Chapter 7

Monday night, I was downstairs making a sandwich when the phone rang. I licked my fingers clean of mustard, then picked up and said, “Hello.”

“Petey!”

I grinned. “Hey Paul! What’s going on in Pittsburgh?”

“Just got back to the dorm from Three Rivers.”

I leaned against the wall, phone tucked between my ear and shoulder. “Huh—went to see the Bucs without me? Just calling to rub it in?”

“Oh, for sure—but it would’ve been nicer if they won both games.”

“Damn Carlton with a one-hit shutout.”

“Thank God Nicosia has his number. So, what are you doing?”

I carried the remaining lunch meat to the fridge, trailing the long spiral phone cord behind me. “Down in the kitchen, getting ready to watch the Steelers on Monday Night Football. Have I ever told you how much I hate Howard Fuckin’ Cosell?”

“Many times. Oh, by the way, how are things going with Miss Hannah? Still got the blue balls?”

I glanced up the stairs where my parents were watching TV, then lowered my voice. “Well ... in fact, she’s taken care of those quite nicely.”

“She what?”

“Well, you could say we’ve consummated more intimate relations.”

“Holy Shit!”

“Yeah, that’s about what I said.”

“So—what? Are you guys, like, officially going steady now?”

“Guess so, except neither of us has told our parents yet.”

“Yeah, that’s kind of important. Well ... I guess you’re a man now.”

I chuckled. “After all these years.”

“I’m serious.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve joked around—orange jumpsuit and all—but now you’ve gone and done it. That’s responsibility. A part of her life is in your hands now. Don’t blow it.”

I paused, his words settling over me. “Hmph. I guess you’re right.”

“I didn’t mean to get you all bummed out—but think about it. Now go get your Terrible Towel.”

After my last class on Tuesday, I headed over to Pineland. To get inside the fence surrounding the football field and track, I had to walk past the gym.

Fifteen or twenty kids in nylon mesh tank tops and matching shorts—half in green and gold, half in the home team’s red and blue—milled around on the far side of the field. As I got closer, I heard a familiar voice call, “Joe!” I turned to see Aunt Janet waving at me.

I greeted her a moment later. “Hey, Aunt Janet.”

“They’re getting ready to go—they just got back a few minutes ago from walking the course.”

“Did you get to talk to her?”

“No, just a quick hi. She did look a little nervous, though.”

Both teams finished stretching at the sound of a whistle, gathering first around their respective coaches and then into one large group behind the start line. An official raised his arm and called out, “On your mark ... get set...” then blew his whistle.

The runners took off at a medium pace toward the far end of the track, looping back on the opposite side. Already, a spread of thirty yards separated first from last, with Hannah near the middle. As they reached the end of the straightaway, instead of continuing in a loop, they veered through the gate and into the parking lot.

My aunt turned to me. “What now?”

“I think they’re heading into the woods. They should start coming back in around fifteen minutes.”

“You want to sit on the bleachers?”

“Yeah, sure,” I said, taking a seat beside her.

She glanced over. “So, your mom tells me you switched majors.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s all you have to say?”

I sighed, repositioning myself to look at her. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to sound rude, but I’ve explained it so many times. Really—my grades sucked, and I needed a fresh start in something closer to what I actually wanted to do.”

“Hannah told me about your grades. I always thought you were the smartest kid in the family.”

She hears about a lot.

I nodded. “It’s frustrating. High school was easy—I could do everything in my head without ever developing good study habits. Then I got up here, and that didn’t work anymore. I fell behind. I needed a reset.”

Aunt Janet placed her hand on my knee. “Speaking of resets, I really want to thank you for all you’ve done for Hannah. Those few years in San Antonio were the longest she’d ever been in one place, and then after Tom died, I yanked her back here—leaving her friends behind, making her start over again.”

I nodded. “I’ve got a million cousins, but none of them lived within fifty miles. I mean, I have friends, but it’s been nice finally having family close by.”

She leaned back, gazing toward the school. “And now she’s at the age where I have to start worrying about boys. This is her last year of junior high, and now with cross country, all her teammates are guys from the high school. I’m afraid I’ll have to be beating them off with a stick.”

I started giggling. Her eyes widened as she smacked my arm. “Oh, you’re so bad! You knew what I meant.”

I smirked. “Sure, Aunt Janet.” After she grinned and shook her head, I continued. “Oh, and now I hear your son has a girlfriend. Have you met her yet?”

“Just briefly, but she’s supposed to come over to watch the Steelers on Sunday. You’re still coming, aren’t you?”

My eyes lit up. “Oh yeah—free food!”

Soon, a runner in red came through the gate, followed closely by one in green, heading in the opposite direction from when they had left. Aunt Janet and I stood, making our way toward the track.

Green was gaining, but red still had a ten-yard lead, and both runners were obviously laboring. As they rounded the curve, several more followed through the gate.

The Pineland runner in red crossed the line first, holding off his pursuer by a few strides. Both slowed to a walk, moving to the grass inside the track where trainers handed them drinks.

After four more runners finished, Aunt Janet grabbed my arm, pointing and squealing, “There she is!”

Hannah rounded the bend, a few steps behind a teammate. As they hit the straightaway, she began closing the gap. Her teammate glanced over his shoulder, grimaced, and tried to push forward—but he didn’t speed up enough. Hannah gave an extra burst and edged past him.

Only a few strides to go...

She beat him across the line.

Stumbling to a stop, she bent over, hands on her knees, gasping for air. A trainer handed her a Gatorade, and after chugging nearly half of it, she started a slow walk.

Janet and I moved toward her as the remaining runners crossed the line. When we were only a few yards away, Aunt Janet called, “Hannah!”

She turned and bolted toward us, breathless. “Joe, Mom! Sixteen minutes and forty-two seconds!” She threw her arms around my midsection.

I held my arms up in mock horror. “Ooh, you’re all sweaty and sticky and smelly.”

She quickly let go and stepped back, smirking. “Well, at least my mom will give me a hug.”

Janet chuckled. “Uh, think again. Maybe after you shower.”

Hannah grinned, shaking her head. “Well, anyway—that was so intense. When I ran track in the spring, we went all out the whole race, and everyone finished pretty much together. But here, you have to pace yourself early so you don’t burn out before the end. I was surprised I could kick like that the last fifty yards.”

Nearby, members of both teams wandered around—some with family—but one Pineland runner stood alone, casting glances in our direction.

Hannah continued, “And in the woods, you could barely pass anyone on that little path...”

Janet followed my gaze and asked, “Who’s that kid on your team over there?”

Hannah glanced around. “Where?”

“The one that keeps looking at you.”

“Oh. That’s Larry Thomas. He’s a junior.”

Janet smirked. “He’s kind of cute.”

Hannah shuddered. “He’s a dork. That’s all he does—look. Creeps me out.”

Janet chuckled. “Sounds like he’s shy. Maybe you should just go talk to him sometime.”

“No, Mom. And besides, I think he’s pissed that I beat him.”

I turned to Hannah. “What place did you finish?”

“Tenth.”

Janet looked puzzled. “So?”

I explained, “The newspaper prints the names of the top ten finishers. Hannah knocked him off.”

Janet studied Larry again. “Huh. Or maybe he just doesn’t like getting beaten by a girl.”

Hannah smirked and waved at him. “Hi, Larry!”

His eyes went wide, and he quickly turned and walked away.

When I came down for breakfast on Saturday morning, Mom asked, “Are you ready for bowling tonight?”

“Yep,” I replied, digging through the cupboard for the Quaker Oats.

She sipped her coffee. “Are you sure? I don’t recall you getting over to the alley for any practice.”

I set a small saucepan of water on the stove. “I’ll be fine.”

“You know, if you get your average up to one-seventy, you can get into the Wednesday night league with me.”

I stirred some oatmeal into the boiling water. “I only need to come up five more.”

Mom put her cup down and gave me a pointed look. “Joe, anything worth having is worth putting in the effort. Do you really want everyone to know your mother is a better bowler than you?”

I turned and chuckled. “No?”

She walked over and kissed me on the cheek. “Good. I’ll have supper ready at four, and we can leave at six-thirty. If we get there a little early, it’ll give us a chance to meet the new people.”

It was just before five when Mom finished eating and carried her plate to the sink, though Dad and I weren’t quite done with our seconds of Spanish rice. She turned back to me.

“Hey, Joe. I’m going to take a shower. You probably need one too, so come on up in a few minutes—once you’re done stuffing your face.”

I deposited my dirty dishes in the sink just as I heard the water shut off in the bathroom directly above the kitchen. As I reached the top of the stairs, Mom passed through the foyer and into her room, the door still open.

Seeing me, she called out, “Hey, honey, I don’t have my bra. Could you grab it from the bathroom?”

I found it on the floor, picked it up, and brought it to her.

“Thanks,” she said, slipping it over her shoulders. “Can you snap it for me?”

My knuckles brushed across the skin on her back as I quickly fastened it, nodding as she turned back towards me.

For forty, she was still a very attractive woman.

I stepped into the bathroom to strip for my own shower, but before I could turn on the water, she poked her head back in.

“Don’t take too long.”

Mom pulled my Pinto into the lot at the bowling alley at sic-forty. I grabbed my bag from the back and followed her into the packed building.

Saturday night meant nearly every one the twenty-four lanes were reserved for leagues. I felt the weight of my fifteen-pound ball as I maneuvered past the pinball machines and the front desk, heading toward the last six lanes where our league was set up near the restrooms.

Once there, I pulled out a chair and sat, unzipping my bag and pulling out my bowling shoes. As I tied the laces, I glanced around at the various faces—many familiar, a few new. I smiled and nodded at those who did the same as they passed.

Shoes secure, I lifted my ball from the bag and replaced it with my sneakers. As I walked toward the lanes for a few practice shots, I noticed Mom chatting with one of our teammates from last year, Craig Yoder.

Standing next to him was a very attractive young woman.

Medium height, dark brown wavy hair spilling over her shoulders and onto her ... big fat, round tits.

I forced myself to look away, stepping onto the lane and checking my mark. I took a practice throw.

Shit, my arm is stiff.

I stretched and rotated my shoulder, then took another throw. After two more on the right lane, Mom called out, “Hey Joe.”

I turned and shuffled over as Craig extended his hand. “Joe, good to see you again.”

We shook, then he gestured to the girl beside him.

“I want you to meet my daughter, Katie. She’ll be on our team this year.”

I turned to her and got a close look at her big brown eyes, slightly freckled cheeks, and closed-mouth smile. And big tits.

Wow.

I forced a nervous smile and extended my hand. “Hi, I’m Joe.”

She took it, her grip soft and warm, her palm slightly damp.

“Pleased to meet you. Like he said, I’m Katie.”

So very briefly, I glanced downward. A little extra on her thighs and hips, but perfectly proportioned with her ... big, juicy tits.

Damn it!

I snapped my eyes back to hers as I withdrew my hand. “So, I guess we’ll be seeing each other the rest of the year. How long have you been bowling?”

As the first bowlers for each team stepped up, Katie motioned for me to sit beside her on the bench.

“Just whenever,” she replied. “This is my first time in a league. How about you?”

“This is my third year in this league, ever since high school.”

Katie leaned forward, resting her hand on my knee. “Oops, my turn—be right back.”

Her form was a little rough, her ball hanging loosely from her fingers. She pulled left and hit only three pins. Her attempt at a spare veered right and landed in the gutter.

Mom stepped up for her turn and as Katie passed her on the way back, she shook her head, looking at me with a laugh. “Well, that sucked!”

Mom buried the ball in the pocket for a strike, and it was my turn. I stood at the ball return, holding my hand over the fan for a few seconds to dry off any sweat, then cradled my ball in my left palm.

Stepping up, I placed the tip of my right shoe at the second mark from the right. Looking at the same mark a few feet down the lane, I slipped my fingers into the ball and transferred it to my right palm, holding it by my hip.

Left step forward, my arm swung back. Right step, the arm came forward. Left and slide—release.

I held on a touch too long, and the ball traveled too far down the lane before landing with a dull thud. It sped forward, hooking late—an inch or two too far right, leaving the five-pin standing. The second throw was smoother, smashing the pin into the back wall for a spare.

Katie grinned as I sat down. “Wow, you’re pretty good.”

I laughed. “Not as good as my mom.”

I followed it up with an eight and a spare in the second and a solid strike in the third.

Katie glanced over. “Are you still in school?”

“Yeah, I’m a junior now—up on the hill. How about you?”

“Me too, but I’m a sophomore.”

“Huh, I don’t recall seeing you around campus.”

“I’m taking nursing, so I spend a lot of time down at the hospital ... oops, my turn again!”

She dropped the ball short, and it slowly rolled down the middle of the lane. It appeared to fade left, then right, then left again before striking head-on.

As Katie bounced up and down behind the line, the pins tumbled in slow motion until only the seven remained wobbling—then, finally, it fell.

She pumped her fist in the air and came bouncing back to the bench. “Yes!”

Mom picked up a spare, and then I was up again. The ball came in a little high, leaving three pins standing on the right. I pulled my second ball, but it clipped only the leftmost of the three.

I clenched my jaw and stared at the machine as it swept away the two remaining pins.

I walked back and dropped onto the bench without a word. Katie put her hand on my knee and squeezed.

I looked over, my gaze flickering to her cleavage before snapping back to her eyes.

“It’s okay, Joe. You’re having a great game.”

Her hand moved again on my thigh.

I felt a sharp pull in my gut. My heart pounded as a familiar heat surged through me.

I forced a smile. “Thanks ... I’ll be right back.”

Leaving the seating area, I turned toward the restrooms. Inside, I checked to make sure I was alone—then drove my fist into the paper towel dispenser.

God damn it! Just stop it! You have a girlfriend!

Pain shot through my knuckles, but I pulled back and threw another punch—gritting my teeth as a sharp sting flared near my pinky. A crack splintered the plastic casing, and blood oozed from a small cut on my hand.

Son of a bitch.

I hurried to wipe off the blood and headed back to the lanes.

Mom was already looking toward me, hand on her hip. “C’mon, son, we’re waiting on you.”

“Sorry, had to go.”

Not yet concentrating, I rushed my shot and only got seven.

Calm down. Relax.

I held my hand above the fan, waiting for my ball to return. My next throw was dead-on, converting the spare.

I walked behind the benches, standing as I watched the others bowl. Katie came back and asked, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, it’s just ... sometimes I get frustrated when I don’t do as well as I want to. I need to concentrate.”

For the rest of the night, I avoided the bench area as much as possible, and Katie kept a polite distance, occasionally exchanging brief comments as we passed.

After the last game, Mom walked with me back to my bag and shoes. “You looked a little rusty, son. The one-eighty-three in the second game was good, but only a five-oh-two for the night.”

“Yeah, I’ll have to see if I can squeeze in some practice games.”

“I’m going over to talk to Ruby—come get me when you’re ready.”

As I was changing shoes, Katie came up and stood in front of me. “Are you in a better mood?”

I stopped and looked up at her. She had a shy, nervous look.

I nodded. “I’m sorry—I was being a real jag.”

She fidgeted with the hem of her shirt. “Well, besides that, it was nice to meet you. I enjoyed talking.”

I stood, smiling as her father approached. “Same here. I’ll work on my manners for next week.”

He rested his hand on her shoulder. “You ready, Katie?”

She waved as she turned away. “See you next week, Joe.”

In the car on the way home, Mom said, “Katie seems really nice. You two looked like you hit it off.”

I swallowed hard. “Yeah, she is.”

I was up late putzing around on nothing in particular and didn’t open my eyes until nearly eleven on Sunday morning.

Two hours ‘til the game.

After showering, I dug through my dresser drawers and pulled out several polo shirts, but none felt right. Unsatisfied, I went to the closet and settled on a light blue short-sleeve button-up dress shirt. Paired with khaki slacks and leather shoes, I was quite pleased with my appearance.

Just as I was about to go downstairs, I pulled out my wallet to make sure the condom was still tucked inside—not that I had used any of them yet.

In the TV room, Dad was in his chair watching Meet the Press, while Mom sat downstairs in the kitchen, reading the paper. She gazed at me and smirked.

“My, aren’t you all decked out—you’re only going to your aunt’s house.”

I shrugged. “Eh, I don’t know. I’m in a good mood and didn’t feel like being sloppy.”

“I guess you’re not going to eat anything now? Wouldn’t want to mess up your nice shirt.”

“Supposed to be lots of food—she’s cooking Mexican. I probably won’t need anything for supper either.”

“Okay. Well, you be good. See you tonight.”

As I headed down the street, I flipped on the car radio. It was still a few minutes before the pre-game show started, and Sheriff Joe was on, playing polkas. I twirled the dial—polkas, country, polkas, and oldies.

I turned it off and drove the rest of the way in silence.

Parking in the driveway, I let myself in through the back door. Aunt Janet was at work in the kitchen while everyone else was in the family room.

“Hey, Joe—good to see you.”

I eyed the tray of food on the counter. “Are you going to do this every week?”

She scoffed. “Pfft. Feel lucky you’re getting it the first Sunday of the season.”

“Well, it looks delicious.”

I poked a finger into the layer of white cream she was spreading over the metal cookie tray—only to get my hand smacked away.

“Now you just keep out! It’ll be ready soon enough.”

Licking my finger, I asked, “What’s all in it?”

“Guacamole with sour cream, diced tomatoes, and shredded cheddar cheese on a layer of bread.”

“Jeez, now I really can’t wait. Anything else?”

“This is the appetizer. I have some chili on—it’s got chuck roast, tomatoes, onions, and peppers.”

“At home, Mom only makes it with ground beef and tomato sauce.”

“Huh. Maybe I need to give my sister some cooking lessons.”

From the other room, Hannah yelled, “Hey Joe—are you going to come see us, or are you going to spend all day hanging out with my mom?”

I whined, “Yes, dear—I’ll be right there.”

Aunt Janet chuckled. “Oh yes, go say hi to the kids. This’ll be ready in a little bit.”

Mickey was lounging in his chair with a martini glass in hand. As I entered the family room, he lifted it in greeting.

“Hey Joe, how ya doin’?”

I nodded, then came around the end of the sectional couch facing the TV—where I saw that Dave had company.

As I approached, they both stood, and the young woman extended her hand. “Hi, I’m Susie.”

I took it, holding her hand gently. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Joe—Dave’s been telling me about you.”

She was taller than most girls I knew, with a radiant smile, wavy blonde hair draping over her shoulders, and a slightly plump but well-proportioned frame. Audrey Landers with a few extra pounds. It was easy to see what attracted Dave to her.

Susie nudged Dave closer to the end of the couch and motioned toward the just-cleared space between her and Hannah. “Here, sit down.”

I slid into the seat, my legs brushing against a girl on either side.

Susie continued, “So, where do you go to school? I don’t think I’ve seen you around Pineland.”

“Right next door at the college. Used to go to Walnut Heights.”

“College?” She leaned forward to look around me and shot an evil glare at Hannah.

“Yeah, I’m a junior.”

“And how did you guys meet?”

“I played baseball with Dave this summer.”

Hannah smiled and looked down at her lap, while Sarah let out a hacking cough and muttered, “Uh, excuse me—I have to go get something to drink.”

As Sarah headed to the kitchen, Aunt Janet emerged, carrying her Mexican pizza creation. Mickey followed Sarah, calling out, “Hey honey, do you want another drink?”

Janet replied, “No, I’m going to work in a little bit—and so are you!”

As she placed the food on the coffee table, I asked, “What were you drinking?”

“A frozen lime margarita—and you can’t have any!”

“I wasn’t asking for one, but with all those times you warned me about drinking, I thought maybe you didn’t.”

She faced me, hands on her hips. “I am a thirty-six-year-old grown-ass woman. You and all my children are children! That is the difference.”

“Got it.”

“Good. Now enjoy your food.”

As soon as she was out of earshot, Dave leaned over and whispered, “Yeah, but I know where they hide the key to the liquor cabinet.”

I smiled but shook my head, then reached for some food. The cool blend of guacamole and sour cream melted over my tongue. Loud enough for the kitchen to hear, I called out, “Wow, this is really good!”

Hannah smacked the back of her hand on my thigh. “You are such a suck-up.”

I licked some cream off my lips and whispered to her, “But it is—almost as good as Brussels sprouts,” then smiled as she blushed.

As I grabbed more food, Dave announced, “Hey guys—kickoff is right after the commercials. Let’s get ready.”

Susie asked, “Who are we playing?”

I barely opened my mouth before Hannah leaned around me. “Houston Oilers. Same team they crushed in the AFC Championship last year.”

I chuckled. “Yeah, what she said. Who’s got the Terrible Towels?”

Hannah stared at me and stammered, “Uh—we don’t have any.”

“What? I left mine at home, figuring yunz’d have some.”

“Well, you figured wrong. Mom didn’t get up to Giant Eagle.”

I shook my head and turned toward the kitchen. “Hey Sarah, can you bring over a couple of dish towels? You know, the kind hanging on the stove handle? And don’t eat all of that second tray!”

I stopped midway through reaching for a third serving when I noticed Susie trying to stifle her laughter.

“What?” I asked.

She patted my knee. “You crack me up.”

Dave looked at both of us and said, “Simmer down, guys—the game’s about to start.”

A towel dropped onto my head, covering my eyes. I pulled it off to see Sarah smirking as she retook her seat. I stuck my tongue out at her, then spun the towel over my head—until Hannah yanked my arm down and said, “Enough!”

My aunt called over from the kitchen, “Who wants something to drink?”

I replied, “Yeah—what kind of pop you got?”

Hannah started to stand and tugged on my hand. “C’mon, they’re in the fridge in the basement—you can go with me.”

Still on the couch, I nervously glanced at the commercial on the television. “But ... it’s almost time for kickoff.”

She dropped my hand, frowned, and shook her head. Aunt Janet walked toward us and said, “It’s okay—I’ll go get them. We got Coke, Sprite, and Red Cream Soda.”

“I’d like a Sprite, please.”

The others made their requests, and as soon as her mother left the room, Hannah grabbed my nipple through my shirt and twisted.

“Owww! What was that for?”

“Too late, you’ll never know.”

As I rubbed at my chest, the game finally came back from commercial, and the Steelers kicked off. We all yelled as they tackled the Oilers’ return man near the thirty.

Earl Campbell ran for a first down, and on his second attempt, he swept around the right end as Donnie Shell closed in to make the tackle. It was as if Campbell had hit a brick wall—he instantly reversed direction and was driven onto his back.

Dave groaned, “Aw, fuck!”

Mickey called from the kitchen, “Language, young man!”

“Sorry!” Turning back to us, Dave continued, “That’s why I don’t play football. It’s fun to watch, but I don’t want to be the guy who gets jacked up.”

My aunt returned with an armful of pop cans, passing in front of the TV to place them on the coasters spread across the end table. “Joe, here’s your Sprite.”

I muttered, “Thanks,” as I leaned over to see around her. Just as I reached for my can, I jumped up instead—Pastorini’s throw was picked off by the Steelers and returned to the ten. Two plays later, the ball was run into the end zone, and the Steelers were up seven to nothing.

As soon as the yelling died down, Mickey walked over to Aunt Janet. “Hey honey, time for me to go.” They gave each other a peck on the lips before he turned to the rest of us. “I’ll be back from the open houses around seven or so, depending on if I get stuck with customers—don’t destroy the house.”

I nodded while my cousins replied, “Yes sir,” in unison.

The game settled down. On my left, Susie leaned into Dave. Suddenly, I glanced to my right, getting a grin and a raised eyebrow in return as Hannah pressed her knee into my thigh.

The Steelers took a ten-nothing lead into halftime. My aunt announced, “Chili’s ready. Come out here and fix it yourselves—I gotta get going too.”

Hannah ran over and hugged her mother, kissing her on the cheek. “Bye, Mom!”

Her mother looked up and said, “Joe, Susie—there’s more cheese if you want, and a pot of mashed potatoes on the stove.”

I asked, “Uh ... do you have any crackers?”

“Crackers?”

“Yeah, to smash up and put in the chili.”

My aunt stared at me for a second, then pointed to the cupboard. “Sure, over there.”

“Thanks.”

“Okay guys, I’m not off until eleven, so Mickey will be home before me. Y’all be good.”

“Yes, Mom.”

With that, she was out the door, leaving the house to five teenagers—well, four and one who was almost.

I poured three scoops of chili into my bowl, added some diced onions (despite the cooked ones already in the mix), then a handful of crushed saltines, blending it all together with my spoon.

Hannah slid in beside me. “My, are we hungry?”

“I’m a growing boy.”

“Yeah, it’s gonna be right here,” she teased, patting my belly.

As we walked back to the couch, with halftime winding down, I said, “Eh, I can’t ever see myself getting fat. I’m always getting lots of exercise.”

“You keep telling yourself that.”

Before long, everyone was too busy eating to talk, and for several minutes, conversation faded into the sound of plates clinking and the hum of the game on TV. Then Susie tapped my leg and asked, “So, Joe—Hannah’s parents don’t mind you being older than her?”

I suppressed a smile and glanced at Hannah, who looked down, barely shaking her head. Turning back to Susie, I shrugged.

“I guess not—they’ve been nothing but great to me.”