“…And God bless our family and our dear friends. Especially Gertie, and may you help her to learn before she dies that cheating at poker is wrong. Amen.”
“Amen,” Rikker said, and then he grabbed the serving spoon and heaved a big scoop of the steaming dish onto his plate. It was a casserole made from noodles, chicken and mushrooms. Then he handed me the spoon.
“This smells great,” I said. And that was the God’s honest truth.
“Have as much as you wish,” she encouraged me. “I made a second one for poker night.” There was also a plate of vegetables and dip, and from this she took a piece of celery and nibbled at it. “I put sheets on the sewing room bed,” she said.
“I would have done it,” Rikker said, forking up some pasta.
“First you would have had to take all the quilting crap off of it,” she said. “I saved you the trouble.”
“Thanks for having me,” I said.
She patted my hand. “Anytime, dear. We like visitors.”
From outside came the sound of a car horn. Mrs. Rikker stood up. “Sorry to dash. Have fun tonight.” She grabbed a coat off the back of her chair and shrugged it on. “And take care in all the usual ways, boys. Say no to drugs, and drinking and driving. Yes to seat belts and condoms.”
“You too, Gran,” Rikker said.
From the sideboard she grabbed a casserole dish with two hot pads. “TTFN, boys.”
Then she was gone, leaving Rikker smiling into his milk glass, and me with my face burning from the condom remark. The door shut behind her, and Rikker continued eating as if that hadn’t just been the weirdest exchange ever. “TTFN?” I asked.
“Ta-ta for now,” Rikker explained. “She’s a piece of work, right?”
That was the understatement of the year. “I don’t see any resemblance between her and your father.”
Rikker chuckled. “Isn’t it great?” He helped himself to more of the food.
“I don’t get it, though. How did your dad get that stick up his ass, anyway?” And that was the nice way to put it. Rikker’s parents were aggressively evangelical.
“Well, my mom rules that roost,” he said. “Also, he works for the Christian college. So he’s drinking the Kool-Aid at work and at home.”
“Do you ever go back there?”
Rikker shook his head. “Nope. The P’s and I have a Hallmark relationship.”
“What do you mean?”
“We send each other cards. Theirs come from the devotional section of the store, of course. Sometimes they call me on my birthday.”
Wow. Even though I had a lot of trouble feeling comfortable around my family, I couldn’t imagine my parents cutting me off like that. “That’s harsh.”
“I kind of like it this way,” he said. “Gran has a few choice words for them. So it sucks to be the wedge between Gran and one of her sons. But she likes my company.” He got up to rinse his plate and put it in the dishwasher. “You need anything else?”
“Nope. This was great.” It was entirely trippy to be Rikker’s guest. A few minutes later, I’d dealt with my own dishes and followed him into a den at the back of the house. Unlike the living room I’d passed through when we arrived, this one was comfortable, with big chairs and a generous couch.
Rikker threw himself onto the couch and looked at his watch. “We don’t need to leave for a while. Skippy is late to everything. You want to play some RealStix?”
I grinned. “Hell yeah.”
He set up the game. “I’ll even let you be the Red Wings without a fight.”
“Let me guess — you’re a Bruins fan now. Convenient of you, becoming a New Englander for the last five years. But just because they won the cup once doesn’t mean they can do it again.”
“Smack talker,” Rikker said, tossing me a controller.
Even though it didn’t help my view of the screen, I dropped myself in one of the chairs. Sitting next to him on the couch was just a little too much like old times.
