“It’s about a little of this, a little of that,” I say. “Mostly, it has to do with relationships. People call me for advice.”
“So you’re a modern-day … what did they call that, Barb? That thing in the newspapers?”
“Dear Abby?” she offers.
“Yes. You’re a modern-day Dear Abby,” he says.
I laugh, not sure that comparison is fair for Abby. “I think she was probably a little more proper in her responses than I am. I just … say stuff.”
Drake cuts in. “Don’t let her fool you. She has one of the highest-rated podcasts in the world.”
“What’s your podcast called?” Barb asks. “I’ll have to tune in.”
Please. Don’t.The thought of Drake’s mom listening to me talk about men and sex is enough to make me never want to sit in front of the mic again. “Gianna Knows Things.”
“Evie is a huge fan,” Drake tells his mother. “She’ll be pissed that you got to meet Gianna before she did.”
“Well, Gianna, what do you know?” Edward asks. “Tell us something.”
“Dad …”
“No, it’s fine,” I say. “What do you want to know?”
He thinks for a moment. “Who’s going to win the baseball championship this year? Can ya tell me that?”
Drake smirks, waiting patiently for my answer. He’s probably wondering how I’m going to talk my way out of this one. I feel his gaze on my face but ignore it. Instead, I nod as if I’m really into this conversation with his dad.
“I’ll tell you who it’s not going to be, and that’s the Bobcats,” I say, hoping to hell that’s right.
Drake recoils in shock. “How do you know who the Bobcats are?”
“The Bobcats have two pitchers, and no one can get on base. I doubt they make it to the postseason. My money would be on the Oilers, but they’re going to have to fix that hole in their batting lineup, or they’ll get exposed.”
The words roll off my tongue, but I have no idea if they make sense. It’s a piecemeal of comments I recall hearing, and I’m surprised I remember any of this.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Drake asks, laughing. “How do you know who the Bobcats and Oilers are? What’s happening right now?”
“I’m an athlete, remember? Volleyball?” I smirk. “Or maybe I recall a certain guy going over it on a podcast. Because I listen.”
His jaw hangs open, but I can tell he’s impressed. “Who is the armchair quarterback now?”
I giggle, remembering when I called him that.
“You are something else,” he says, his eyes promising me round two as soon as we get back home. My core tightens at the thought.
“Barb, we got any tea?” Edward asks. “I’ll go get it if we do.”
She stands, ten times more relaxed than when we arrived, and runs her hands down her joggers. “I’ll get it. Drake, there’s a little meat-and-cheese tray in the fridge. Why don’t you come getthat and a package of Hawaiian rolls out of the pantry so we can have a little snack?”
At this hour?Granted, it’s not late-late, but it’s later than I’d imagine most people have a snack in that form. No judgment. If they’re snacky, they might be my kind of people, after all.
“That sounds great,” Edward says.
“Gianna,” Barb says. “You don’t have any allergies or anything that I need to be aware of, do you, honey? I can whip up something safe for you if you need it.”
How sweet.“No. I can eat anything but shellfish, but not because I’m allergic. I just don’t like them.”
“Perfect. I don’t like them either.”
