Four to Score

'This is a Thunders baseball jersey,' I told her. 'I'm supporting local sports.'

My Grandma Mazur peeked from behind my mother. Grandma Mazur moved in with my parents shortly after my grandfather went heavenward to dine with Elvis. Grandma figures she's of an age to be beyond convention. My father thinks she's of an age to be beyond life.

'I need one of those jerseys,' Grandma said. 'Bet I'd have men following me down the block if I was dressed up like that.'

'Stiva, the undertaker,' my father murmured from the living room, head buried in the paper. 'With his tape measure.'

Grandma linked her arm in mine. 'I've got a treat for you today. Just wait till you see what I've cooked up.'

In the living room the paper was lowered, and my father's eyebrows raised.

My mother made the sign of the cross.

'Maybe you should tell me,' I said to Grandma.

'I was gonna keep it as a surprise, but I suppose I could let you in on it. Being that he'll be here any minute now.'

There was dead silence in the house.

'I invited your boyfriend over for dinner,' Grandma said.

'I don't have a boyfriend!'

'Well, you do now. I arranged everything.'

I spun on my heel and headed for the door. 'I'm leaving.'

'You can't do that!' Grandma yelled. 'He'll be real disappointed. We had a nice long talk. And he said he didn't mind that you shoot people for a living.'

'I don't shoot people for a living. I almost never shoot people.' I thunked my head against the wall. 'I hate fix-ups. Fix-ups are always awful.'

'Can't be any more awful than that bozo you married,' Grandma said. 'Only one way to go after that fiasco.'

She was right. My short-lived marriage had been a fiasco.

There was a knock on the door, and we swiveled our heads to look down the hall.

'Eddie Kuntz!' I gasped.

'Yep,' Grandma said. 'That's his name. He called up here looking for you, and so I invited him to dinner.'

'Hey,' Eddie said through the screen.

He was wearing a gray short-sleeved shirt open halfway down his chest, pleated slacks and Gucci loafers, no socks. He had a bottle of red wine in his hand.

'Hello,' we said in unison.

'Can I come in?'

'Sure you can come in,' Grandma said. 'I guess we don't leave handsome men standing at the door.'

He handed the wine to Grandma and winked. 'Here you go, cutie.'

Grandma giggled. 'Aren't you the one.'

'I almost never shoot people,' I said. 'Almost never.'

'Me too,' he said. 'I hate unnecessary violence.'

I took a step backward. 'Excuse me. I need to help in the kitchen.'

My mother hurried after me. 'Don't even think about it!'

'What?'

'You know what. You were going to sneak out the back door.'

'He's not my type.'

My mother started filling serving dishes with food from the stove. Mashed potatoes, green beans, red cabbage. 'What's wrong with him?'

'He's got too many buttons open on his shirt.'

'He could turn out to be a nice person,' my mother said. 'You should give him a chance. What would it take? And what about supper? I have this nice chicken that will go to waste. What will you eat for supper if you don't eat here?'

'He called Grandma cutie!'

My mother had been slicing up the chicken. She took a drumstick and dropped it on the floor. She kicked it around a little, picked it up and put it on the edge of the plate. 'There,' she said, 'we'll give him this drumstick.'

'Deal.'

'And I have banana cream pie for desert,' she added to seal the bargain. 'So you want to make sure you stay