Chapter Sixteen
When Families Collide
"So, Mike, tell us more about that time you were tackled by three men at once," my mother asks with a smile that's way too innocent, and I nearly choke on my drink. Leave it to Mom to make football sound like some kinky sexcapade.
The table erupts in laughter as I set down my glass, feeling itchy for some reason.
We're all crammed into Salvatore's, the Italian restaurant that's become neutral territory for our families' first official meeting.
The place buzzes with conversation and clinking silverware, but our table---the massive round one in the corner---is definitely the loudest.
"It wasn't the highpoint of my career, that's for sure," I admit, catching Regan's eye across the table. She's trying not to laugh but failing spectacularly. "I fumbled the ball right after."
"But you got right back up," Frank Hannigan chimes in, pointing his fork in my direction. "That's what makes a great quarterback. Getting knocked down seven times and getting up on the eighth."
"Very inspiring," Regan's father, John Banks, replies dryly, twirling pasta onto his fork with surgical precision.
John Banks has been sizing me up all evening like I'm a suspect in a lineup. Well, he was a cop for thirty years. "Though I prefer sports where staying on your feet is the objective."
Bohdan sits between my dad and Regan's mom, Patricia. "Figure skating requires balance. Precision. Not simply running about and falling down."
I slap Bohdan's arm. "Says the man who's watched exactly one football game in his life."
"Once was enough," Bohdan shrugs with a hint of a smile. I call that progress.
The waiter arrives with another round of bread, and my mom pounces on it like she hasn't eaten in days. Cynthia Hannigan always had a healthy appetite, but tonight she seems particularly determined to stuff everyone until we can't move. It's her go-to mothering tactic when she's nervous.
"Your parents are delightful," Regan whispers. She takes a sip of her wine, leaving a faint lipstick mark on the glass that somehow spurs me to kiss her right here in front of everyone.
"The Hannigans are one-of-kind, for sure."
My dad launches into another story about my high school glory days, complete with dramatic hand gestures that nearly knock over his water glass.
Classic Frank Hannigan. He never met a silence he couldn't fill with football talk.
"Then Mike reads the defense, calls an audible at the line, and throws the most perfect spiral you've ever seen!
Sixty yards in the air, he hits his receiver in stride for the touchdown.
It's still the record at Westview High."
My dad beams with the kind of pride only a football-obsessed father can muster.
Regan's mother, Patricia, leans forward. "And how did you feel in that moment, Mike?"
"Like I could fly. There's nothing like watching something you've visualized a thousand times finally happen exactly how you planned it."
Regan's gaze meets mine across the table, and I know she gets it. That feeling of everything clicking into place at exactly the right moment.
"That's how it is on the ice too," she says, rescuing me from having to elaborate further. "When you nail a jump you've been working on for months, it's magic."
"Speaking of magic," my mom interjects, "I've prepared a special dessert for everyone."
I immediately tense up. My mother's "special desserts" have been known to include everything from normal tiramisu to that time she brought out a cake shaped like a football field with little chocolate players arranged in my high school team's winning formation.
"Mom," I warn, but she's already flagging down our waiter.
"It's nothing embarrassing," she informs me, loudly enough for the entire table to hear. "It's a little something to celebrate new friendships."
Regan catches my eye again and mouths, "Should I be worried?"
I give her a subtle nod that says both "absolutely" and "I'm sorry in advance."
The waiter returns pushing a cart with what looks like...oh brother. It's a massive sheet cake decorated with crossed figure skates and a football. Written across the top in blue and green icing are the words "Two Teams, One Heart."
"Mom," I hiss through a frozen smile, "you said nothing embarrassing."
"This isn't embarrassing, sweetie." She clasps her hands, beaming at me. "It's adorable! I had Gino make it special."
Bohdan leans forward, examining the cake with surprising interest. "It's good craftsmanship. The skates are anatomically correct."
"Thank you, dear." Mom beams at him as if he's just paid her the highest compliment imaginable. "I showed the baker pictures of Regan's actual skates, and she loved the idea."
I glance at Regan, expecting to see horror matching my own, but instead, she has a soft look on her face that makes my throat tighten.
"That's incredibly thoughtful, Mrs. Hannigan," Regan says, and I swear I could kiss her right now for not being mortified.
"I'm so glad someone appreciates my efforts." Mom scowls at me teasingly.
The waiter begins cutting the cake, and I watch as Regan's dad studies it with the same intense scrutiny he's been giving me all night. For a split second, I worry he might decline a piece, but then he smiles.
"It's creative," he says, which from him might as well be a standing ovation.
Patricia sips her wine delicately before setting her glass it down. "Tell me, Mike, how do you plan to balance your relationship with my daughter while you're traveling with the team? Football season is rather demanding, isn't it?"
And there it is. The question that's been hovering around us all night, finally unleashed.
The table goes quiet. This is the moment I've been dreading all night.
The "what are your intentions with my daughter" conversation disguised as casual dinner chat.
John is suspicious of my intentions too, based on his squinty gaze.
"That's actually something we've discussed quite a bit," I assure him. "The schedule is demanding, but we're both athletes who understand what it takes to compete at a high level. We're committed to making it work."
I reach for my water glass to buy myself a second to think, but my hand bumps it instead, sending a small splash onto the tablecloth. Smooth move, Hannigan.
Regan jumps in, saving me as she has all night, "You need to read between the lines to get what Mike isn't saying. He agreed to come to as many of my competitions as his schedule allows, and I'll be at his games too."
I give my girl a squeeze and nuzzle her cheek. "Can't wait for that. I'm glad most of our events worked out just perfect, with each of us being able to watch the other's events. Our schedules might not always sync up this way, so we plan on making the most of it now."
"What event's up first, Mike?" my dad asks.
"Regan's exhibition in New York City."
Mom grins and claps. "Wonderful!"
"I've been watching figure skating videos to prepare. And I'm determined not to embarrass myself by cheering at the wrong time."
Regan's dad raises an eyebrow. "Figure skating requires a trained eye to appreciate its nuances. It's about more than jumps and spins."
"Which is why I've enlisted an expert tutor." I nod toward Bohdan, who seems momentarily startled to be mentioned.
"I teach him little things," Bohdan admits with a dismissive wave. "Football man has much to learn, but he asks good questions."
That's the closest thing to a compliment I've ever received from the man, and I'll take it.
My mom, apparently sensing a lull in the conversation, decides this is the perfect moment to whip out her phone. "Oh! I almost forgot to show everyone the baby pictures!"
She scrolls through her camera roll with alarming speed.
"Mom, no," I groan, making a half-hearted attempt to grab her phone.
Regan pats my cheek. "Oh, let her do it. I want to see tiny Mike in his first football uniform."
"It was a Halloween costume," I clarify quickly. "And I was three."
Dad chuckles. "He wouldn't take it off for weeks. Had to wash it while he was sleeping."
The pictures make their way around the table with everyone cooing at my gap-toothed childhood grin. When Bohdan gets the phone, he studies the images with surprising interest.
"Strong legs," he comments, nodding approvingly at a shot of me mid-stride on a Little League field. "Good form even then."
For ten minutes more, I'm forced to endure the most embarrassing display I've ever seen in a public place. Yeah, it's genuinely humiliating. But I don't mind it as much as I let everyone think. This newly formed blended family is amazing.
Once the festivities finally wind down, Regan and I return to our apartment. Too wiped out for sex or conversation, we strip naked and cuddle up under the covers. Regan falls asleep first and starts to snore softly.
Yeah, my life is perfect.