I couldn’t agree more. I loved my time with the Red Sox, and by the end, there were definitely guys on the team that I was friendly with, but never like this. And while I’m sure most of them liked each other just fine as teammates, there wasn’t anything like the sense of cohesion I sense watching the Mersey lads. It helps that the level of banter is just different over here. It’s sharper, more cutting. You can dish it out, but you have to be willing to take it. And more importantly, the whole Mersey family is tight-knit. There’s no other way to put it. There’s no hierarchy; everyone is treated the same, from the old ladies who serve the tea to the World Cup winners in the squad. Everyone is fair game for a joke, and everyone can get in the spirit of things. The only notable exception is perhaps Vogler himself, but I guess there’s something to be said for the manager keeping up his air of aloof authority.
We film training drills for the next hour, but I could stay out there for days, bathed in the warmth of the sun and of these men. Even in my wildest dreams, I never imagined this job would make me so happy.
Chapter Thirteen
As August wanes and Septemberapproaches, I get an unexpected invitation from Lachlan: His mom is coming down from Oban for a few weeks and she wants to meet me. That’s why one Sunday afternoon I stand outside the door to Lachlan’s flat, sweating more than usual. I smooth my bangs and straighten up my dress, then take a deep breath and knock.
Moira Ramsay opens the door. Even if I hadn’t seen a ton of pictures of her, there’s no universe where I wouldn’t recognize her as his mother. They have the same eyes, for one, twinkling and full of mischief. She’s shorter and rounder than her son, but the same goodness that radiates from him, the same natural energy, is rolling off of her in waves. Her eyes light up and she grabs my arm. “Abby! Ah, come in, come in, let’s have a look at you.” She holds me at arm’s length. “This is so exciting—I feel like I’m meeting Lorraine Kelly!”
I have no idea who that is, but I look at Lachlan as his mother pulls me into a crushing hug, and he gives me a reassuring wink and a thumbs-up.
She takes my hand and leads me to the sofa. “Come have a sit and tell me everything about yourself.”
“Ma, you said you’d do the roasties,” Lachlan calls from the kitchen.
“Wheesht! You can peel your own potatoes. I’m talking to our Abby.”
He pelts a small piece of carrot at the back of her head. She turns around to throw it back at him, but she’s laughing too hard and misses wildly, and I don’t know if I’ve ever fallen in love with someone faster.
When their brief, furious food fight is over, I pull a large wrapped package out of my bag and hand it to her. “Just a little something to say hello.”
“Aw, bless. You shouldn’t have.” She peels open the paper to reveal a large, framed charcoal drawing of the Ramsay family restaurant, Lochdon.
“There’s a woman on Instagram who’s drawing all the pubs of London, and I asked if she would take a commission,” I explain.
Moira is silent for a moment, her eyes filling with tears. She just shakes her head. “It’s absolutely beautiful, hen.” She sniffles and pulls a tissue out of her pocket. “I’m sorry to go to pieces on you. It’s only that my Michael would have loved it too. Lachie, come look.”
He walks over to the couch to look at the drawing. “It’s lovely, Abby, thank you.” He puts his hands on his mom’s shoulders, giving them a little squeeze. “Come on, Ma, keep it together in front of the guests.” He smiles at me as Moira waves him away.
I’m touched by how moved she is. Steven’s parents were always sort of cold, and I could never tell if they didn’t like me or if that’s just how they were, uptight Connecticut WASPs. In my deepest, darkest moments during our engagement, I would feel sad that this was the family I was joining. I would dread the stiff,formal conversations at future Thanksgivings and Christmases, the polite gratitude when Steven’s mom opened presents from me and then immediately set them aside. His stuffy grandmother with her delicate rose-shaped soaps and embroidered towels that were spectacularly ill-equipped to actually dry my hands. His brother and sister, friendly enough but never warm. Even his family dog seemed to resent my presence, yipping at me every time I came over, no matter how many times I’d been before. But something tells me if Moira had a dog, it would be curled up in my lap right now, happily snoozing the day away.
There’s a knock on the door and I pop up to answer it. Bashie bounds in, planting a big kiss on my cheek, then whipping a bouquet of flowers out from behind his back when he sees Moira. “There’s my girl!”
“Billy!” She kisses both his cheeks, bustles off to find a vase for the flowers, and then the next hour is a blur of warmth and laughter and peeling potatoes and accents becoming increasingly Scottish and me becoming increasingly besotted with all of them. My own family gatherings are chaotic in a different way: There are always too many people, everyone trying to be louder than the last. It’s wonderful in its own manner but often ends with me sitting silently because I can’t get a word in edgewise, so I eventually wander off to play with the kids. But not so today. The Ramsays (and Bashie) are almost impossibly inclusive, peppering me with questions, demanding I tell them stories about my life, roaring with laughter at all my jokes. And the food—my first Sunday roast—is exceptional. Perfectly cooked beef, roasted potatoes with rosemary and garlic, carrots and parsnips and greens and lashings of onion gravy. There’s something called cauliflower cheese, which I could write a whole dissertation about. And then there are the Yorkshire puddings, which taste a bit like pancakesand look a bit like the heads of the sandworms fromDune. After three hours, I’m beyond sated, culinarily and emotionally.
When Bashie and Lachlan get deep into a discussion about the weekend’s matches, Moira turns to me. “What does your mother think about you being over here?”
“She was definitely surprised. I think she expected me to come back to Boston after a week or two, to be honest.”
“And is it hard being away from your family?”
I nod. “Yeah, I do miss them. I miss my nieces and nephews most of all; it’s hard seeing them on video chats instead of getting to play with them in real life. But it’s also nice to be doing my own thing. I have a big, loud family, and all of my brothers are incredibly accomplished, with perfect wives and beautiful children. And my life over there was definitely not perfect, so it’s nice to have a bit of space to figure things out on my own.” I know this is a lot to unburden onto a stranger, but something about Moira tells me she welcomes this sort of intimacy. Plus, I haven’t yet found a therapist in Liverpool.
“That’s just how Lachlan’s sister, Eilidh, felt. She spent her whole childhood in the back of the car as we drove Lachie to training, to summer camps, up and down from Liverpool. She loves him, I’ve no doubt, but as soon as she could, she got as far away as possible.”
“Where is she now?”
“New Zealand.”
“Wow, you weren’t kidding. Are you disappointed that she’s so far away?”
“I’m sad not to see her and my granddaughter so much, but not disappointed. No, not disappointed at all. You’ve got to do the things that make you happiest, even if they’re hard. It’s a lesson I think Lachie would do well to remember…” She trails off andshakes her head. “Well, never mind. That’s the trickiest thing about being a mother: Eventually you have to accept that you’re not in control of your children’s lives anymore and just hope you’ve raised them well enough to thrive.”
“From what I’ve seen, you have.”
She pats my hand. “Aw, bless. And from what I’ve heard, so did your mother. And just know you always have a mum in this country if you ever need one.”
Now it’s my turn to get emotional; I didn’t realize how much the distance from my family was weighing on me. I just nod at Moira and hope that she can see how grateful I am.
