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It should not be unexpected to have someone else answering the door at Trent’s house. Not after all this time. True enough he’d had his fair share of flings while Trent remained rather reserved on that front. Michael was glad to see him getting back out there, if that was what he wanted. So he isn't shocked that it’s not Trent that answers the door when Michael rings to pick up Violet for her weekend visit. Trent can consort with whoever he pleases. Even Coach Ted Lasso of AFC Richmond, apparently.
Michael tries not to blink too hard at the apron covered in blue and orange polka dots the man has tied around himself, eyes gleaming and smiling his ubiquitous, ever-sunny smile while he stands on the opposite side of Trent’s door.
“Hello.” Michael tries not to outright laugh.
Trent’s completely and absolutely one hundred percent cracked, that much is sure.
“Hiya,” the man says. “You must be Michael. Good to meet ya, I’m Ted.”
Ted extends a hand, and Michael shakes it.
“Cheers,” he says, pinching his lips together tight, entirely delighted by the current state in front of him. Because of course he knows exactly who Ted Lasso is—who in all of London doesn’t know him by now?—and here he is in Trent’s house looking like his gran on Christmas.
Ted doesn’t miss a beat. “Well come on in. Trent and Violet are both upstairs packing her stuff. If I’m not mistaken, there was some sort of tutu emergency.”
“Oh. One of those,” Michael says sagely and steps in, past Ted Lasso in his spotted apron and into the narrow foyer.
Lasso shuts the door.
The apron has pockets. All good ones must, Michael suspects. He hasn’t thought about the functionality of a good apron since… ever, and yet here he is, standing in silence next to Ted Lasso who’s got his worrying hands shoved into the pockets of his.
There’s the distinct smell of something baking wafting in from the kitchen.
“Big plans this weekend with the kiddo?” says Lasso, smiling an unrelenting good-natured grin.
“We’re going to the aquarium,” he answers.
“Ah. Perfect occasion for a tutu, am I right?”
Michael is too chuffed by this whole experience to leave the man hanging. Not when he’s being a good enough sport to even entertain him right now.
Michael had made his own rule long ago about never introducing anyone to Violet or Trent for that matter. Nothing was ever serious enough to warrant the whole affair.
But this… this was a wondrous surprise to behold.
“Experience predicts she’ll want it for pajamas, not an outing,” he says.
“Yeah no that makes sense too. I personally prefer a Shakespearean ruff,” Ted gestures and everything. Michael smirks. “But, hey, to each their own. I’m only a performing arts minor, what do I know about best practice for theatrical dress while sleeping?”
At this, Michael outright grins. He looks Ted Lasso up and down. Even with the apron aside, a theatre minor absolutely makes sense.
Trent thunders down the stairs all of the sudden, hair up, glasses on, a tiny glittering pink backpack clutched in one tight fist.
“Take her, I beg you,” he says once he reaches the bottom, crowding up the tiny foyer completely now, shoving the backpack at Michael, who just chuckles under his breath.
The princess herself lingers behind, loitering on the stairs with her fingers stuck in her mouth.
At the sight of her other dad, she bounds down the last steps and wraps her arms around his waist.
He pets her hair. “Hello Pickle.”
“Dad,” she whimpers mournfully against his coat. “Dad, can we stay until Teddy’s Madeleines are ready? Please?”
The foyer swelters suddenly, the four of them crowded together, some odd little misfit band. Trent’s shoulders rise with the huge breath he’s holding in.
“‘Course you know I’m gonna save a whole dozen just for you, kiddo.” Lasso crouches down like a baseball catcher, showing off an impressive amount of flexibility. “They’ll be all done up in a pretty pink box for you on Sunday when you get back. Your Dad has lots of cool stuff planned. Y’all go have fun. The cookies will be here for ya when you get back, don’t you worry about that.”
“Biscuits,” Violet corrects importantly.
“Right, right, you’re right, biscuits.” Lasso crosses his eyes, circles his index finger around his temple. “Silly me, I keep forgetting.”
Violet grins, just a small one. She is satisfied enough to follow both her parents out the door and to Trent’s car to transfer over the car seat.
Ted Lasso stands in the doorway and waves them off. Speckled apron, smile, and all.
Michael sends one last jovial wave before he turns to Trent who’s struggling with leaning through the driver’s side door of his Mercedes to pull the manual lock on the back door.
Michael leans coolly against the quarter panel and watches Violet singing to herself and admiring a neighbor’s flower boxes just in front of them, poking at the peonies.
“Why you insist on this hassle of a vehicle, I’ll never understand.”
Trent emerges, wild haired and harried and takes a breath.
“Oh.” He frowns with mock curiosity. “You don’t think it’s cool anymore?” he says gamely, then ducks back down to start unbuckling everything.
Michael snorts and shakes his head.
“The lock’s been out of sorts ever since Richmond’s assistant coach wrenched it open with a coat hanger,” Trent goes on, muffled as he works.
Michael’s eyebrows raise. “To steal it?” he asks with skepticism, maybe a bit of hope.
“To rescue my keys,” says Trent.
Michael tilts his head skywards and bites back a laugh just in time.
Trent gets the thing free and drags it out.
He catches Michael’s eye. His teasing, knowing gaze that Michael doesn’t even think is particularly strong. Still, it works with minimal effort when you’ve known a person half their lives.
“Fuck off,” he says, breezing past and opening the door to Michael’s much newer, much more practical and reliable car that has never been jimmied with a coat hanger.
“No no no, darling.” Michael teases, grinning at Trent’s back. “Fuck him . I think you should. I mean. Wow. That apron, now that is… that is something.”
“Violet!” Trent calls.
Michael leans against the door frame. “Do you know, I think you just might get breakfast out of it,” he says.
Trent takes a beat. “I intend to,” he says stonily, then helps Violet into the car. Through the whole process, she doesn’t stop her singing. Trent keeps his head down now, tugging deliberately at the belts and buckles.
“No snacks after dinner,” Trent says. “And don’t forget to brush your teeth before bed.”
“Daddy, do not forget to feed Meghan,” Violet says, in a matching tone that makes Michael smile all over again. Someone mimicking Trent’s constant pestering with requests so silly. “And give her a kiss on her head before she goes to sleep.”
Trent looks frayed, a rare sight. He’s usually quite good at hiding it, seeing past anything that ruffles him to the truth of things. Michael almost thinks he won’t be able to manage it this time, but then hr sees that look. The look Trent gets when he knows he’s got a good story. A good lead. He puts on a kind, fatherly smile and catches Violet’s hand.
“Of course I will, darling. I love you very much. Have fun at Lego Land.”
Violet’s face alights.
“Wait, what, Lego Land?” Michael sputters.
“Bye, sweetheart.” Trent shuts Violet’s door.
“You prick!” Michael shouts, there beside him on the pavement.
“See you Sunday,” says Trent, tucks his hands casually into his pockets and turns for his doorstep.
Michael gets in, pulls the car out of its spot. On the doorstep as they pass, Lasso has a hand on Trent’s shoulder, looking at him fondly, moustache curved with a big goofy grin. Trent the one waving now, with a triumphant enthusiasm. He catches Michael’s eye through the window and flips the bird.