Chapter Text
Henry latches on to his dad’s t-shirt, hiding his face behind Ted’s back. Henry met Rebecca briefly two years prior when he and his mother came out to visit his father at Nelson Road. Other than a brief time before the football match, all that Henry remembers about his dad’s boss was that she was tall. Of course, he was smaller then. Two years smaller.
“Coach Lasso, a sight for sore eyes,” Deborah says, opening the door after hearing a melodic knock on the door to her daughter’s house.
“Ms. Welton,” Ted responds, voice getting caught in his mouth, not expecting Rebecca's mother to open the door.
“Ted,” Deborah looks at the gaffer with amusement. “Now, I thought we were done with such formalities.” She mildly chastises the grown man while the mini version of the gaffer slowly moves from behind his father's back.
“My apologies, Deborah.” Ted shifts his eyes from his boss’s mother to his trainers.
Deborah can't help but chuckle. The animated gaffer surely wears his nationality on his sleeve. Emoting equally excitement, anxiety, and nerves without abandon. How un-English can he be? After relishing in the awkward silence, she acknowledges his correction.
“Much better, Ted.” After taking another sip of her Sunday cocktail she continues. “Going on nearly two years in Richmond, Ted, we're practically family.” Before Ted can process her comment Deborah goes on, “And who, pray tell, is this younger member of the family?”
“Henry Lasso,” the younger Lasso loses any semblance of timidness and stretches out his hand across the threshold of the door, just as his dad had taught him from an early age. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”
“It is certainly a delight to meet you, Henry.” Deborah shakes the young Lasso’s hand in delight. As a parent herself, she acknowledges the small gesture by the young lad is the sum of such love and caring on the part of the tongue-tied gaffer. “And I am in the lovely presence of not one but two Lassos this Sunday morning because?”
“My apologies, Deborah. Rebecca said that she had a makeshift football goal that Henry and I could make use of out on the Richmond Green during his stay here.” Ted says with one hand nervously in the hand of his khaki pocket and the other steady on Henry’s shoulder. “I texted her last night as I was thinking of things that Henry and I could get up to during the two weeks he’s out visitn’ with me.”
“She told me this morning.” Deborah winks at Ted.
“I apologize,” Ted stutters. “I didn’t mean to intrude on quality mother-daughter time.” Ted tries to think back to the text he sent last night to his boss and her reply. He didn’t remember a timeline or any conflicting scheduling. In fact, the message said he was welcome anytime at her place.
“Oh, Ted.” Deborah chuckles. “Me coming over to my daughter’s house on Sunday morning unannounced is such a pattern that you think she would have it as a standing appointment.”
“Noted,” Ted says with a sly grin. Women of all ages are dark, mysterious, and intriguing. He keeps that last bit to himself.
“Please come in.” Deborah opens the door wider and ushers father and son inside the entryway. “Ted, you can make your way to the garden. I believe Rebecca is out in the garden shed trying to make heads or tails of its contents. I imagine you know the way out to the garden.”
How many cocktails has Deborah had this morning? Ted thinks to himself. Or is he the one that is overthinking his boss’ mother’s comments as hiding some double entendre? He shakes his head and decides to make way towards the garden when he realizes he has an extra weight on his leg. Henry has exasperated his confidence and good manners and is again attached to his leg.
“Hen, you ok there?” Ted brushes the top of his son’s floppy hair with his hand. “I’m going to go out back and help Rebecca. You can stay inside and keep Ms. Welton,” a sound of Deborah clearing her throat further on in the kitchen helps correct the older Lasso. “Keep Deborah company, while Rebecca and I find that soccer, I mean football goal.”
“Ok, Dad.”
Henry loosens his grip on his father and is still nervous about the general atmosphere, a new country, different accents, his dad’s boss’ house, and her mother. His eyes dart to the wall rather than following his father’s footsteps or on forward into the house where Deborah waits for the younger Lasso in the kitchen.
Henry’s expression lightens as he spies a toy of his own in his dad’s boss’ house. His green army man. Within eyesight of the younger Lasso on the windowsill. He smiles big there alone in Rebecca’s entryway. Takes in the site of the green army man. Again, his green army man. He looks carefully to see which particular army man it is. Gun pointed at any intruder. He then looks in the direction the gun is facing. Towards the door. His smile is even bigger now, Henry walks with confidence and purpose into the rest of Rebecca’s house.
Deborah’s attention is directed out the kitchen window, looking at her daughter and the gaffer bantering back and forth trying to navigate the contents of the garden shed and each other. She hears tiny footsteps and turns to see a smiling little Lasso at the kitchen island. Henry’s smile is infectious. She can’t help but smile in return.
“Henry, you are just a roller coaster of emotion, aren’t you?” Deborah says.
“I’m not sure what you mean by that, Ms. Welton. Um. I mean Deborah.” Henry puts his hands in the pockets of his joggers, a classic Lasso move. His smile and the warmth in his cheeks do not retreat, however.
“Your confidence and smile are unwavering, Henry,” Deborah responds after another sip of her cocktail. “Just minutes ago, you were shy and uncertain, clinging to your father. Do tell, young Lasso, what’s with the quick change of emotion?” Deborah inquires while sitting on the kitchen counter stool with her chin resting in her hands, attention solely focused on the young American.
Henry shrugs his shoulders, but his heightened smile deceives his body language.
“Henry Lasso,” Deborah responds, not taking eye contact off the young man.
The use of his first and last name brings Henry to attention, and he is excited about his new knowledge and wants to share it.
“Okay.” He lets out in an exasperated fashion and takes his hands out of his pockets and pulls a kitchen stool out opposite Deborah and pulls himself up.
Deborah’s eyebrows arch. The young Lasso is adorable.
“I think I was intimidated by my dad’s boss,” Henry lets out quietly. “I mean, Rebecca. Um, I guess your daughter.”
Deborah smiles. “She can be intimidating.”
“I guess the last time my ma and I came to visit Dad, I just saw her briefly and she was just so tall.” Henry is embarrassed of his younger self and his impression from two years ago.
“She is tall,” Deborah responds. “Has my daughter shrunk within the time it took you to walk from the doorway into the kitchen?” Deborah is dramatic about turning her head to look out the kitchen window to find sight of her daughter.
“No, silly,” Henry responds. “It’s just I spotted something on the way from the doorway to the kitchen.”
“Do tell.” Deborah is now honestly intrigued and drags her attention from the kitchen window, where she can see her daughter and the gaffer in full conversation and laughter out in the garden.
“You can’t tell anyone, though,” Henry responds.
Deborah’s interest is clearly raised. She thinks of her daughter’s spartan, minimalist decorating habits in her new abode and can think of nothing that would have grabbed the young Lasso’s attention so much to change a whole view of her daughter in that short span.
“Mum’s the word,” Deborah responds.
Henry climbs down his stool and walks around to the other side of the kitchen island and reaches for Deborah’s hand.
“Come. I’ll show you.” Henry grabs Deborah’s fingers and pulls her in the direction of the front doorway. He pulls her to the window of Rebecca’s entryway and lets go of Deborah’s hand. “See, there.” Henry points to the window.
“Henry, it is a beautiful window and an equally beautiful plant sitting on the windowsill,” Deborah responds, not wanting to offend the young Lasso but also not seeing what caused a great transformation in character view by the young Lasso.
“No, silly.” He takes Deborah’s hand again and points to the little green army man on the side of the plant vase and points in the direction of the front door. “There.”
Deborah’s eyes widen. How long had the little green army man been there? How many times had she let herself into her daughter’s house without stopping to take in the little bit of extra armor and protection Rebecca set within sight of the doorway?
“That’s my little green army man.” Henry’s voice brings Deborah out of her introspective thought pattern. “I sent my dad a box of goodies when he first got here to protect him and let him know I loved him.”
Deborah, a loss for words, almost tearing up, just squeezes the young Lasso’s hand.
Henry takes that as an okay to continue. “I think my dad might have given one of the green army men to Rebecca to protect her.”
Deborah’s breath hitches. Her heart swells.
Henry looks up at her now seeking acknowledgment. “Do you think so?”
Deborah looks down at Henry, “I think he did just that.”
“And I gave my dad the green army man to protect my dad, so I think I may have been protecting Rebecca, too.” He continues, with a little less confidence. “Do you think?”
“I think so,” Deborah assures him. “I think so, Henry.”
Henry responds with a big smile and heads back into the kitchen with a swell of confidence.
Deborah now alone in the entryway tries to gather her emotions together, looking at the little green army man that must have been sitting protecting her daughter for more than two years, camouflaged with the dark vase. How a little American kid can knock Deborah off her feet, she did not know. The screech of a kitchen stool on the tile floor brings her back to the present.
“Henry, what can I offer you to drink?” Deborah asks while heading back into the kitchen. “I think my daughter and your father are going to be a while. Let’s bring our drinks to the sitting room.”
“Sitting room?” Henry crinkles his nose. “That sounds funny.”
“I think in America, you call it a living room,” Deborah responds. “Drink, young Lasso?”
“Can I have orange juice?”
“Most definitely, Sir Lasso,” Deborah responds playfully. Protecting her daughter from unwanted enemies for more than two years, she should indeed grant the little Lasso the Sir title. “I will meet you in the sitting room.” She waves him towards the connecting room further on in the house.
Henry climbs down from the stool and makes his way deeper into Rebecca’s house. The sitting room is filled with furniture that he is familiar with. Sofas, armchairs, ottomans, and rugs fill the room. He does not spot a tv, but his eyes are caught by the floor-to-ceiling bookcase on one wall. His curiosity pulls him to browse the titles of the books and his eyes narrow to a set of thin short books. The book titles look familiar. He looked behind him before edging out the book that looked familiar, feeling like he might be nosing about where he shouldn’t be. But it’s a book that he is familiar with, how could he not investigate further.
“Your juice, Sir Lasso,” Deborah says as walking into the sitting room.
The young Lasso feels like he has been caught red-handed and puts the book of interest behind his back along with his other hand.
“Yes, ma’am,” Henry responds quickly, defensively. “I mean Ms. Deborah. Um. I mean Deborah. Thank you.” The young Lasso still stands in front of the bookcase, at a loss for what his next move should be.
“Henry, did you spot a book to your liking on the bookcase?” Deborah asks with a raised eyebrow as she sits on one end of the sofa, setting down her Sunday morning cocktail.
“Okay,” the now-common young Lasso refrain gushes out in great dramatic fashion.
Deborah chuckles at the theatrical reply from the gaffer’s son. “Again, do tell.”
Henry moves to the sofa, opposite side of Deborah, where she set his juice down on the side table. He puts the small book down on the sofa in between the two of them and tucks his legs underneath him in a cross-legged fashion and reaches for the juice.
“May I?” Deborah asks the young lad’s permission to pick up his literary curiosity.
Henry’s white gap-toothed smile shines bright with Deborah’s question. Sitting in the ‘sitting room’ of an immaculate house in a foreign country and he, a wee nine-year-old, was being asked permission to open his book of interest.
“Yes, please,” Henry responds and follows with a big gulp of orange juice and loud exhalation in response. A young man with manners, only to a certain extent.
Deborah, amused by it all, takes the book from the sofa and eyes the cover with great nostalgia. The book no longer had a dust cover, and the binding is worn from age and use on A.A. Milne’s When We Were Very Young. A young Christopher Robin etched in gold on the red cover with a teddy bear in hand. The teddy bear of course being, THE bear, Winnie the Pooh. Deborah’s thoughts went to happier, more innocent times, remembering little Rebecca sitting on her father’s lap as he would read from books that he had as a child, from this book she was now holding.
“Are you familiar with A.A. Milne?” Deborah asks Henry.
“I’m not sure who that is,” Henry responds. He points to the book Deborah is holding, “But I have read that book with my dad. In fact, our book looks exactly like that one. I think it was his dad’s or something like that.”
“This copy is Rebecca’s father’s copy that he received from his father.”
“Cool,” Henry responds as little nine-year-olds do when given information that they think should be important but aren’t quite sure how to respond.
“What is your favorite poem?” Deborah asks, pointing to the little faded red book.
“Well, I don’t remember all of them. I think the book is somewhere in our house now, but I think I might have thought it was a baby book so have not opened it in a long time.” Henry responds but seriously thinks that he might re-visit the book when he gets home to Kansas. Rebecca, who he has been protecting via a little green army man for over two years, has the same book. And Rebecca is certainly not a baby. She is tall, which young Henry might be someday just like his father. And she is her dad’s boss.
“What do you remember?” Deborah asks and tucks her own legs under herself, signaling she has all the time in the world to listen to the young Lasso’s recent childhood memories of Christopher Robin and friends.
“I remember something about Buckingham Palace.” Henry finishes off his orange juice and smacks his lips.
“Do tell.” Deborah is so taken with the young American.
“Something like, They’re changing guard at Buckingham Palace. Christopher Robin went down with Alice.” Henry had his tongue out and eyes looking up to the ornate ceiling, trying to dredge the memory of his young mind.
“Word for word,” Deborah praises Henry from the other side of the sofa. “That is quite impressive, Henry.”
“Oh, well,” Henry’s cheeks turn pink. “I can’t remember more just now. But I always remember that part, because I would say that out loud as my dad was reading.”
“As did Rebecca, when her father would read the book to her as a young girl.” Deborah replies. “You know, Henry, the author A.A. Milne, he lived not more than an hour or two from here when he wrote that poem. I think it’s called Crotchford Farm in Sussex.”
“Hmm.” Henry responds with a feeling that the information that he is being given is important but again has no real grasp on how he should respond.
“That means the very woods that Christopher Robin, Winnie the Pooh, and all his friends were traipsing in woods not far from here.”
“Now, that is pretty cool,” Henry responds.
“High praise of A.A. Milne, indeed,” Deborah says aloud, more to herself she imagines than her young companion whose interest in British literature of the early 20th century has quickly faded.
__________
Half of Rebecca’s garden shed lies outside the shed. The small makeshift football goal is not located, yet.
“Ted, remind me why you need a child-size make-shift football goal for Henry when you have a Premier League training facility a block from your flat and of which you have the keys,” Rebecca says behind her shoulder as she is knee deep in a mix of garden tools and past charity auction items. Ted stands outside the shed trying to arrange in some sort of fashion the items that are intermittently being handed or thrown his way. “Do I not pay you enough, Coach Lasso? Is this a sly negotiating tactic?”
She appears from the bowels of the shed taking in the neatly stacked piles of contents of her not-so-neatly packed shed in her garden surrounding her shed. She tries to maintain a stern boss-like disposition following her last comment, but her heart melts looking at her damn gaffer coming up from one of the well-organized piles of shed contents.
“Ah, boss. Just don’t want to overwhelm Henry with the professional grounds of a Premier League, or former Premier League,” Ted looks down at his feet and puts his hands in his pockets. “Sorry about that, Boss.” He looks up at Rebecca with his big brown eyes with a mix of emotion thinking of the recent relegation of AFC Richmond down from Premier League to Championship League.
“Coach Lasso, I played the biggest part in that shift.” Rebecca leans against the outside wall of the shed, wiping her brow, suffering from the unusually hot June temperatures.
“So, it’s not any cooler in the bowels of the shed than it is out here?” Ted uses his skills to distract from any anxiety that his boss might summon.
“Fuck no. It’s hot as hell back there.” Rebecca is distracted from any guilty thoughts by the current weather conditions.
Ted smiles. Why his boss’ profanity is a slight turn-on, he does not know. He could explore that further with Doc in his next therapy session, or maybe he will just keep that secret fixation to himself.
“Boss, lemme give the search a good American try.” He brushes against Rebecca, gives her an eyebrow wag, and makes his way to the half-empty shed.
“Is this now a war of nations, Coach Lasso?” Rebecca responds with a small laugh.
“I see it more as a coming together of nations,” Ted’s sudden appearance out the shed door gives Rebecca’s heart a pounding. “A treaty of sorts,” Ted continues as he enters back into the shed.
“A treaty?” Rebecca directs her comment inside the shed and spots her gaffer trying to make sense of her organizational style, or lack thereof. “And what is the name of this said trans-national treaty?”
She hopes her question will distract Ted from the chaos that is her shed. Her house and office and just about everything in her life is immaculate and well organized (well perhaps not her love life) but this damn garden shed reflected her emotions immediately after leaving Rupert. Her life with Rupert was one of club owner's wife. Wife of, as if she were Rupert’s property. Organizing fundraisers and trying to fit into a box that she never seemed to fit into well. She felt she was too much or not enough. Too opinionated. Too tall. Not dainty enough. Not deferring to her husband enough.
She retreats outside of the shed and just gives her gaffer space to find that damn football goal that she knows must be in there somewhere.
“The Great Morbi Treaty of 2022,” Rebecca hears Ted’s voice, “was primarily facilitated by one powerful Rebecca Welton and her doting cross-pond associate, Ted Lasso.” Ted emerges with the child-size white PCV pipes and orange net that make up the football goal.
“First,” Rebecca responds, “Morbi? Really, Ted? Latin? I’m impressed. But really you couldn’t go with either football or soccer?”
“Latin, a meeting of nations. Neither their own language nor terminology.” Ted smiles innocently.
“Nor a language that either nation or any nation proficiently comprehends or speaks,” Rebecca arches her eyebrow.
“This Treaty can not be taken lightly,” Ted shrugs his shoulders.
“Second,” Rebecca refuses to acknowledge defeat. “Doting associate? I don’t think any treaty can be a dependable one if one of the parties is identified as ‘doting.’”
“I just read the press release as it is stated. Stating facts ma’am.” Ted smiles his goofy smile and starts to take the contents of the furthest stack back to the inner bowels of the shed.
“You are something, Coach Lasso,” Rebecca replies. “And what are you doing helping to re-populate my garden shed?”
“I’m not sure about re-populatin’,” Ted responds with a smirk. “That sounds kind of risqué. But the terms of the Treaty of 2022 indicate that contents in the Welton garden shed should be placed back, I mean re-organized, by end of June 26, 2022.”
“Noted,” Rebecca responds and begins to take from the piles and hand the items to her gaffer inside the garden shed. “Are you not concerned about how my mother might be corrupting your son?”
Ted lets out a big chuckle from inside the shed.
“I miss this,” Ted says with a smile as he reappears at the door of the shed to take the next stack of shed stuff.
“Organizing the disorganized contents of your boss’ garden shed?” Rebecca replies with an obvious amount of sarcasm. She’s aware that the past football calendar year the two of them frayed in communications, there for each other when it most mattered like her father’s funeral, but also missing on the fun banter of random meals and office visits.
“Something like that,” Ted says as he emerges with brown eyes and accompanying expression that relay so much more.
“Well, if the Treaty of 2022 states the implementation of such activities…”
“Indeed, it does,” Ted responds.
“Well, then I must comply.” Rebecca’s heart is full. “So, pick up at the airport yesterday went ok?”
“Oh, yeah. Five-star. Seeing Henry run towards me and me catching him in time for the helicopter hug will last me for a while.”
“That must have felt good.” Rebecca smiles thinking of the sight of Ted swinging Henry around and around, with feet off the ground.
“Love that guy,” Ted sticks his head back out of the shed in search of the next pile of charity goods.
“And he flew over with Michelle and her friend, how was that?”
“Ya’ know, it was okay,” Ted came out of the shed leaning against the doorway. “Michelle looked great as always. And John or Dave or Paul or whatever his name is,” Ted rests his head against the doorjamb and is in no hurry to recall all of the prior day’s events.
“That must have been difficult meeting Michelle’s new friend. Paul is it?.”
“No. His name is Mitch. Mitch and Michelle. Alliteration, can you believe that. Mitch, what kind of name is that?” Ted asks jokingly.
“Insufferable,” Rebecca responds with a smile and a full heart.
“Ha. You’re on my side, Boss,” Ted's hands move to his heart. “I appreciate you.”
Rebecca just smiles.
“No, it was okay. He is okay. A good guy.” Ted takes the next stack of shed stuff and moves back into the shed. “They’re taking a two-week vacation here and hopping over to Ireland for some of the time. I’m grateful for that. It allows time for me to spend with Henry. It’s good.”
As Ted exits the shed and Rebecca surveys her garden, there are no remaining shed materials outside, she investigates the shed briefly before closing and locking the door. The interior of the shed is immaculate, and all items are stacked and organized neatly. The shed was half-hardly put together, or stuffed together from remnants from her previous life, of a lady who lunched and busied herself with charity work to beef the presence of her asshole husband. She shakes her head before closing the doors.
“You are wonderful, Ted.” She squeezes his arm affirming her statement. “An excellent father. A good ex-spouse. And the best friend a girl could have.”
Ted looks up from his shoes and Rebecca radiates honesty and goodness and everything bright and beautiful.
__________
“And what took you kids so long,” Deborah asks from her position on Rebecca’s sofa as Rebecca and Ted make their way into the house.
“Mum,” Rebecca is quick to admonish her mother.
“Well, Deborah,” Ted responds at the same time, “We enacted the activities written in the Great Morbi Treaty of 2022.”
“Well, fuck, now I am even more curious than ever on what went on in the garden,” Deborah replies dramatically.
Ted can’t hide his smile. Mother like daughter, regal as can be but the mouth of a salty sailor.
“Mother!” Deborah desperately tries to admonish her maternal unit even further.
Henry bites his bottom lip and looks at Deborah with great excitement and similar big brown eyes as his father. From Christopher Robin to profanity in a matter of minutes! He did not expect this much excitement visiting his dad.
“The Great Treaty of 2022,” Ted responds evenly but his eyes dart from Deborah to his son, to his boss, and back again, “specifies that two great nations will come together to find a child-sized football goal to keep the children of said nations from growing too anxious as they might cause a trans-national event of epic proportions.”
“Does it now?” Deborah replies, enjoying the well-eased banter and jest that she finds herself in the middle of.
“Indeed, Deborah,” Ted replies. “And the minute details of said Treaty include the reorganization of the Welton garden shed. Or as Rebecca reads the treaty,” Ted now looks at Rebecca, “re-populatin’ of the Welton garden shed? Was that your interpretation, Boss?”
“I believe I read it word for word as that, Coach Lasso.” Rebecca banters back.
Deborah’s eyes ping-pong from one middle-aged adult to the other, and back again.
“Tomato, to-mah-to,” Ted replies with a wink and a smirk.
Rebecca turns toward Henry, nestled comfortably across from her mother on the sofa. “Regardless, Henry, I do apologize that your father and I took so much time outside. We found the football goal so you and your father can show off your skills on the Richmond Green this afternoon.”
Young Henry springs to his feet and leaps across the room to Rebecca’s feet and plants a big full body hug around her.
Rebecca’s breath almost squeezed out of her, almost buckled from the feeling of her heart exploding.
Ted looks on with curiosity and an equally full heart.
Deborah remains unfazed, knowing full well the transnational military and literature conference she finished, just recently, with the younger Lasso is the precipice from which Henry leaped to add his unshakeable embrace of her daughter. The hug just adds to the protection of the little green army man and the knowledge and familial comfort of Christopher Robin and Buckingham Palace.
Three adults are caught up in the abundance of affection of the tiny American when Henry finally releases his grip but continues to beam up to Rebecca with a smile as big as the Hundred Acre Woods.
“Alrighty then,” Ted breaks the silence and picks his son up for a piggyback ride to distract from any awkwardness that may be hanging in the Welton Sitting Room from either Lasso. “We’ll get out of your way. We have a whole Richmond Green to terrorize with our affection.”
Both Welton women let out a small laugh and see both Lassos to the door.
Halfway to the door, Ted remembers the contents of his backpack. “Little man,” Ted says to Henry, “Can you open up my backpack and fish out the pink box.”
“Got it, Dad,” Henry reaches into his dad’s backpack and pulls out the little pink box of biscuits.
“Can you hand the box over to Rebecca?”
“Here you go, Rebecca,” Henry stretches out his arm from behind his dad’s back with the pink box sitting in the palm of his hand. “Dad let me sprinkle the sugar on top when we were making your biscuits last night.”
Rebecca accepts the pink biscuit box and stretches past Ted and gives Henry a kiss on his forehead. “I bet these are going to be the best biscuits yet.”
She opens the box up and quickly takes the first bite, letting out a small moan.
“See, Henry,” Ted looks behind him to Henry still situated on his back. “I think that means she likes it.”
Henry is grinning from one side of his face to the other.
“And Deborah, it’s been a pleasure. My apologies. Next time, I’ll be sure to make a box of biscuits just for you.”
“Indeed, it has. And I’m counting on it.” Deborah grins. “Next time. And Henry, the pleasure has been mine.”
“It was a pleasure meeting you, Deborah,” Henry says from his dad’s shoulders.
Ted smiles at his son’s sudden formality and shakes his head.
“Rebecca,” Ted says and thinks about his son’s recent odd display of affection towards his boss, “I guess the Lassos can’t get enough of you.”
“Henry,” Rebecca swallows her first bit of biscuit and extends a handshake to the younger Lasso up on his father’s shoulders. “Your added touch to your dad’s biscuits is divine. And Ted, you know you are a godsend.”
“Takes one to know one, Boss,” Ted responds with a big smile, white teeth exposed, under that odd mustache, as big as the younger Lasso did just previously, like the Hundred Acre Woods.
__________
Rebecca pours herself a Sunday cocktail and takes the place where Henry was sitting on the sofa. Deborah retreats to the other side of the sofa after topping off her cocktail. Rebecca spots her childhood Christopher Robin book of poems on the table beside her and picks it up.
“Did you read this to Henry?” Rebecca asks her mother. She asks, with a little heartache, remembering her youth but also thinking of the lack of Welton generations her mother can share the British classic with.
“Henry spotted that book himself,” Deborah replies.
“Did he?”
“Indeed, he did,” Deborah replies. “Said the book looked familiar because his father used to read him a book just like that when he was little.” Deborah chuckles at the thought and memory of the young Lasso referring to his younger self. “Said the book your gaffer read from was actually his father’s father’s copy.”
Rebecca looked at the book, her father’s father’s book, in her hands. “Fuck me.”
“Indeed, sausage,” Deborah responds, nonchalantly. “It’s a small fuckin’ world isn’t it.”
Rebecca looks at her mother. No need to admonish, now. No young Lasso ears to protect.
“The big Henry Hug of 2022,” Deborah continues, “I think was also an effect of the younger Lasso spotting the decorative touches in your front entryway.”
Rebecca thinks of her entryway, tries to put herself in the young Lasso’s shoes, and indeed she spots the little green army man she placed on her windowsill after rescuing it from her kitchen floor.
“The little decorative touch was right at Henry’s eyesight.” Deborah nudged Rebecca with her foot from across the sofa. “I think the Lasso men have been protecting my daughter for longer than I ever knew.”
Rebecca does not respond but her heart swells and her eyes say everything.
“Indeed, my love, indeed,” Deborah responds to the words not said.
Rebecca takes out her phone and brings up Ted’s last text message. She smiles at whatever inane comment her gaffer last posted.
She begins texting.
Reading further details of the Great Morbi Treaty of 2022. Further analysis reads that a summit in north London and at Abbey Road is required to further negotiate and finalize said Treaty. Participants are to include principal Treaty negotiators, R. Welton and T. Lasso, along with an up-and-coming negotiator, a Mr. Henry Lasso.
Three dots appear immediately.
I might lose my diplomatic passport. I totally looked over that most important addendum.
Rebecca laughs as she reads Ted’s response.
I won’t alert the authorities.
Yet.
Ouch. Ted laughs to himself before responding.
Touché.
Getting all foreign on me, Coach Lasso.
I’m already the foreigner.
Ted chuckles at their make-believe banter while he eagerly waits for the next incoming message.
Are you and your young protégé available Tuesday and/or Wednesday? Summer tourist traffic may thin out mid-week and your fellow British negotiator may know some people who know some people that can give you a more exclusive tour of Abbey Road and neighboring historical spots.
On our diplomatic calendar, as of now.
Until Tuesday.
We can’t wait!
Enjoy your time with Henry until then, Ted!
Rebecca receives a final incoming text message. It’s a selfie of two adorable Lassos with a Welton child-sized football goal in the background.
Deborah clears her throat and pokes her foot across the sofa to her daughter.
“What?” Rebecca responds, a little defensively.
“Your expression, my dear,” Deborah responds. “It’s priceless.”