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“Hi, I’m John,” I said, reaching to shake his hand.
I tried not to react with disgust when he licked his fingers after dropping one of about twenty barbeque chicken wings on his plate and then used that hand to shake mine. I acted unfazed by the gesture after he released my hand and wiped the rest of the grease and sticky sauce on his jeans.
“This is my cousin, Jimmy,” Mickie said. “He’s my dad’s number one fan.”
“Oh, I thought you were a player of his since you called him Coach Tim,” I offered with a look of confusion.
“Nah, man,” Jimmy answered, barbeque drippings hanging from his scraggly beard after he popped a whole deviled egg into his mouth as if he weren’t in the middle of speaking. “Everyone knows you must call that legend Coach Tim. If I called him Uncle Tim?” he chuckled as he looked at his plate, deciding between a rib and a hushpuppy and choosing the rib, “I don’t rightly think he’d even know who I was talkin’ to.”
“Jesus, Jimmy,” Mickie said with some annoyance, “Dad doesn’t walk on water, you know.”
“That man is a football god,” a voice said from behind Jimmy, who was looking for somewhere to discard his bones so he could fit more food on his plate, no doubt. “How you doin’? I’m Petey,” he said.
Petey wore a tight white shirt with a pack of cigarettes rolled up in his sleeve and blue jeans with boots that had seen plenty of days of manual labor. His hair wasn’t quite cut into a mullet, but it was damn close with a ring around his head that showed he’d been wearing a hat all day and took it off as a sign of respect because he was a guest in someone’s home.
“Nice to meet you, Petey,” I said, shaking his rough hands. “I suppose you’re related to Mickie as well?”
“Lucky for me, we aren’t related,” he said, laughing and looking at Mickie. “Unlucky for me, she never gave me the time of day, so I did what you’re doing right now.”
“Which is?” My God, this is a weird conversation.
“Showing up at the family events, working the charm best I know how, and praying she’ll find me suitable to love and cherish one day,” he said, winking at Mickie and then dipping a large serving spoon into the homemade mac and cheese and plopping a heaping scoop onto his plate.
“Oh, don’t listen to Petey’s bullshit. He’s a childhood friend of ours,” Mickie said, grabbing a stiff paper plate and handing it to me as he laughed. “He’s also one of the best damn mechanics in the country if you ask me.”
“You hear that?” Petey said, eyeballing the potato salad as he grabbed a corn muffin. “She flatters me, loves me, and speaks highly of me, but she just won’t do the right thing and settle down with me.”
“Get your hot link and get out of here,” Mickie teased the man.
“Are there more where he comes from?” I questioned Mickie as I scanned the dozens of foil casserole dishes lined up on the large buffet area. I didn’t know what most of this shit was, and I had no idea what to get.
“What do you mean?” Mickie said, reaching for a deviled egg.
I thought it’d be best to follow her lead and get what she got to eat. I didn’t want to seem like an asshole, but I was a bit shy to eat mystery food prepared by random strangers. I know it sounded pretentious, but after getting a finger-licking good handshake, I didn’t trust the food. So, hate me if you want, but I was treading lightly in this department.
“What are you doing?” Mickie questioned after noticing I had one deviled egg, one rib, and a dinner roll, and I was mimicking her every move.
“I think it’s obvious,” I smiled at her. “I’m getting some food.”
“No, you’re getting what I’m getting,” she laughed with that mischievous look in her eye that told me she was about to challenge my ass.
She caught on.
“You can eat as much as Jimmy when you’re hungry; I’ve seen it. And don’t tell me you ate on the flight here unless your chef and personal flight attendant filled you up with airplane food on your way over.”
I set my plate down when I heard roaring laughter coming from everyone from the backyard; since they were all entertained, I took a moment to set the record straight with Mickie about the lifestyle changes that’d occurred since I’d been back.
“Listen, gorgeous?—”
“Don’t call me that,” she insisted.
“All right,” I smiled. “Listen, beautiful.”
“John?” she said, more irritated. “I’m not doing the cute pet names. Now, tell me why you’re eating like a bird.”
“Allow me to address your first false accusation so you understand the reason I’m not trying to be an asshole with my sudden fear of eating homemade food.”
She set her plate down and crossed her arms, “I’m all ears.”
