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Samantha
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SNOWDOGS 0
REDHAWKS 2
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“GO, LARSON!” DAD’S voice thundered through the stands. “Let’s bring out the Hellmann’s!”
“Erik.” Mom yanked on his jersey until he sat down.
“Yeah!” He threw one last fist pump.
Jamie leaned into Samantha. “Please tell me your dad did not just invoke a condiment.”
Samantha slouched back into her seat. “It’s better when Brace says it.”
The zero throbbed on the scoreboard for an agony of time—enough time for Mom and Dad to turn away from one another in the arena seats, as if they were standing over their son’s lifeless body and each blaming the other for his demise. Mom smiled sadly in league with Samantha, but Samantha turned away.
The problem with being the lowest on the family totem pole was that no one noticed when she was giving the silent treatment. She couldn’t look at Mom after last week’s revelation. Not because Mom was a lesbian, or a hasbian, or a wannabian, or whatever, but because she never said a word about it to a daughter who would have been thrilled to associate her mother with rock ‘n roll greatness instead of the Reebok-sporting, quilt-obsessed, yoga klutz she appeared to be.
“I swear we talked about Cake for Horses a dozen times,” Sam whispered to Jamie. “Do you think if Lucy had been a ‘Luke’ Mom wouldn’t have bragged and bragged about it? What a hypocrite.” Mom, for all her speeches about Grandma, was just as homophobic herself.
“Parents have a whole ’nother life, Sam, that doesn’t involve us. I have no desire to find out who my parents were boinking when they were kids.”
“Ew, I don’t want to know the gross parts. But come on, what if your dad dated Madonna or something?”
Jamie burst out laughing. “I gotta go, dude. I have a ton of homework.” She stood and patted Samantha’s head and scooted out of the bleacher seats.
The crowd moaned and booed. Samantha felt guilty then, as though her anger was determining the outcome of the game. The more furiously Brace, Zev, and Maddox swept up and down the rink, the sloppier they got. Brace’s face had never been so flushed with desperation. Well, not in a decade or so. Those pink blotches around his eyes and mouth once indicated the tears were ready to flow. Now his jaw simply drew down in resignation. And Zev just skated in circles, anxiously waiting for the pass that never came.
The Redhawks were just a better team. Tighter. Stronger. Their goalie was quick, on and off his knees, and broad as a bear. Maddox finally scored in the second period but the Redhawks eventually won the championship three to one.
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AFTERWARD, AT MEZZA Luna Pizzeria (where you receive half a pie whether you want it or not), the entire Larson family filled a semi-circle booth. Samantha had assumed that, whether the Snowdogs won the tournament or not, Brace would hang out with his teammates. But here he sat with his embarrassing family.
“Hey,” Brace gently elbowed Samantha, “thanks for cheering so hard tonight.”
She shrugged. “Of course.”
“Nervous?” he asked.
“About?”
“The play.”
“Nah. Jamie’s kinda taking the spotlight off me. Got room to mess up.”
“You’re not gonna mess up. Try skating with Maddox. Talk about spotlight hogs.”
Samantha mumbled the affirmative through a mouthful of veggie slice. When she looked up, Mom was staring through her with a wan smile.
“See?” Grandma said. “Kate’s clearly exhausted. Just look at those rings under her eyes.”
“I’m sorry, what?” Mom asked.
“I said, have you thought about what you’re going to do when the kids leave?” Grandma dabbed a napkin to her mouth. “For college.”
“Oh. Well, yeah,” Mom said. “Of course.”
Grandpa wrapped an arm around Mom’s shoulder and squeezed. “Remember, Claud? She sells pottery. This gal’s got lotsa potential.”
“Actually it’s quilting now.”
“Kate got fourth place at Quiltarama last winter, Mom,” Dad said.
Woo!
“Just finished one for the choir director.”
Grandma glowered. She looked to Grandpa who sighed and then to Dad. “Excuse me, when am I going to receive one of these masterpieces?”
“I’ll try to make something soon but Gonzo Fox is keeping me pretty busy.”
“That Mark and Ray need to get themselves into Sojourn.” Grandma went at her thin crust pizza with knife and fork, cutting it into smaller pieces until there was only enough room for an olive to hang on. “I talked to Henry Cleaver the other day. Charming man. He’s doing a great service. Just look how it helped that Van Buren woman.” She raised her fork.
“You wouldn’t be seen within ten feet of that Van Buren woman,” Mom said with a sneer.
Whoa. Samantha stopped eating. Brace slowed down.
“Kate,” Grandma said, “how can you say that? I help fund that choir of hers. I’m surprised at you.” Wide-eyed, she tilted her head at Dad. “And quite frankly, one has to question her qualifications.”
“Lucy is kinda stuck in purgatory, Mom.” Dad’s voice had gravel in it, as if he’d grown weary of being in the middle of this same argument in all its many forms. It did seem to Samantha that something more was going on between the alpha females. She would have to research it.
Grandpa snorted. “Ms. Van Buren’s B&B will do just fine.”
“With tourists of course, not locals,” Mom said.
“Oh, she’s just offish.” Grandma fluttered a hand. “Mark and Ray are good with people, nobody avoids them.”
Mom crossed her arms. “Well, then, why should they change?”
They stared at each other. Grandma’s face went lavender and it seemed a little over-the-top, even for Grandma. Her jaw retracted into her neck and she slapped her breastbone.
Samantha bolted up. “Oh, God, Gramma’s choking.”
Dad jumped from the booth and yanked out Grandma, then turned her around and wrapped arms around her midsection. There were gasps around the restaurant. The family sat in shock, even Bert, as Dad jerked Grandma around in circles. She sensed even then it was an image never to be erased.
He gave one last firm jerk and an olive at fault popped out, flew through the air, and into the breadbasket.
Samantha folded over the red and white checked napkin.
“Oh my gosh.” Mom refilled Grandma’s water glass. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” Grandma rasped at the neighboring tables. “Fine.” She waved, then sat down, straightened her napkin, and stared pleadingly at the ceiling. “Dear lord and savior, Lucy Van Buren has opened a fissure in this town and all the freaks have flown out.”
“Actually,” Grandpa said, “maybe more cameras would bring us some PR for the amendment. These people do themselves in every time, acting ridiculous.”
“Hmm.” Grandma’ shifted her eyes left to right. A smile sprouted.
There was a boundless energy to Grandma that amazed Samantha. If she made it to Washington, anything was possible.
Clearly Mom had realized the same thing. “You’ve resurrected that marriage bill three times now,” Mom said shrilly.
“Kate,” Dad murmured, a low growl.
“Let the people vote.” Claudia shrugged. “Two-thirds don’t want gay marriage.” She took a sip of water.
“Well, two thirds are wrong.” Mom smacked the table and the glasses clinked. The other customers in Mezza Luna turned back to them.
Dad shot a glare at Mom that Samantha had not seen in a long time.
Samantha slipped an arm around her mother. “Ma, chill.”
Grandma took Mom and Dad’s hands. “Let us pray for an end to this battle. Let us pray for Ms. Van Buren. And Mark. And that dear, nearly blind Ray.” She closed her eyes. Then she opened them again. “Now about this friend of yours, Samantha.”
Dad sighed.
“Who?”
“This drag queen person.”
“Jamie is not a drag queen,” Samantha said. “She is genderqueer. Currently.”
“Oh, dear lord, let’s pray for him too.”