The Super Bowl

It wasn't often that all of them- with the exception of Robert- were in the same place at the same time if they weren't gathered for a party, and yet, here they were, all gathered on a large sectional couch. It was a special day, however: It was the Super Bowl.

Mary, seated on Cora's lap, was asking about anything and everything. "Who are we cheering for?"

"The New York Giants," Isidore said proudly. "The best football team in America."

"Football only exists in America," said Violet. "We would never think of throwing ourselves in life threatening situations, just so that we have something fun to watch on the television."

"Really?" Martha feigned surprise. "But isn't that what you Brits enjoy? Watching people suffer, for your own entertainment?"

Violet shot her a cold look. Martha only laughed.

"They could get seriously hurt," remarked Rosamund, as one player hit the ground and managed to flip himself. Rosamund winced when a few players ended up in a pile.

Edith, who was nestled against her aunt's chest, picked up her head to watch for a few seconds, before burying it in Rosamund's shirt again.

"I don't wanna see," she whined. "Scary."

"Aw, c'mon Edith!" Harold reached across Patrick, Violet, and Martha to playfully tickle his niece. "You'll miss all the fun!"

Cora smiled and shook her head. "Leave her be, Harold. She's only four; she might not find this interesting."

"And you're sure she's my granddaughter?" asked Martha, eying her daughter suspiciously.

"She'll come around," said Isidore confidently. "Pat did."

"But not Violet."

"I won't 'come around' because this sport is absolutely ridiculous!" Violet told her.

"Suit yourself." Martha took a loud bite out of a chicken wing. "Mmm." She took another. "This is sooo good."

"Shh," chided Mary. "I'm tryna watch."

The Giants scored eight more touchdowns, and the Atlanta Falcons managed a few. It wasn't their year. Edith stayed curled into Rosamund, Rosamund's arms around her. Harold got up halfway through the game, to "get more snacks" and came back twenty minutes later with a whole feast, so the group ate their dinner in front of the TV.

"Too bad Robert's stuck in England with Sybil; he's totally missing out," said Patrick, biting into a soft pretzel. "Vi, you should try this."

Violet looked at the food in his hand warily. "That much salt can't be good for you."

Patrick sighed. "It's just salt." He ripped off a piece. "Edith, do you want to try some?" He passed the piece to his granddaughter, who ate it happily.

"Yum." She giggled and made a show of rubbing her stomach. "Thank you, Grandpa."

"Fuck," muttered Martha, her eyes on the TV screen.

"Mother!" hissed Cora. "Language! Edith and Mary-"

"Fine, fine." Martha grabbed a handful of popcorn out of Harold's bucket. "But Lawrence shouldn't dive like that; jumping and then throwing would've been more effective."

"Agreed," said Isidore. "They'll still win though, I'm telling you. They're winning by sixteen points already."

"Don't count your chickens before they hatch." Patrick pointed at the screen, just as the Falcons scored a touchdown.

"Ooh goody. More clichés," said Violet dryly.

"Would everyone just be quiet?" Mary gave everyone harsh looks. "You're talkin' over everything!"

"Mary, that is no way to speak to your grandparents," said Cora sternly.

Mary looked ashamed. "Sorry."

The group quieted down for a few minutes more, watching the game. The Giants were winning, which was lucky, because who knows what could've come out of Martha's mouth if they weren't.

After one particularly rough pig-pile, Rosamund stood up, Edith in her arms.

"I'm going to take Edith up to bed; it's late enough and she doesn't like American football."

Isidore, leaning back against the pillows, told her: "Okay. There are fresh sheets in the bathroom closet, and pillowcases in the guest room drawers."

"Thanks. Goodnight, everyone!"

Choruses of "goodnights" echoed after her.

"I should probably put Mary to bed," said Cora thoughtfully.

Mary crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm not tired, Mama."

"Still. Come on, dearest." Cora rose from the couch and reached for Mary's hand. Mary hesitated, before handing it to her mother and climbing off the couch.

"Do I have to share a room with Edith?"

"Yes, but not a bed," Cora assured her. Mary sighed.

"Fine."

Cora led Mary out of the room, and they could hear their footsteps going up the stairs.

As soon as they were gone, Martha looked at everyone else, one by one. "I hope you all plan on staying?"

"That depends," said Patrick. "When does this end?"

Martha checked her watch. "Two hours."

"That's it, I'm out." Violet took a bowl of grapes off her lap and set it on the table.

"Aww, really?" Isidore whined. He took a swig of beer. "Alright then, night."

The rest of the game went well for the Giants, and Martha kept from swearing too much. Patrick left, bidding goodnight; just Martha, Harold, and Isidore were left.

"Who's cleaning up after the game?" asked Isidore.

"Harold," Martha said quickly. Harold groaned.

"I always do it."

"You're living in this house free of rent and eating our food," Isidore pointed out.

Harold paused, thinking. "That's true."

In the end, the Giants won, and Martha did her victory dance, shouting: "I told you so!"