearing a baby blue sweater, I left the real world so far behind that when Ms. Reed asked me a history question, I gave her an algebra answer. These days, Tick allows me five minutes of Andy-gazing before he shoots a spitball at my neck to snap me out of it.
6. He’s sometimes afraid to sit too close to me, and I love that. And when he gets flustered, he makes every part of me light up. Yesterday at The Word Shop Café, Kathy Fine was having trouble remembering all of the words to her Kiss Me, Kate audition song, “I Enjoy Being a Girl.” So I routined it for her right there and even taught her the second verse just for the hell of it. And when I sang, “I turn and I glower and I bristle, but I’m happy to know the whistle’s meant for me” right to Andy, he blushed.
7. Ever since Lee Meyerhoff snaked us into dancing together the night of the talent show, we haven’t been able to stop talking to each other: on our cell phones, online—everything but face-to-face. No topic is too out there. It can be cornbread in the cafeteria, the potholes on Longwood Avenue, or whether farts float in zero gravity. But no matter what we’re discussing, every night before we hang up or log off, the last thing he says to me is “Sleep well.” Which only keeps me awake until 4:00 in the morning while I play those two words over and over in my head. Nobody ever told me to sleep well before.
8. The only thing we never talk about is us.
Okay, I’ll admit that the greatest romances of all time probably started like this. But lifelong f
riendships start that way too, and I’m not about to make a wrong move and scare him off. I love Andy with my whole heart (oh, my God, I actually said that??), and if I have to settle for having him in my life as just a buddy, I’ll take it.
Remember what Judy Garland said at the end of In the Good Old Summertime? “Psychologically, I’m very confused—but personally, I feel just wonderful.”
Here’s looking at you, kid,
Augie
INSTANT MESSENGER
AugieHwong: Andy’s coming to auditions with us on Tuesday for moral support. I’ve gone through the Kiss Me, Kate CD and decided I’m going to sing “So in Love With You Am I” while I’m staring at him in the front row. If he runs screaming into the night, I can always claim I was just nervous and knew he’d give me confidence. If he doesn’t, we ought to be back from our honeymoon in time for rehearsals.
AlePerez: “So in Love With You Am I” is a woman’s song.
AugieHwong: And your point would be?
AlePerez: I’m singing it.
AugieHwong: I don’t suppose they’d let me try out for Bianca and cast a girl to play Bill, do you? Or at least give me “Always True to You in My Fashion”?
AlePerez: You’re singing “Too Darn Hot.” You’re also going to be wearing royal blue tights that Lee Meyerhoff is lending you and a gorgeous red and gold sash that’s coming off the end of a hideous red and gold tablecloth that President Fox gave Mamita in Mexico.
AugieHwong: This is all about getting even with me for blackmailing you into the talent show—isn’t it?
AlePerez: Oh, honey, I haven’t even warmed up yet. And by the way—you’re coming over to the Lycée with me so Mrs. Salabes can teach you a basic tap break for the bridge of the song. If you want that part, you’ll do as I say.
AugieHwong: By the way. Making somebody you love blush is a good thing—isn’t it?
AlePerez: Nine times out of ten.
AugieHwong: Thanks for the non-answer.
AlePerez: You’re welcome.
Dear Betty,
You’re not the only only one who knows how to pick her scripts well.
THANKSGIVING AT TICK’S
A Play in Two Acts
PROLOGUE
I stay at my brother’s house on Wednesday night, the way I always do. Before we go to sleep, we lie in our beds and go over a list of candidates for the new things we’re grateful for this year, since Pop is going to ask everybody to name one of them when he starts carving the turkey.
AUGIE’S LIST
Andy
Alé
Judi Dench’s interview in People magazine
Directing my first show
Getting asked to audition for Kiss Me, Kate
TICK’S LIST
Alé
Hucky
Augie coming out
American Sign Language
A hard and bitter peace
ACT I
By the time Tick and I have set the table and changed out of our pajamas into our good clothes, Pop’s already lit the fire in our big stone fireplace—and just as the house is beginning to smell like turkey, Aunt Babe (in her usual navy blue) and Aunt Ruth (in her usual yellow) show up from Washington. (They would have come in last night, but Aunt Ruth got out of Congress too late.) Since Aunt Babe made herself the family archivist years ago, she pulls out her digital camera and begins snapping before she’s even taken her coat off. In the meantime, Aunt Ruth makes me and Tick sit on the ottoman together while she opens up a Bloomingdale’s Big Brown Bag and gives us our Thanksgiving presents. We nearly don’t survive the shock.
“Holy crap!” we gasp, practically at the same time, with silver wrapping paper still stuck to our fingers. “iPods!!” Aunt Babe warns us not to confuse them with our Christmas presents, which we start getting tomorrow. Even after eight years, it’s all still a little overwhelming, especially for a kid who inherited this half of his family by default. Andy’s not here yet. But that’s okay! His family is probably just sitting down to dinner.
Phyllis comes through the front door with a fruit compote, a casserole dish, and two of her kids: eleven-year-old Jeremy (who immediately goes outside with Tick and Nehi for a game of catch—another tradition), and eight-year-old Chloe (who’s actually heard of George Gershwin). Then she takes over the kitchen by chasing Pop out of it.
“The only thing a man understands about an oven is how to clean it,” she says, shooing him away. “Now go and watch football.” Andy ought to be starting on seconds. It won’t be long. Assuming he meant what he said and wasn’t just being casual. I don’t do “casual” well. He ought to know that.
Mom and Dad pull into the driveway with Grandma and Grandpa Der and Grandma Lily at the same time Uncle Piersall and Aunt Donna get there with their kids, Cy Young and Dennis Eckersley. Mom hands over her Dan-Dan noodles and String Bean Special to Phyllis, who’s become sort of the commander in chief of anything that has to do with food. Okay. Andy’s probably getting into the car as we speak. Unless he’s having second thoughts. Or fifth ones.
Lori stops by to wish me and Tick a happy Thanksgiving, and Pop takes her to the garage so she can see the diorama that the three of us finished last night. (They’re out there for twenty-five minutes. Don’t tell me they’ve been discussing the Treasury Building for that long.) Lori says she’s really got to go, but she says it at the same time she’s taking off her coat and helping Pop set an extra place at the table. Tick’s right. Boys are like so much easier to figure out than girls.
Tick and I decide it’s a good time to call Alé to wish her a happy holiday. She doesn’t sound like she’s having all that much fun. They’ve made her wear a formal dress, the only thing on their TV is CNN, and Carlos brought home a visiting delegation from Nigeria. As soon as Tick leaves the room, I let myself get neurotic over the phone. “He despises the earth on which I walk. Otherwise why isn’t he here yet?” “Because he only said he might come over. Snap out of it. It’s Thanksgiving. Give yourself the day off!!”
Phyllis steps out of the kitchen and hands us our assignments:
Augie
mashed potatoes
Tick
noodles
Aunt Babe
string bean casserole
Aunt Ruth
gravy boats
Lori
three-bean salad
Dad
yams
Mom
open the cans of cranberry sauce
Uncle Piersall
stuffing
Jeremy
biscuits and butter
Cy and Dennis
do not shoot Smurf balls into the cornbread
Dad
turkey
Chloe
put our Thanksgiving CD into the changer
Grandma and Grandpa Der
exempt: over 65
Grandma Lily and Aunt Donna
previously drafted for pie prep
Nehi
stay off the table
Then I give myself one additional task:
Augie
Look out the window again to see if anybody’s pulling into the driveway.
By the time we’ve all been checked off Phyllis’s list, everybody is seated. Everybody. Eighteen people, a cocker spaniel, and one empty chair. Immortalized for all time when Aunt Babe’s camera flashes. I’ve never felt worse in my life. Oh, Andy. Where are you? Color him gone.
“It’s still early,” Tick whispers into my right ear. “He’ll be here.” No, he won’t. Cry me a river. After we bow our heads, Pop says grace. This is a prayer we all worked on together so that no matter who joins our family, there won’t have to be any rewrites.
On this Thanksgiving Day, may we each and every one of us remember the many blessings we’ve received for ourselves and the many blessings we’ve tried to bestow upon others, and hold close to our hearts those we love and cherish—in life and beyond—and those we shall come to love and cherish before our next Thanksgiving together.
After the “amens” and the “l’chaims” and the “when do we eats,” Pop kicks off the Thanksgiving ritual: As he begins to carve the turkey (Nehi always gets two preliminary slivers first), he points to Phyllis and asks her what she’s thankful for. But before she can answer, two things happen: (1) the doorbell rings, and (2) my heart smashes headfirst into my sternum. Let it be him let it be him let it be him let it be him. Mom gets up to answer it and I can hear a voice mumbling from the hall. Meanwhile, I go through a fast inventory in my head: UPS, FedEx, and the post office don’t deliver on Thanksgiving Day. So who else could it be?? When Mom comes back into the living room, she’s got an arm around Andy—who’s wearing a suit and carrying a bowl of homemade cranberry jelly. Tick elbows me with an “I told you so” sharp enough to break a rib, while Dad introduces Andy to the rest of the family.