Work Text:
Andy beats Susan to the phone when it rings shortly after lunch, and beams as he listens to the voice on the other end.
“It’s Joey!” he informs her, covering the mouthpiece with his hand. “I can go play, right?”
She nods at him from the sink where she’s finishing up their dishes. “Yep. Be good, okay?”
“I will!” he tells her brightly before putting the phone back up to his ear. “I’m comin’ right now!”
He hangs up and heads straight for the door. “Bye!”
“Hang on just a sec,” Susan says before he twists the knob, “go put on some shoes, please.”
Andy wrinkles his nose at her. “But it’s summer! I don’t need any shoes, I’m just gonna walk on the grass.”
“And in the gravel driveway, and in the puddles leftover from the rain we got last night,” Susan adds knowingly. “You need to keep your feet safe. Shoes, please.”
“My mom doesn’t make me wear shoes,” he grumbles.
Susan gasps theatrically. “Andrew Harris,” she teases him, “I think that’s the biggest fib you’ve ever told me. Your mom does too make you wear shoes.”
Andy nibbles at his bottom lip. “Okay,” he relents, “she does make me wear ‘em. But you don’t hafta ‘cause she’s workin’, and I won’t tell.”
“Oh, I see.” Susan says as she pulls the plug out of the sink and dries her hands off on a nearby dishtowel. “You want me to lie to your mom for you, huh?”
Andy sighs. “You don’t hafta lie,” he explains patiently, “she’s not gonna ask about my shoes. Just don’t tell her.”
“Well, okay,” she agrees with a shrug. “I guess I could do that. I’m just worried that you might end up like all the little boys I see at the hospital.”
He narrows his eyes at her suspiciously. “What do you mean?”
“All the little boys who won’t wear shoes,” she says. “They come in with their feet all bloody and mangled up, and I have to chop them off since they’re too hurt to use anymore. So then they never get to wear shoes ever again. It’s very sad.”
The withering look Andy gives her has Jackie written all over it, and Susan has to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.
“Susan,” he huffs, rolling his eyes. “That’s not real.” He pauses for a second. “Right?”
“Yeah,” she confesses, “you’re right. It’s not. But I have a better reason why you should wear shoes.”
“What is it?”
“I’m going to sing to you if you don’t.”
Andy’s eyes go wide. “No, please!”
Susan takes a deep breath. “Oh Lord,” she warbles, “won’t you buy me a Mercedes-Benz…..”
“Nooooo!!” Andy howls as he covers his ears with his hands. “Not this song again! I’m puttin’ ‘em on, I’m puttin’ ‘em on!”
He runs out of the kitchen like he’s on fire, dashing through the living room and down the hallway toward his bedroom. Susan grins and keeps singing as she pushes off the kitchen counter and follows behind him. “My friends all drive Porsches, I must make amends. Worked hard all my lifetime, no help from my friends….”
“I’ve got one on already,” Andy hollers from inside his bedroom, “you can stop now!”
She leans backward against the wall outside his door and folds her arms across her chest. “So Lord, won’t you buy me a Mercedes-Benz.”
“They’re on, they’re on!” Andy exclaims, appearing in the doorway. He holds out a foot for her inspection. “See?”
Susan smiles and cups a hand under his chin, then gently taps his nose with her thumb. “Thank you. You can go play now. Be home for dinner though, okay?”
“Yeah, okay,” he says. He pauses and looks up at her curiously. “Susan?”
“Mmm-hmm?”
“What’s a Mercedes-Benz?”