Author's note: So, in thinking about the Andy and Sara "universe" my imagination was captured by the idea of a couple of parallel stories. If the four main women in the stories (Sara, Eden, Kail, and Grace) were really that outstanding, some dumbass dudes would have to notice, right? Meet dumbass dude #1: Gustav McLeod.
________________________________________________________________
"Gustav, Giana is downstairs," my mom said, smiling to me. Even though I was still a bit funky from my return flight from Norway and two weeks of living on a sailboat, I made my way downstairs like the house was on fire. Gianna Esposito and I had been dating since our junior year in high school, three years ago. We told each other we loved one another about halfway through that year, we'd been each other's first at our senior prom, and we'd done the mature thing and put our relationship on pause when I made the decision to go to Colton College in Maine, and she chose to matriculate at Stanford in California. We'd grown up in Rochester, MN where my mom and her parents were both doctors. My dad, the only non-doctor in this equation, made twice as much money as my mom as a VP of sales for a pharmaceutical company. Say what you want about 'big pharma,' they pay some impressive cheddar to the folks who can move product.
For reasons beyond our control, Gianna and I hadn't been back in Rochester at the same time since school ended in the spring. Her semester ended later than mine, and then I was in Norway with my maternal grandparents. My family would spend two weeks with them, and then my sister Eowyn and I would spend an additional two weeks as we sailed around the southern coast of Norway with our very spunky
bestemor
and
bestefar
. Oh yeah, my dad hails from Scotland, and my mom's family still lives in Norway, hence the very ethnic names given to my sister and me. My full name is Gustav Hamish McLeod, and my sister, born 14 months after me, is Eowyn Sigrid. The best - or perhaps worst - of our parents' ethnic traditions coming together in our full names.
As I got downstairs, she was standing there in the doorway. This was more than a bit surprising, since she ought to be sitting on the couch chatting away with my mom and Eowyn. She looked up when I entered the room, and instead of the heart-melting smile I usually got from Giana, I received a lukewarm attempt at a grin.
"Hey lady," I said energetically.
"Hello Gus," she replied. "Can we talk on the porch?"
Shit.
Whatever was coming next would not be good. My dad had been pleasantly chatting with Giana when I came in, and he patted me on the back as I walked past him. Even though I knew what was coming, I was dreading this conversation.
And yes, I knew it was coming. Giana's best friend, Lily Holt, spilled the beans 6 months earlier. She and Eowyn are tight, so Lily wanted me to not get completely blindsided by the news that the love of my life was setting me aside for good in lieu of an Argentinian dude named Jorge. He was a Stanford student as well, and a member of the men's water polo team or some kind of bullshit like that. Whatever.
10 minutes later, I was sitting on the porch alone, Gianna was gone, and my dad was handing me a scotch. She'd tried to be sad, and all that I guess the love of your life is supposed to do/be/feel when she's telling you to piss off. She cried - and I think they were real tears - but since she'd broken the agreement we had when we went away to school ten months ago, it's hard to tell. Plus, I'd like to think I'm over that. That's what my spring semester was pretty much about; dealing with the fact that the woman I wanted to marry was getting screwed by an Argentinian on an almost nightly basis while I was freezing my ass off in Maine. So, I did what any normal dude would do: I suppressed my feelings, threw myself into school, and my spot on the men's 8 rowing team at Colton. We were the runner up crew for 8's at the national championships, and I carried a 4.0 after my freshman year. Not too shabby. But still, I felt like shit.
My dad is a great guy. I mean, he's my dad, and I love him and all that - but he's one of the most stand-up guys I know. He's also a people person. Dad can read people in an instant, and he's rarely wrong. This must be genetic because I have the same gift - or curse - I think. We were just sitting on the porch, sipping our scotch, and my dad looked at me like he always does before he's about to drop some serious fatherly wisdom on me - that is if you can imagine it sounding like it's coming from Shrek.
"I know you're wondering how in the world you could have misjudged the woman you thought you loved so dramatically," said my dad in his rich Scottish brogue baritone. "Two things: first, you did love her. There's no shame in loving a woman well, Gus. Your mother and I are both proud of how well you treated Gianna."
"Second, you didn't misjudge her. She's changed. People will do that, and it's not always for the better. I know her parents are very concerned about her and the decisions she's making. It would seem her Stanford education is the excuse she needs to deconstruct her entire life. I understand that impulse, believe me. I'm just sorry she's doing this to you."
My dad grew up in Glasgow, Scotland in the Easterhouse scheme - which is pretty much the worst part of the city. His dad never worked a day in his life, and his mom was an addict. Dad's 6'4" and a phenomenal athlete. He played goalie on his football - sorry, soccer - team and was good enough to get a scholarship in the US. That's how a hooligan from Glasgow and a Nordic shield maiden end up together: university in the US. They met at an international student mixer the first week of their freshman year, and dad went home with mom to Norway that Christmas. The rest is history.
Where was I? Oh yeah, deconstructing one's life. My dad grew up in a shit hole. He still has some good friends there (he calls them mates), and often, when we fly to Norway, dad will leave a couple of days before us and spend a day or two in Glasgow. He'll see friends, and stop in to see his dad, but his mom has been absent since my dad was 10. If anyone would want to deconstruct their life, it would be dad. If anything, he wears it like a badge of honor. Why the hell the second child of two world-class physicians feels the need to deconstruct her life of privilege I'll never know. But then again, maybe the privilege is the problem.
I nodded to my dad, and took a pull of my scotch. This was the good stuff, so I must really be a shit show at the moment.
"Gus, I want you to promise me something," said my dad. "The moment you step foot back on campus, I want you to ask one of those four extraordinary young women we met at the national championships out on a date."
He raised his hand before I had a chance to object.
"Please. Just promise me you'll put yourself out there. It wouldn't have to be one of them, but they really are stunning young women."
I nodded in agreement. The "Misfits" as they're known, are the repeat national championship 4's crew at Colton College. And dad was spot on: Kail Sunderland, Eden Adams, Grace Federspiel, and Sara Jones-Easley are striking. I have no idea why every guy on campus was not swarming all over them, but they weren't. I'd gotten to know them as a friend. You see, I always thought I'd end up with Gianna, so I was not interested in collegiate romantic entanglements. I could be a safe space for smoking hot coeds. And dammit, I was. We all lived in the Boathouse, the coed dorm for crew athletes. Most of my male teammates were assholes, so it didn't take much effort on my part to be a non-asshole.
I assured my dad I would indeed ask one of the four of them out. Hell, I might ask all four of them out as the year went on. I mean, it wasn't like I'd be cheating on the love of my life, now, would it?
As if on cue, my mom and my sister came out on to the porch. Both hugged me - a fact I both loved and hated, and told me how sorry they were. Damn, I really must be a charity case. I guess being quasi-cuckolded will do that to a guy.
"Colton has a new AD," began my dad once we were all seated on the porch. "He called here last week looking for the two of you. All athletes have been asked to return to campus as soon as possible. I know the two of you just got home, but we've booked you seats tomorrow morning to Portland. Someone from the school will pick you up. Your mom and I will drive the rest of your stuff out. We'll get in sometime on Sunday, though I would not be surprised if we get there on Saturday evening," my dad grinned. He loved long drives, and had the constitution of Iron Man once he got behind the wheel of the RV.
Eowyn was excited. I was, well, I guess I was just relieved. It wasn't so much going back to school; it was more just not being here. Gianna was here, which was a damn good reason for me to be not here. I let the relief roll over me.
