I cleared my throat.
“Um … Campbell Casey is going to work here?”
“Our newest talking head,” Alek shrugged.
“How did we, um, you snag him?”
“Everyone has to work somewhere. I guess he just wasn’t good enough for ESPN or ONESport. Why?”
“I just didn’t know, that’s all.”
I tried to hide the strange sense of excitement that came over me at the prospect of working at the same station with Campbell Casey.
The jovial Alek of earlier stiffened just the tiniest. Glancing over at him, I wondered when he had become so adept at reading my mind.
“Um, I have to get back to a deadline, Mais. So, yeah, see you tomorrow, or whatever.” He moved down the hall toward the sports department.
What was that about? I knew Alek always worried about me in college when I had disastrous dating experiences, and he had talked me through them with oceans of iced tea and mountains of chocolate. But surely he didn’t think Campbell Casey and I might date and he would have to “brother” me out of a bad breakup? The mere idea that Campbell Casey would even look my way was ridiculous. I really had to straighten Alek up if that was what he was worried about. After all, I had gotten along without his advice for a couple of years, hadn’t I?
But in the meantime. Hmm. Wouldn’t it be delicious to work in the same station with Campbell? No, not for any personal reasons. Just for the sports broadcasting experience, of course.
I pulled the folder with my job offer out of my portfolio and glanced at the paperwork again. Well, the prospects associated with this job situation seemed even more attractive with this bit of information.
8
“So?”
My mother leaned expectantly on the granite kitchen counter.
I had banged through the front door of my parents’ house, kicked my heels off in the foyer, dropped my overnight bag on the comfortably cluttered step leading to the second floor, and joined her in the one room I knew I could find her. Following her giant embrace, she was ready for information.
I hopped onto one of the counter stools and fished a huge chocolate chip cookie from the fat jar shaped like a clock with “Cookie Time!” on its face. I gave a few thoughtful chews.
“Maisie! Information, please!”
“Well …” I drew out the suspense as long as I dared before I burst into the story. I figured that my mother would react positively, and I was not disappointed.
“Oh, baby, that’s wonderful!” She jumped to my side and smothered me with another giant hug and more kisses. She stopped abruptly, held me away from her, and scanned my face.
“It is wonderful, right?”
“What do you mean, Ma?”
“Well, I didn’t want to assume. I mean, your father and I would love to have you living near us for selfish reasons, but if this isn’t a good opportunity, then I wouldn’t want you to take it, of course.”
Her face clearly indicated her preference, so I set her at ease.
“No, no, Ma, this is a good—great—opportunity. I would actually love it no matter where it was.”
“But?”
“There’s no ‘but,’ Ma. Seriously, it’s perfect.”
“So, why does it seem like you aren’t as bubbly as you should be.”
I took another bite of my cookie and chewed on that thought while she retrieved a pitcher of tea from the refrigerator and poured me a glass, waiting for me to process my thoughts. Finally, I could articulate my concerns, if indeed they were concerns.
“Here’s the deal, Ma. This is definitely a great opportunity and a step on my path. You know how I like to do things on my own, though. I don’t like to feel like I owe anyone—”
She cut in. “Maisie, your father had nothing to do with this, I promise you.”
“No, no, I know it wasn’t Pop. Or any of the family.” I reached for another cookie. “It was a friend. You remember Alek Markovich?”
“That nice boy you were really good friends with in college? What’s wrong with that? You know, I always wondered why you and he never dated, quite frankly. From the way you and Phyllis described him, he seemed like such a good boy, Maisie. Clean-cut, from a nice Catholic family—”
“Focus, please, Ma.”
“Oh, right.” She hopped up on the stool next to me and crossed her legs at her ankles in the lady-like fashion that her Catholic school upbringing had instilled in her.
“Anyway,” I continued, “he lives here now and works at KDW. He saw that interview I did with Steph Curry and recommended me to his manager for the opening.”
“You looked really good, and you did very well in that interview, baby. Very professional. Well, maybe your hair was a bit messy.” She reached over to attempt to tuck the sides of my hair behind my ears, a gesture she had never given up and that I had learned not to swat away.
“But now doesn’t it seem like I didn’t get the job on my own? Like I didn’t earn it?” I propped my elbow on the counter and my chin on my fist.
“Maisie, Maisie, Maisie. That’s ridiculous. You certainly earned it. All your friend did was point you out, sweetheart.”
My mother was incredibly astute. Despite the fact—or maybe because of the fact—that she had raised seven boisterous children while supporting her husband’s ever-growing career, she was a formidable force. From the outside, I suppose that people might assume she’s “just a housewife,” especially since she is an amazing cook and homemaker, but she and my father had met in college while she was working on her nursing degree. She came from a family that neither focused on nor was particularly interested in sports, but she was educated and had innate skills and talents. It took a special woman to make a partnership like the one my parents had work and to raise a family of athletes.
“If the manager didn’t like what he saw, he wouldn’t have brought you in and he certainly wouldn’t have offered you the job,” she pointed out.
Maybe.
Then there was the complication of Campbell Casey. Ooh. Just saying his name brought an involuntary shiver. How much of my decision would be because I’d be working at the same station as my secret crush? In reality, I was practical enough to know it wouldn’t matter if he were there if the job itself weren’t inviting, but it sure would be a bonus to work with him.
My introspection was cut short by a burst of activity from the front of the house.
“Nana, Nana!” came tiny voices and then footsteps that sounded like many more than the two children they belonged to. My twin niece and nephew piled into my mother with mega force, nearly knocking her off her chair. She hopped down to give them grandmotherly hugs, her height barely topping theirs.
“My babies!” She lifted each onto a stool after they greeted me with shrieks of “Auntie!” and I reached into the cookie jar to present each with a cookie.
“Ma, are you feeding them sugar?” My brother Angelo’s voice came from the hall.
Ma and I looked at each other guiltily.
“No, Ange, I swear that I am not,” she giggled.
We were caught out, however, when he strolled into the kitchen and saw them munching. He placed his hands on his hips.
“Well, you didn’t ask if Maisie was giving them sugar,” Ma said, logically.
Angelo grabbed me by the shoulder with one arm and gave me a vigorous head rub with the other hand.
“Ow, ow, ow!” I attempted to push him away. “What kind of example are you setting for your impressionable children?”
“What kind of example are YOU setting?”
“That of a loving auntie.” I smiled sweetly at the four-year-olds, and they reciprocated with chocolatey grins and the sparkling, family trademark bright-blue eyes.
Angelo had followed in Pop’s footsteps after a successful college baseball career, opting to coach rather than move on to the pros, and was happily installed at the local junior college. My mother had been thrilled that he and his wife were established so close by.
When his own chil
dren came along, he named them for his favorite players: Brooks for Brooks Robinson, and Clemmie for Roberto Clemente. He wasted no time teaching them baseball skills as soon as they could pick up a bat. They were already showing signs of their father’s talent on the diamond, and he was the coach of their T-ball team.
My brother was still dressed in his T-ball coaching gear, and the tots were in their uniforms. “Finish those cookies, then go wash up and change for dinner, kiddos,” he pronounced, then tapped Brooks on his head and gave Clemmie a mild tug on her ponytail.
“You are SOOO much like Pop,” I said.
“And? Did we all turn out so bad with him as a father?” Angelo joined us at the counter and retrieved a cookie for himself.
“So?” he asked after a pause.
“So what?” I nonchalantly took a sip of my tea.
“Maisie! Just tell him about today!” my mother said, with the exasperated sigh of a parent who was accustomed to seven headstrong kids.
“Oh … that.” I grinned.
I launched into the events of the day, and when I was finished, Angelo clapped me on the shoulder.
“That’s great!”
“Isn’t it?” my mother agreed. “She’ll be here close to your father and me, and you and Lucy and the kids.”
“And I would have a job that I want. Remember—the job?” I grinned at my mother’s priorities.
“Yes, yes. That.”
“Maisie, you know if it were up to Ma, she’d have all of us living under the same roof forever,” laughed Angelo.
“What would be wrong with that?” Ma swatted him. “You should be happy that I love all of you enough to want you in my house.”
“And what about Sammy? Oh, sorry, Father Samuel. Shouldn’t he live in the rectory of his parish?” I asked.
“We can build a chapel downstairs, and he can say a private Mass for Ma every morning,” teased Angelo, ever the wiseacre.
“Don’t be disrespectful.” This earned another swat as my mother moved to the stove to continue her preparations for the evening’s dinner: my favorite—gnocchi in meat sauce.
Angelo became uncharacteristically serious.
“So what do you think, sis? Are you going to take the job?”
“Probably.”
“Why only ‘probably’?”
“Oh. You know. I’ve been praying on it.”
“Sure, sure. That’s the best thing to do.”
Our parents had always impressed upon us the importance of prayer before making a life-changing decision, and we all took it seriously.
“And you know I want to bounce it off Pop,” I shrugged.
“Mais, you know he’s going to tell you to do what you think is best.”
“I know, I know. He would never presume to tell any of us what to do. But he’s the wisest man I know, and if he sees a hole in something, he’ll always let me know.”
Angelo opened his mouth to say something, then closed it and paused.
“What? Spill it, brother.” I was sure he was going to pull a big brother move and tell me that it was time for me to stand on my own two feet or something like that.
“Nothing about your job. I was just thinking how lucky we are to have Pop. I just hope that I can be as good a dad to these two as he is to us.”
I wasn’t expecting that! Especially from the clown prince of the family.
“You already are, Ange. I even said so earlier, remember? Look at those two,” I gestured toward the twins, who had washed up and changed into the clean play clothes that Angelo had packed for them. They were in the corner of the dining room, quietly playing with coloring books and crayons that Ma kept for them.
“That’s all due to Lucy, I’m sure. She’s an amazing mother,” he waved off my comment and frowned.
Things were getting too serious.
“Yep. You’re right,” I nodded. “You are just comic relief in that household, I’m sure, just like you were here when we were growing up.”
His head swung toward me.
“What!” He saw the sparkle in my eye and dove toward me. We both fell on the kitchen floor.
“Ma!” I shouted through tears of laughter as he tickled me unmercifully.
“Don’t call for me,” she threw over her shoulder calmly. “I’m sure you brought whatever that is on yourself, the same way you usually did when you were a child.”
“No … fair …” I couldn’t breathe at one point.
“Too bad!” Angelo laughed, then called for reinforcements. “Kids! Come help!”
Brooks and Clemmie dashed toward us, excited for the opportunity to roughhouse.
“What! And I gave you cookies!” At that point I was fully a prisoner of my giant brother and his two small, squirming offspring.
“Ma!”
“I said don’t call me.” My mother continued with her tasks, shaking her head back and forth and not turning toward us.
“Vinnie! Johnny! Sammy! Joey! Anthony!” I reverted to childhood and called my other siblings, wishing any one of them would miraculously appear and rescue me from my fate, even though I knew none were nearby.
“What’s going on here?”
It was the booming voice of the legendary coach, Sal Valenti.
Angelo, Brooks, Clemmie, and I all looked up guiltily to see him standing over us, arms crossed, penetrating blue eyes squinting under fierce eyebrows, smile barely contained.
9
Angelo and I leapt to our feet and righted our clothing. The two little ones, protected from any reprimand because they were grandchildren, after all, cheerfully leapt into the arms of their loving grandfather.
“Hey, Pop,” I said weakly.
“She started it,” Angelo reverted easily to childhood habits. I elbowed him.
Pop squinted and merely grunted at us, but had nothing but huge smiles and kisses for the little ones.
“Poppy!” the twins continued in chorus.
He gave each a final bear hug as he placed them carefully on the ground. With an unspoken language from years of practice, he glanced at Ma, who indicated with her own glance that no matter what the face of the jolly cookie jar proclaimed, it was too close to dinner for another treat.
“Why don’t you two go and draw me a picture of your game from today, and after dinner we will have show-and-tell?”
The moppets, always happy to please Poppy, dashed off to the corner of the dining room to fulfill his wishes.
Pa removed his well-worn bucket cap—a Sal Valenti trademark—and hung it on the hook near the door. Then he scooped me up into my own bear hug, and we sat at the counter.
“Maisie-girl, now you tell me your news.”
“She had a great interview,” Angelo began.
My father cleared his throat. Angelo piped down and began assisting Ma by setting the dining room table. Gees! How did I ever get a word in edgewise growing up with brothers in this house!
I reached over to fluff out my father’s curls—so much like my brothers’, but now graying at the temples—and repeated my day’s story for the third time. When I seemed finished, he waited, knowing that I had more.
“And?”
“That’s it, Pop.” I swiveled on the stool. I still hadn’t quite worked through the fear of being unworthy because someone had recommended me and I hadn’t gotten the job “on my own.” I was mostly there. I knew I’d get there. I just needed a little time.
“Are you sure?”
Rats. He could always see through me.
“So. They’re hiring another new person this week.” I didn’t want to talk about the real issue.
“Competition?”
“Hardly. It’s Campbell Casey.” My unintentional blush went unnoticed only because my brother let out a strangled “You’re kidding?” and we all turned toward him.
“What’s the problem with Campbell Casey?” my mother asked, lifting a huge bowl of mixed salad greens toward me to carry to the table.
“I think the kids feel that he�
�s not qualified,” my father said, “but somehow I don’t think that’s what Maisie is worried about.” He tilted his head toward me. Darn his intuition.
I took a deep breath as I set the salad bowl down and spun toward him. “Well, he is kind of a talking head, Pop. I know he was a pretty good quarterback, but what credentials does he have as a broadcaster?”
“They must see something in him, or they wouldn’t have hired him, Maisie.” Darn my father and his logic.
I was about to get the Sal Valenti speech about how everyone deserves an equal chance if they work hard. I just stood there ready to take it.
“And?” I shrugged.
“That’s it.” Pop moved to the sink to wash his hands.
Angelo and I stared at each other. Never in the history of our family had we escaped at least ten minutes of a Coach Valenti talk. But as he took his place at the head of the table to wait for dinner to be served, he quietly added, “I’m sure you’ll be able to work around him without him knowing you have a bit of a crush on him.”
There it was.
I made a hasty exit for safety to change clothes as my brother whooped and my mother swatted him with a pot holder. I heard her reprimand him as I got further down the hall.
“Come stir this sauce, funny boy. I swear, next time around I’m not going to have any boys at all. Why is your darling wife off visiting her aunt, anyway? I need her here to calm you down!”
Returning after what I thought was a safe time period, I plopped down in the chair next to Pop’s and asked him, “How did you figure out that I might have a crush on Campbell Casey? Not, mind you, that I’m saying that I do.”
“By the way you said his name, sweetheart. You forget I’ve known you a long time. But tell me this. You wouldn’t be taking this job just because of that, or turning it down just because of that, would you?”
My Pop. Always able to get right to the heart of the matter. It didn’t take me long to give him an honest answer.
“No sir. I know I’m good at what I do. I’ve never backed away from a challenge because of any boys”—I stared toward my brother—“and I never ignored my opportunities and chased any boys just because I thought they were cute. If I take this job, it’s because I want it and can do it.”
Game On Page 6