Los Angeles | 2009
Bradley's POV
It's been over a month since I met Jay, Phil, and Claire. After settling into the house over the first few days of December, Christmas was right at hand. We packed up again and flew to my maternal grandparents' place in Chicago. Mom was ecstatic to be with her parents for the holidays, and the warmth of a big family affair was a welcome change. I enjoyed it too, getting caught up in snowball fights with my cousins and exploring a city that felt a world away from our new life in L.A.
I spent days roaming the city streets with my cousins, the biting winter wind a stark contrast to the California sun I was getting used to. We walked the Magnificent Mile, took pictures in front of the Cloud Gate sculpture—the "Bean"—in Millennium Park, and ate deep-dish pizza that was worth every second of the wait. On one of those days, we found a local park where the basketball court had been cleared of most of the snow. The game here was different—more physical, less about structured plays and more about raw talent and grit. I wasn't the strongest or fastest kid there, but I used my head. My "Master Strategist" talent wasn't just for organized games; it helped me see the angles, to deliver a no-look pass to an open player, to be in the right place for a rebound. I earned a grudging respect from the local kids not with athleticism, but with court vision.
But the absolute highlight of the trip for me was visiting the United Center. Dad managed to get us a full tour. The moment I saw the iconic Michael Jordan statue, "The Spirit," outside the arena, I felt a sense of reverence. Inside, the building was a cathedral of basketball. As we walked through the empty concourse, my eyes were glued to the rafters, where the six championship banners from the 90s hung like sacred texts. They were a crown to a dynasty, to greatness.
Stepping out into the arena itself and seeing the iconic bull logo at center court sent a shiver down my spine. I stood on the sideline, imagining the roar of the crowd, the squeak of sneakers on the hardwood, the sheer force of will that it took to win here. Even though the Bulls of '08 weren't the Bulls of the 90s, this was still the home of that legendary team. It was hallowed ground. This visit wasn't just a tour; it was a pilgrimage. It made my dream feel real, tangible, and achievable.
After a week of family, food, and basketball history, it was time to head back. Landing in L.A. and feeling the warm January sun on my face as we drove back to our new house felt like coming home. My resolve had never been stronger.
Tonight, we were going to have dinner with Jay's whole family, and I was excited to finally meet the full Dunphy and Pritchett crews. I chose a simple but solid attire, aiming for a look that was sharp but not trying too hard: a tailored yellow-and-black plaid shirt with the sleeves carefully rolled to the forearm, paired with slim-fit navy chinos. I styled my hair into a kind of controlled chaos, messy on top but with the front sharp and defined, just as Dad always dictated it should be.
I went over to my desk, opening a velvet-lined drawer to reveal my small collection of five watches—all chronographs, of course. There was a bold, black-faced sports model, a classic gold-plated dress watch, a minimalist piece with a clean white dial, and two versatile silver-dialed options. For tonight, I chose one of the silver ones, its subdials catching the light, and swapped its steel bracelet for a classic brown leather strap. I was ready.
I headed downstairs to find Dad already waiting in the living room, reading a newspaper. He was dressed in a perfectly tailored charcoal suit, foregoing a tie for an open-collared white shirt—a look that was relaxed but still commanded authority. He folded the paper as I approached.
"Looking sharp, son," he said, his eyes giving my outfit a quick, approving inspection.
"You too, Dad," I replied.
He gestured to the chair opposite him. "Ready for tonight? This dinner is a good chance to get to know some kids your age before you start school on Monday." He paused, his expression turning more serious. "Your mother and I... we noticed you kept to yourself in Washington, outside of your sister and your cousins. We worry."
I met his gaze, understanding the concern behind his words. "I know," I said honestly. "Washington was... different. This is a fresh start. I plan on making the most of it."
A hint of a smile returned to his face. "Good man."
Just then, Mom and Erin came down the stairs. Mom was the picture of elegance in a simple but stunning emerald sheath dress that complemented her dark hair perfectly. Erin, holding her hand, looked adorable in a light blue dress with a white sash tied in a bow at the back.
"Alright, gentlemen, are we ready?" Mom asked. "We don't want to be late."
We all headed for the door. As Dad opened it, two men in discreet black suits who had been standing by the entrance immediately moved to follow us. Dad held up a hand.
"Not tonight, Soldier," he said, his voice calm but firm. "It's family night. We're just going across the street. Stand down, take a break."
The men nodded without a word and stepped back, melting into the shadows. We stepped out into the warm L.A. evening, the sound of laughter already audible from the Pritchett house across the street.
I walked forward and rang the bell. Within moments, the gate was opened by Jay, who was looking over his shoulder as he shouted back into the house.
"Gloria, for the love of—they're here! How much longer are you going to take?"
He turned to me, his flustered expression softening into a look of approval. "Well, look at you, sport. Nice to see a kid who knows how to dress. I thought you were all about sneakers and ripped jeans these days."
"I guess I'm just an old soul, sir," I replied with a warm smile.
"Tell me about it," Jay said, a hint of disappointment in his voice. He motioned for us to come in as he greeted my parents. "Mark, welcome. And Maggie," he said, his eyes lighting up, "you look absolutely stunning."
Dad just nodded and made his way towards the living room, while Mom took in the grand entryway. "Thank you, Jay, it's so nice of you to have us. Your home is just wonderful."
"It's like our house," Erin piped up, looking around with wide eyes.
Just as Jay chuckled at Erin's comment, a whirlwind of vibrant colour and energy descended the main staircase. It was Gloria, looking breathtaking in a form-fitting sapphire blue dress that shimmered under the lights. Her smile was dazzling, and her voice was a rich, musical melody.
"Ay, finally! You must be the famous General and his beautiful family!" she exclaimed, her Colombian accent thick and warm as she enveloped my mother in a hug. "Welcome, welcome to our home! Jay, why are you keeping them standing in the doorway? Come in, come in!"
Trailing just behind her was a young boy dressed in a sharp little blazer and a fedora, looking like a miniature gentleman. This had to be Manny.
Gloria guided my parents further into the living room as Manny walked directly up to me, his eyes zeroing in on my wrist with a serious, appraising look.
"That is a fine timepiece," he said, his voice as formal as his attire. "A classic chronograph, is it not? It seems you are a man of taste."
I glanced down at my watch and then back at the impeccably dressed boy in front of me.
"It is," I replied, a slow smile spreading across my face. "Good eye. You clearly appreciate quality."
Manny gave a single, satisfied nod, as if confirming a deeply held suspicion. "Indeed. A proper watch tells more than the time; it tells the story of the man wearing it. Hi, my name is Manuel Alberto Javier Alejandro Ramirez Delgado, but you can call me Manny."
"Nice to meet you, Manny. My name is Bradley Mark Naird, and you can call me Brad," I introduced myself while extending a handshake, which he promptly shook.
"So, you recently shifted into the house across the street, right? Your Dad's a General, that must be cool?" he asked with curiosity in his voice.
"Yeah, we moved about a month ago, and Dad being promoted to General was a dream come true for him. Besides, it brought us to L.A., so I can't complain," I replied. "We're starting at Northwood on Monday."
Manny's eyes lit up. "Ah, a new campaign begins! I shall be joining you there in the spring. I hope you are prepared. The social battlefield of junior high is not for the faint of heart. Alliances are forged and broken in the cafeteria line."
I couldn't help but laugh. "I'll try to remember that. Maybe you can give me some strategic advice before you get there."
"Of course," he said with the utmost seriousness. "A good man is always prepared."
Just then, the doorbell rang again, and this time a wave of controlled chaos swept into the entryway. It was the Dunphys.
"We're here!" Phil announced, bursting in with a tray of what looked like homemade dip. "Hope we're not late! Traffic was a bear, but I used a new route I learned from my GPS—Phil-Nav as I call it—shaved a whole three minutes off our time!"
"He almost shaved a whole bumper off a Prius," Claire added dryly, walking in behind him. She was followed by their three children: a pretty, dark-haired girl who looked to be in her mid-teens; a younger, sharp-eyed girl who was already scanning the room; and a boy about Manny's age with a slightly vacant but friendly expression.
"Hello, everyone!" a new voice called out as another couple entered. One was a redhead with a slightly more formal, anxious energy, and the other was a larger man with a vibrant, patterned shirt and a beaming smile.
"Sorry we're late," the redhead, who I knew was Mitchell, said with a sigh. "Cam insisted on bringing a homemade crème brûlée, and there was a… spirited debate about the proper travel container."
"It needed to be transported with dignity, Mitchell! It's a delicate dessert, not a casserole!" the other man, Cameron, added with a proud flourish.
Jay clapped his hands together. "Alright, now that the whole circus is here, let's get the introductions out of the way." He gestured towards my family. "Everyone, this is my new neighbour, General Mark Naird, his wife Maggie, and their kids, Bradley and Erin."
Phil's eyes landed on me. "Brad! This is my crew. This is my oldest, Haley." The teenage girl gave a small, cool wave, her attention already on her phone. "This is Alex." The sharp-eyed girl adjusted her glasses and gave me a curt nod. "And this is my son, Luke." The younger boy gave me a goofy grin and said, "Hey."
I nodded back at them. "Nice to meet you." It was surreal, seeing the entire Dunphy sibling dynamic playing out exactly as I remembered.
Claire then gently guided Alex forward. "Alex, this is Bradley. He's going to be in your year at school. I expect you to help him out on Monday, okay?"
Alex looked me up and down, her expression analytical. "Fine," she said, as if accepting a difficult assignment. "But I'm not sharing my notes from last semester."
A small smile touched my lips. I could see the gears turning in her head, classifying me as just another kid, probably a jock, who would eventually ask to copy her work. Time to correct that assumption.
"Don't worry," I said, my tone light and just a little dry. "I'm already caught up with the curriculum, but I appreciate the very generous offer."
Alex's eyes narrowed slightly, catching the sarcasm.
I pressed on, leaning in just a bit. "Did you get the advanced summer assignment for Mr. Harrison's math class done yet? The one on algebraic equations? And for history, I was a little stuck on the prompt about the pre-war colonial governments. I was arguing that the Albany Plan was more influential on the Articles of Confederation than most historians give it credit for, but it's a tough case to make. What was your take?"
Her entire demeanour shifted. The guarded, dismissive look on her face was replaced by one of genuine surprise, and then a flicker of intrigued respect. She had pegged me as a simple problem, but I had just turned into a complex equation.
"You're actually serious," she stated, her tone shifting from confrontational to curious. "Most guys who play basketball can barely spell 'government,' let alone debate the Albany Plan."
"I like to be prepared," I said with a shrug. "Being a point guard is all about strategy. You have to see the whole court, know the plays, and anticipate the next move. It's not that different from reading a history book, really."
A thoughtful silence settled between us for a moment.
"So, you read?" she asked, a new level of interest in her voice.
"All the time," I replied. "Anything and everything. Lately, it's been a lot of historical non-fictions."
"Have you read Howard Zinn's work?" she countered, testing me.
"A People's History?" I asked. "Read it two years ago. It's a great perspective, but I think he oversimplifies some economic factors."
A genuine, small smile finally broke through on her face. "Okay," she said, giving a single, decisive nod. "Maybe this won't be so bad."
"No, I don't think it will," I replied with a genuine smile on my face. I was beginning to like my new life more than I had expected.
As I gazed around the room, I saw my family happily mingling with everyone. Mom was engaged in a conversation with Claire, Gloria, and Cam; I could see the slightly strained, appraising looks Claire was sending Gloria. It would seem she still hadn't quite processed her father's whirlwind romance and was trying to figure out where this vibrant, larger-than-life woman fit into their family.
Nearby, my Dad, Jay, Phil, and Mitchell were deep in conversation. With the Presidential Inauguration just a couple of weeks away, their talk was centred on the incoming administration, the economy, and what it all meant for the country.