“What’s your level of familiarity with witch tits, Dad?” Ellie asks, tilting her head to the side to feign innocent curiosity. I have to dig my fingernails into my palms to keep from making an obvious joke at Professor Meyers’s expense.
“Is that what you came out into the cold to ask us?” Otto asks gruffly.
“No, I came out here to check on Murphy.” Ellie steps behind me, rubbing her hands up and down my arms for warmth. “And the turkey. We’re getting close to being ready inside.”
“Murphy’s doin’ great,” Otto says, and I don’t even mind him speaking on my behalf. “Hey, why didn’t ya tell me you were dating a Cubs fan? We coulda gone to a game together this fall, maybe grabbed a few beers at Murphy’s Bleachers.” I hear the sharp inhale as he realizes what he’s said, and he turns toward me with an open-mouthed smile. “Hey!Murphy’s Bleachers!”
My smile matches his. “I was named after that place. I introduce myself that way sometimes. Murphy, like the bleachers.”
“Only works if you’re in this part of the world though, huh?”
I replay my clumsy exchange with Daniel from last night. “Even then, not everyone gets it.”
“Well I guess they can’t all be Cubs fans,” Otto says wistfully. “Somebody has to cheer for the losing team.”
“Dad!” Ellie interrupts. “Focus! The turkey? How long until it’s done?”
“Right, right.” Otto shifts the cover off the top of the smoker just long enough to get a read on the meat thermometer. “Thirty, forty-five minutes? No later than five thirty.”
“Gotcha,” Ellie says. “I’ll tell Mom. Cool if I steal Murphy to help me set the table?”
With the thumbs-up from Otto, Ellie weaves her fingers into mine, pulling me toward the house and out of earshot. “How’d it go?”
I ignore the tingle that runs across the hand she’s holding. “Good, I think.”
She frowns. “Just good?”
“Excellent? I like your dad.”
She pinches my thigh and loops a thumb into one of my belt loops, giving it a gentle tug. “I figured you might. It seems like he likes you. And Carol won’t stop talking about how you’re some kind of sign from the universe.”
My nose scrunches. “A sign of what?”
“I’m not really sure, but it seems to be a good thing. The point is, she likes you too.”
“Yeah, well.” I suck in a deep breath and let it out on a sigh. “Two down, one that actually matters to go.”
“Give Mom some time. She’ll warm up in time for dinner, and then we’ll bring up grades and grad school.” Ellie tugs onmy belt loop again, pulling me toward the side of the house. “C’mon, I gotta show you the garage.”
I arch a skeptical brow. “We’re setting the table in the garage?”
“Noooooo,” she says, dragging out theo’s as she shuffles her giant shoes against the brick. “Trust me. There’s something I need to show you first.”
ten
There’s less than a foot of driveway between the garage door and the rusted front grille of Carol’s Jeep. It’d be plenty of room for all five foot nothing of Ellie were she wearing normal shoes, but she’s still sporting her father’s size 14 New Balances, so watching her try to squeeze through to the garage door opener is like watching an old slapstick comedy. Lucky for all of us, she narrowly avoids a fall onto the hood of Carol’s car, but when she mashes her pointer finger against the light-up numbers of the garage door opener, the buttons flash back in warning. Three wrong codes in a row.
“Do you need me to go in and ask someone?” I suggest, but Ellie either doesn’t hear me or doesn’t care to respond.
“What year did the Cubs win the big baseball thing again?” she asks.
“The World Series? 2016.”
This she hears loud and clear, and when she punches in2-0-1-6, the garage door grinds to life. “You’re gonna love this,” Ellie says with a brilliant smile.
The garage door creeps up inch by inch, hinting at flashes of bold reds and royal blues behind it. It’s not until the door is completely lifted, hanging parallel to the Astroturf below, that I fully process what I’m looking at: a miniature, 18 x 20-foot Wrigley Field.
“No way,” I whisper. “No fucking way.”
