Chapter 16 Cherry Pie McCurtain County-Style
MCU scoffed at Labor Day. Their puritan, Capitalist god rewarded thrift and industry, frowned on the sort of sloth that would celebrate the proletariat.
Academic life must continue as if the holiday did not exist. So, of course, Matt had tests in both math and history. Anything less would be sacrilege.
It would be a slog of a day: the two tests, chapel, soccer practice, cleaning the locker room, then his first date with Ava. The only bright spot was a planned evening meetup with William.
As if that weren’t enough, he had arranged to meet Debbie for coffee, in the short break between English and math. He’d invited Idabel to join them. Matt had a plan, but wanted Debbie to think it was her own idea. Idabel could help with that.
The cafeteria was nearly empty, the breakfast crowd having decamped. Matt claimed a small corner table, wondered how Adam would spend his day.
Idabel arrived, grinning like he’d won the lottery. He carried a mug of coffee and three pieces of cherry pie, which were stacked, wrapped in napkins. “Leftovers. Manager hooked me up. He’s from McCurtain County. Small world. Want some?”
Matt shook his head. He couldn’t afford to pack on pounds, even if they were muscle. He needed speed and agility on the field.
He saw Debbie approaching, smiled.
She had the wide, swinging gait of an apex predator—not the T-rex from Jurassic Park, but rather Barney the dinosaur.
She wore purple slacks and a green summer sweater.
A rope of white, plastic beads dangled from her neck.
Her large breasts made her arms look disproportionately small. Her eyes lit up at the sight of Matt.
He hugged her, introduced her to Idabel.
“I’ve seen you on the soccer field,” Debbie said to Idabel after she’d appropriated a seat. “What’s your real name, hon? ‘Idabel’ is no name for a strappin’ fella like you.”
“Tony. Tony Gobles.”
Debbie held her coffee mug with both hands, took a small sip. “What’s yer mama call you?”
Idabel gave a sheepish grin. “Anthony.”
Debbie eyed him over her mug. “Anthony’s a little fella name. I like ‘Tony.’”
Idabel’s wide smile nearly cracked his face. He was “Team Debbie” now, too.
Matt spoke up. They didn’t have much time before his math test, plus Debbie had to get back to work.
“I want to thank you for coming to both exhibition games,” he said to Debbie.
“That meant a lot!” It had. No denying that.
Her presence had not come without complications, though.
Coach had been furious when she’d shown up for the second game, leading the crowd in chanting for Mustang—again.
Matt was under no illusions: a third strike and he would be out, as in off the team.
He didn’t want Debbie to know that. Hence this little charade.
Idabel spoke on cue. “I wish I had someone cheering for me like that. I can’t get rid of this stupid nickname until I score or block a score.”
Debbie patted Idabel’s hand. “Well then I’ll cheer for you, too, Tony!”
Idabel thanked her, offered her a piece of pie, which she declined.
Idabel peeled the napkin wrapping from one of the pie wedges. Cherry filling had bled through the napkin in places. Little paper splotches dotted the wedge like toilet tissue stuck to razor cuts. Idabel didn’t care. He held the wedge like a slice of pizza, aimed at his mouth.
Matt kicked Idabel’s shin under the table, reminding him to stick to the plan. He could wolf pie later.
The large clock hanging on the far wall showed 9:10. Math class—with its test—began in 20 minutes.
Idabel set the pie down reluctantly. “Actually ma’am, that might make the other fellas jealous. Every player wants game time. Especially since we’ve lost two exhibition games. Rooting for any one of us feels like rooting against the guys stuck on the bench.”
Debbie paused. Her eyes registered surprise. She had not considered this.
Matt hated causing her any discomfort. But it was either this or the brutal truth that she was the reason he was cleaning the locker room, that he might get booted from the team. That news would devastate her.
Debbie stared into her mug, mulling this new information. Suddenly she slapped her hands down on the table, causing their coffee mugs to bounce. “You boys need a Den Mother! Not just you two lugs. All y’all do!”
Idabel shot Matt a sly “Mission Accomplished” wink.
“Wonderful idea!” Idabel said to Debbie. “It would probably help if you met the whole team,” he hinted. “Like off campus… Somewhere cozy… With food... Real food—not like this lousy pie.”
Matt considered kicking Idabel again. Debbie’s feeding the team was not part of the plan.
Debbie loved the idea. She came to life, planning the team party she would host at her house, telling them she would make real pie—not one where the filling came from a can.
Oh, and they could meet her cats! Oh, maybe they could make it a cookout!
Or maybe that would be their follow-up party.
She was in heaven, already planning a Christmas Secret Santa gathering.
Matt envisioned a future where all his teammates referred to Debbie as “mom.” He would be the first.
Hours later—after a long day, Matt was back in the cafeteria, there to meet another female: his new girlfriend, Ava.
His jaw clenched at the mere thought of it.
Given a choice between this date versus fishing his teammates’ sloughed-off pubes out of shower room drain screens, he’d choose the latter.
Nothing personal against Ava. She was a beautiful girl. She had all the curves straight boys liked. Long, shiny black hair. Matt understood why Molly was enamored of her—their being lesbians and all. And Ava seemed like a nice enough person.
It was the whole fake girlfriend thing that rankled Matt. Pretending to be straight. He’d thought he was done with that the day he tossed his Dallas Cheerleaders poster in the trash.
Too bad. He had no choice in this matter.
That much had been clear when William and Molly had negotiated the terms of this little arranged marriage. This whole scheme was their brainchild, which was weird enough considering those two were oil and water. Better yet: vinegar and baking soda, i.e. explosive when mixed.
William referred to Molly as “Moldy Ringworm,” a nasty derivative of Molly Ringwald’s name, she of Sixteen Candles fame, which Matt had needed explained to him, his having been, oh, nine years old when that movie came out.
And he still didn’t get why Ms. Ringwald merited the negativity.
Maybe it had something to do with her being in some breakfast club?
Molly’s epithet for William, “King Billy,” was a little more on-the-nose, Matt had to admit.
The cafeteria bristled with students. It was peak dinner time.
Perfect. He and Ava were here to be seen.
Per the contract. Once a week for the first month.
Twice a week for months two and three. Breakup allowed after three months unless both sides—William and Molly—agreed to an extension. Matt and Ava wouldn’t get a vote.
Why Molly wanted her girlfriend in a fake relationship was straight forward.
Molly had become concerned by all the guys sniffing around Ava’s skirt, flirting with her, pestering her, not taking “no” for an answer.
And then William showed up with his proposition because he was worried about all the girls who would be auditioning to be the mother of Matt’s children.
Future tense. Because here was the thing: William had gone to Molly before the Saints game, before Ruth’s little stunt with the posterboard sign.
As in before any girls had made any moves on Matt.
Molly had wanted to assess Matt for herself, to see if he was good enough to be her girlfriend’s fake boyfriend. So, that first SGA meeting, the one where she sat by Matt, had been intentional on her part, auditioning him, so to speak.
Matt was pleased that he had passed Molly’s test. He liked her. They had sat together at last week’s SGA meeting as well.
Matt made a beeline to the first empty table he saw. Ava trailed in his wake.
He plopped into a seat.
Ava took a seat facing him. “Heads up,” she whispered. “Your mom and my dad are watching.”
Matt scanned the faces around them. Sure enough, two tables away, to his right, William presided over a theatre crowd.
Molly sat at a table on his left, nodding absently while some nerdy guy—probably one of her Beakly News buddies—babbled.
Both William and Molly had positioned themselves with strategic views of the dining area. Matt felt them watching his every move.
Moves Matt would NOT be making had also been negotiated—at his and Ava’s insistence.
No physicality. No hugs. No hand holding.
Not even a peck on the cheek. If people saw them together and jumped to the wrong conclusions, so be it.
But he and Ava would not say or do anything to nudge people towards those conclusions.
“You referred to Molly as your dad,” Matt whispered. “Does that mean she’s your group’s Godfather?”
Ava shook her head and laughed. “No. We’re not into any of that cloak-and-dagger Mafia drama. I was just referencing the fact that she’s the masculine one and William is the effeminate one.”
Matt laughed. He couldn’t argue with that.
“Watch William’s face,” Ava said. She reached over to Matt’s tray, picked up a piece of fried okra, and popped it in her mouth.
Matt watched William watching Ava eat the okra, saw William roll his eyes, this being confirmation of William’s belief that lesbians “hoovered up” any food.
Matt laughed.
Ava did it again.
Time passed quickly.