8. The Country Club, a Year-Round Job Fair #2
Lucas lives barely a mile off campus, with his mother and two younger brothers, in a midsized apartment complex that’s just this side of decrepit.
The paint is peeling, the lawn is more brown and yellow than olive, with patches of clover and dandelions that tell their own tale, and several abandoned grocery carts have been left rusting to one side of the main entrance.
Two older gentlemen sit in front of the building on folding chairs, on a little uncovered paved area that was probably meant, at some point, to be a front porch.
Both start talking without waiting for introductions or replies.
“How are classes?”
“Don’t ask him about books—he’s brought a girl!”
“Has Lucas ever brought us a girl?”
“Never. Kid’s got no game.”
“Prom?”
“No, Stan, that was Marcus, in 3D. He went twice. Sisters in different grades.”
Lucas waits until the two men have finished to introduce us.
(Stan from 1A and his buddy Cal from 1B, they went to elementary and middle school together, can you believe it?
And now they’re neighbors, ain’t it a world.) I was a little worried Brody would .
. . be Brody, but he’s surprisingly relaxed about the introductions.
Should have trusted that he went to the type of school where they washed the feet of the homeless while preaching about allyship.
I ought to know.
That was my world once.
Brody shakes hands, agrees that Lucas is a very smart cookie without an ounce of sarcasm, and after we listen to a few more pleasantries about how proud Stan and Cal are, explain what our coding competition is, and listen to them extol about the pizza shop around the corner, we’re allowed to go.
As I’m passing by, Stan taps my arm and motions for me to lean in. “Lucas has never had a girlfriend before.”
I’m smiling even as the tips of Lucas’s ears are turning red. “We’re just teammates and friends.”
Stan lays a heavy, calloused hand on my arm, squeezing gently. “The best marriages are founded on friendship.”
Brody is barely able to contain his laughter as we walk up the stairs to Lucas’s apartment, but anything he might have said is swallowed by the excited still-squeaky voices of teen boys when the apartment door opens.
“Brody, right?” It’s a mini blondish Lucas who greets us.
He’s maybe fourteen, fifteen. Brody barely has a chance to nod before Hi-I’m-Leno drags him off to the bedroom located directly to the side of the door.
A quick peek in reveals three bunk beds, stacked basically to the ceiling, a small television, and a clearly built-from-scratch computer. “Show us how to counter-strafe.”
“Awwwww, you talked about me.” Brody puts a hand to his chest dramatically, and it’s clear he’s absolutely thrilled by the kid’s request. Brody sits gingerly in a chair that squeaks in protest and is quickly flanked by Leno and a mini brunet Lucas.
“And that’s Levi. They’re twins.”
Lucas looks at them fondly, his affection clear, and I take a moment to look around the overstuffed apartment.
Every wall is covered with portraits and pictures of Lucas and his brothers, many of the earlier ones featuring an older man who was clearly Lucas’s father—they were obviously the type of family who did things together.
They’re in matching Christmas pajamas, they’re hiking and biking, attending or hosting a neighborhood barbecue; there are hilarious selfies and also service pictures.
“Your dad was in the military?”
“Marines. And then he was a cop.” Lucas doesn’t tell me more, but he stands by while I study the other bric-a-brac.
And there is a lot to see. Every conceivable surface and bookshelf edge has certificates, medals, awards, and old arts and crafts projects.
There are a variety of Polaroids (that just never made it to a proper frame) propped against books, and every doorframe has competing hand-drawn lines with dates and names to track the boys’ growth over the years.
“We were supposed to each have our own doorframe, but the twins wanted to have proof that they were growing more quickly than each other and compared to me, meaning now—”
“Every door is a piece of our history.”
A too-young-to-have-grown-children woman comes out, her smile open and inviting, her eyes twinkling with mischief.
She looks . . . late thirties? She has lovely coppery curls stacked on top of her head, and bright, large hazel eyes she clearly passed on to all three sons.
“You must be Lorelai!” She comes toward me, arms outstretched. “I’m Delilah. Can we start with a hug?”
And because I’ve still yet to find a way to turn down such requests without seeming like a jerk, I return her warm embrace with a stiff half pat. I hold out the container of green tea I’ve brought with me—it’s quality pu’er, regifted from when such presents were an everyday part of our lives.
“Thank you.” Delilah accepts the tea graciously before pulling a face. “Also, sorry, but we are a family of huggers.” I look toward Lucas—who has never hugged anyone that I’ve seen—not bothering to hide my surprise.
Lucas comes over to embrace his mother. “My mother loves hugs. My brothers have been conditioned to reciprocate and tolerate.”
Delilah heads back to the small, narrow galley kitchen that has pots, plates, and pans on every available surface.
“Don’t mind him. He’s been the quiet one since he was a baby.
The doctors were worried he was slow because he just wouldn’t talk!
Four years old and barely had twenty words.
They were recommending specialists we couldn’t afford, speech therapy I didn’t have time to take him to—forty-five-minute appointments in the middle of a workday, hello?
But I told them, even then, that my Lucas was smart.
It’s in his eyes. He only spoke when he had something important to say.
And look at him now! He was the only student from Pasadena City College Caltech accepted.
Can you believe? Considering you can walk from PCC to Caltech, you’d think they’d take more. ”
As she speaks, she’s stirring two different sauces, washing tongs, and grating cheese, flitting around the kitchen at maximum speed. Lucas moves around her in the narrow space, stealing bites of food while she slaps his hands away.
“You speak enough for both of us,” Lucas says, though there’s no bite to it; he kisses his mother’s cheek a moment later.
It’s the type of unthinking, habitual affection that I’ve rarely been privy to, and I find myself pulled toward it, wishing I could wrap myself in this kind of warmth.
I force Lucas to hand me the plates so I can be at least a little useful while his mother continues to tell stories.
(“Lucas took such good care of every toy we ever bought him” and “That first science fair, I just knew.”) Though it’s clear Lucas would probably prefer his mother said less, he’s good-natured about her oversharing.
Brody remains in the bedroom until it’s time to eat. Even then, Delilah has to start counting down from five before getting Leno, Levi, and Brody to join us.
After we’re settled (spaghetti marinara, from-scratch meatballs, and also alfredo sauce, her nana’s recipe), Delilah speaks again. “I’m so glad you were able to make it!”
“My mother insisted.”
“And she’s the boss,” Levi says.
Dinner is a lovely affair full of the boys asking Brody for Counter-Strike tips, Brody asking Lucas’s mother for embarrassing Lucas stories “when he wasn’t fully assembled yet,” and far too many carbs.
It only gets awkward twice.
Once, when Delilah says, “Lorelai, I wanted to thank you for all your book recommendations.”
Lucas chokes on his water, because he’ll never be the type of man who can mask any of his emotions, as I play along. “I am always leaving books around.” But I’ve never recommended any to Lucas. We text about problems and code.
“Blind Assassin in particular was so good. And Empire Falls. And of course, I’ve loved every one of the romances.”
I can see the flush spreading up Lucas’s neck, because given the fact that my romance books are always sandwiched between others, and I’ve made it a point to never read them in front of the guys, even during breaks, Lucas has really been paying attention.
“I didn’t realize Lucas had followed up on my romance recs. ”
Lucas is closing his eyes now, and Brody leans forward to high-five Lucas’s mom. “The real budding romance is these two, right? I can’t be the only one who ships them.”
“Totally,” Leno chirps, before he’s kicked under the table by Levi.
And later, there is an awkward silence when Delilah starts to say, “I wish Lucas could practice more. If it wasn’t for—”
“Mom.” They exchange a look, and Delilah relents. From there, we talk about the twins’ classes (“Nothing’s cooler than black holes,” Brody says, in recruitment mode) and potential sports (though Levi starts to say something about the swim team, he falls silent after intercepting Lucas’s look).
As we’re leaving their tiny apartment, Delilah presses a bag of granola into my hands and Lucas comes downstairs before offering to walk us back to campus.
Brody clamps a hand on Lucas’s shoulder. “I already told you, I’m team Lukelai.” This earns Brody a pained look from both Lucas and me. “You prefer Lor-ass?”
It’s dark outside, and Stan and Cal have retired from their perch. I wrap my arms around myself because it’s chilly, and almost immediately Lucas takes off the Pasadena City College sweatshirt he’s wearing, offering it to me.
“Did you really just give a Caltech girl community college merch?”
Lucas flushes, and even though I might have otherwise turned it down, I’m stuck taking the damn thing now. Because there’s no easy way to explain to Four Seasons Brody that his comment was snotty and classist.
That especially to someone who’s already sensitive about the fact that he’s a transfer, the perception that he’s some kind of affirmative action admit, this might be a sensitive issue.