Los Angeles | 2009
Maggie's POV
My boy, my Bradley, had won. Certainly, he had done so many times before, but this was his first official match since we moved, and he had performed admirably. Somewhere down the line, I had grown accustomed to seeing him excel at every turn. This match was no different, and while the boy from the other team certainly caused him trouble, I never doubted he would overcome it.
Bradley was headstrong like that; he didn't require constant reassurance or external motivation to achieve what he wanted. I had decided early on that while I would love both my children equally, I would never coddle them. They must learn to navigate all that life has to offer. I will always stand by them, but never in their way—neither to overprotect nor to obstruct.
My philosophy was proven right with Bradley every step of the way. From his birth, he had been uniquely aware—call it a mother's hunch, but I could see it in his mannerisms. Bradley observed and then acted. It was a mature approach, and at times it worried me that he wasn't being enough of a child. Yet he would showcase his childish side too: getting upset over not being able to do something he deemed easy enough, losing in basketball, and most recently, his uncharacteristic outburst after the security detail incident.
His reaction that day had surprised me, and I, in turn, had reacted poorly. I had been caught off guard. Bradley had never once thrown a temper tantrum like that, and I had become defensive instead of seeking to understand what my son was going through. I regretted it the instant I left his room. Thankfully, we sorted it out. I refused to alienate my sweet boy simply because I was ill-prepared for the depth of his emotions.
"Mom, let's go! Brad won! Can we go for pizza now?" Erin asked, her eyes pleading. I bent down and cupped her face in my hands.
"Of course, honey. Let's go collect your brother and we'll leave."
We made our way down the bleachers to the bench where Bradley was packing his things.
"Congratulations, Brad. Another victory in the bag. I hope you had fun?"
"Of course, Mom," he said, a tired but triumphant grin on his face. "I had loads of fun. That Caleb kid was tough, but I just needed to outthink him. And I did."
As Bradley and I were talking, a familiar figure approached us, her expression a mixture of mild awkwardness and genuine appreciation. It was Alex Dunphy.
She walked up to Bradley, stopping a few feet away. "So," she began, crossing her arms. "I guess all that strategic talk wasn't just for show. You're not terrible at this."
"Thanks, Alex," my son said, a genuine smile on his face. "Glad you came."
"Hello, Alex," I said warmly. "It's lovely to see you again."
"Hi, Mrs. Naird. Hi, Erin," Alex replied, giving my daughter a small wave.
"Hi Alex", my daughter smiled back.
I watched the two of them, a thought solidifying in my mind. In the years since Bradley had started to form his own opinions, his list of friends had been incredibly short. But Alex was different. She was the first person he had ever invited to our home just to hang out, with no basketball involved. She was a friend he had chosen based on a connection of minds.
"Alex, I'm so grateful that Bradley has found a friend like you here," I said, my voice full of sincerity. "It means a lot to us that he's making such good connections."
Alex seemed a bit taken aback, a slight blush rising on her cheeks. "Oh, well, it's fine. He's... less annoying than my brother, so that's a plus."
I laughed at her backhanded compliment. "Well, we're all going out for celebratory pizza. We'd love for you to join us, if you'd like. You'll just have to call your parents and get their permission first."
She nods, pulls her phone from the hoodie pocket, and texts without commentary, fingers going at rapid speed. Alex's phone buzzes; she reads, sighs, then looks up. "My mom says she's picking up my brother from clarinet practice and it's fine as long as we don't go to Little Tony's. We got food poisoning there. She says it's a crime what they charge for breadsticks."
…
The warm, fragrant air of Sal's Pizzeria was a welcome comfort after the chilly gymnasium. We found a large booth in the corner. I watched as Erin immediately began arranging the sugar packets into a little fort, and Bradley slid in beside her, leaving the seat next to him open for Alex.
"So, besides being an academic powerhouse, what do you do to pass the time, Alex?" I asked, hoping to draw the quiet girl out of her shell.
Alex seemed a bit surprised by the direct question, but she answered thoughtfully. "Well, I have my cello lessons three times a week," she said. "And I volunteer at the library on Saturdays. Mostly, I just read." She then deftly turned the question back to me. "What about you, Mrs. Naird? Bradley said you worked for the Pentagon. Your new job here must be just as intense."
I smiled, impressed by her poise. "It is. I'm a financial consultant for aerospace contractors. It's mostly navigating spreadsheets and corporate regulations, but it's challenging. I enjoy it."
Our conversation was interrupted by the arrival of two large pizzas. One was a classic pepperoni; the other, our family's favorite, was loaded with mushrooms.
"I still can't believe you two actually enjoy fungus on your pizza," Bradley said with mock disgust, looking at Erin and me. "It's a culinary crime."
"Mushrooms are yummy!" Erin declared, reaching for a slice. "You're the weird one, Brad!"
"She's right, honey," I added, a playful twinkle in my eye. "It builds character. Maybe if you ate some, you'd grow another inch."
Bradley turned to Alex, feigning a desperate need for an ally. "Alex, please tell me you're on my side here."
She looked at the slice of mushroom pizza, then at him, her expression perfectly neutral. "From a biological standpoint, fungi are a fascinating and distinct kingdom of organisms. From a culinary perspective, their earthy flavor profile provides a unique textural and savory contrast to the acidity of the tomato and the richness of the cheese. I see no logical problem with it."
Bradley clutched his chest in mock agony. "Betrayed! By my own intellectual peer! The world has gone mad!" he declared dramatically.
I laughed, a warm, genuine sound. It was wonderful to see him like this, so carefree and engaged. Alex, to my surprise, let out a real laugh too, a bright, clear sound that lit up her whole face.
The rest of the dinner was filled with easy conversation. After we finished, we drove Alex home. When we pulled up to her house, she turned to us.
"Thanks for dinner, Mrs. Naird. And… this was fun," she said, looking at Bradley with a small, genuine smile.
"Anytime," he replied.
We watched her go inside before pulling away and driving the short distance to our own home. As we walked in, I saw Mark in the living room, the muted glow of the television flickering across his face as he watched the evening news. He looked up as we entered, his expression softening as he saw us.
"Rough day, honey?" I asked, walking over to the couch as the kids went to put their things away.
"Just the usual," Mark replied, turning the volume down. "Bureaucracy and budget meetings. How was the match?"
Just then, Bradley came bounding back into the room, his earlier exhaustion replaced by a fresh wave of victory-fueled energy. "It was awesome, Dad! Their center, this kid Caleb, was huge. They kept feeding him the ball, and he was dominating us in the first half. Coach told me to be more aggressive, so I started taking more outside shots to pull him away from the basket, and then..."
I smiled as I listened to Bradley give his father a full, play-by-play breakdown of the game. He didn't just talk about the points he scored; he detailed the strategies, the defensive adjustments, and the precise moment he realized how to outthink his opponent rather than overpower him.
Erin, not to be left out, ran in and jumped onto the sofa next to her father. "And then we won and we went for pizza! And Alex came! I like Alex, Dad. She agrees with me that mushrooms are good, so now we can both team up and bully Brad."
Mark let out a hearty chuckle, the stress of his day seeming to melt away. He pulled Erin into a one-armed hug and looked at Bradley with immense pride. "Sounds like you ran the whole show out there, son. Overcoming a bigger opponent with strategy… that's a sign of a real leader. I'm proud of you." He smiled. "I'll make sure my schedule is clear for the next one. I don't want to miss it."
Bradley beamed at his father's praise, a rare, unguarded look of pure happiness on his face. "Thanks, Dad."
"Alright, you two," I said, clapping my hands together, reluctant to break the moment but knowing that school nights waited for no one. "That's enough excitement for one day. It's been a long one, and you both have school in the morning. Go change and get ready for bed."
After a chorus of "goodnights," a hug from a still-bouncing Erin, and a quiet, thoughtful one from Bradley, I watched them head up the stairs. The house, which had been filled with the energy of the game and the chatter of dinner, finally settled into a peaceful quiet. The silence felt earned, comfortable.
I walked over to the wine fridge and pulled out a chilled bottle of Chardonnay we'd been saving, pouring two generous glasses. I handed one to Mark and settled onto the sofa next to him, tucking my feet underneath me and leaning my head against his shoulder. For a moment, we just sat there, listening to the low murmur of the news anchor on the television.
"So," I said, finally breaking the silence. "Tell me about the bureaucracy and the budget meetings. Was it as thrilling as it sounds?"
He let out a tired sigh, but a small smile played on his lips. "You don't want to hear about that. It's the same old story with a different PowerPoint presentation." He turned to me, his eyes soft in the dim light of the living room, and his voice was gentle. "Tell me more about the game. I want to hear it from you."
And so I did. I recounted the whole evening, from the nervous energy in the gym to the way Bradley's face lit up when Alex showed up. I described his focus, the intensity in his eyes that I'd seen since he was a baby, now channelled into something he loved. I told Mark about the backhanded compliments and the debate over mushroom pizza, and how, for the first time, I saw Bradley not just as my brilliant, serious son, but as a kid truly connecting with another kid.
He listened intently, a look of quiet pride on his face. We sat there for a long time, the television forgotten, just talking about our children, our new life, and everything in between. It was in these quiet moments, after the chaos of the day had settled, that I felt most at home, idly enjoying his company before we finally decided to head up to bed.