Disclaimer: I do not own Jay "Christian" Reso or anything that pertains to World Wrestling Entertainment. I am not profiting from writing this piece.
To be honest, I hate living in Florida. I hate the humidity, the hot summers, and the fact that I haven't seen snow in about nine years. I miss Kitchener, Ontario, Canada, even though there wasn't much left for me there. After my mother passed away in 2001, Jay insisted that I move to Florida. (He had left for the United States a few years before because he had finally gotten a developmental contract with World Wrestling Entertainment.) He and Heather were married by that point and had already settled into their lake-view mansion, which just so happened to be three doors down from Chris's lake-view mansion, in Odessa. I stayed with the newlyweds for a couple of months until I was able to put my accounting degree to good use. I found a position as a tax collector for an office in Tampa, so I decided to stick around; mostly because of Jay.
As the Resos' Sedan came to a halt in Chris's driveway, I had control the impulse to remove my socks and shoes before stepping outside vehicle. Chris's mansion was modest (if one could call any mansion modest), but it also had this regal atmosphere about it. I always felt as though I would lessen the value of the place, if I didn't walk upon it with my bare feet. That's a silly ideology, I know.
"Oh, look," Heather gestured to the fairly new Jaguar we had parked next to. "See, I told you he would beat us here."
"Whoopty-damn-doo," Jay mumbled under his breath as he climbed out of the vehicle and came around to my side to open the door for me.
"Jay," I eyed him nervously, "Are you going to be able to make it through dinner without strangling this guy? The offer to watch slashers is still on the table."
He smiled.
"As long as he doesn't talk, I should be able to keep picturing him as Uncle Jesse and all is well. If worse comes to worse, would you be against pushing him down the stairs?"
I laughed. "Sure, but I could just as easily drowned him in the ocean."
He chuckled and gestured for me to walk in front of him.
My knees buckled as I felt Jay's hand on the small of my back. Heather was well ahead of us, so I was tempted to slow my pace. I wanted to relish the sensations that were brought on by such an intimate touch.
Rosalind, with her long brunette hair blowing in the slight breeze, was waiting for us on the front porch. I had only met her twice; the two times she had waited on Jay and I when we dined at Alonzo's. She was a pleasant young woman, very shy, and conservative—the polar opposite of Chris.
"Hi, Heather," she greeted in her usual melodic voice. "Happy Thanksgiving! Your friend Josh is already inside. He and Chris have been in Chris's office for the past half-hour. I can't seem to pry them away from Ted's old hockey stuff long enough for Chris to help me get Ash and the girls ready for dinner."
"That's what I'm here for, Mrs. Brady," Jay said, politely stepping in front of me to give Chris's girlfriend a hug. "I'm a full-time best friend wrangler and part-time baby-sitter."
"Just promise me that you won't accidentally set any of them on fire," Rosalind giggled as she pulled back.
"What? You don't like your Jericho extra crispy?"
Heather just rolled her eyes at him and slipped inside the house.
Rosalind giggled again, gave Jay a playful shove, and then turned her attention to me.
She smiled.
"Well, hello, AJ…It's nice to see you…while I'm off duty."
I chuckled in response and nodded.
Two girls crying in unison momentarily diverted our attention.
Rosalind looked back at the half-open front door.
"Looks like Ash has stolen the crayon box again," she noted with a sigh.
"I'm on it," Jay said as he brushed past her and disappeared into the house.
I felt awkward standing there. I didn't want to assume that it was acceptable for me to waltz right into the De Counte-Jericho household without a proper invitation, so I just stared at Rosalind like an idiot.
"I hope you're hungry." She smiled and gestured for me to accompany her inside. "I think I've cooked enough food to feed the U.S. Army. Chris eats like a horse, so I cooked double what I usually do since Jay is going to be here."
I laughed in understanding. Professional wrestlers probably consume more food than horses, but that's just my hypothesis.
Rosalind gave me a baffled expression as I removed my shoes once we stepped inside the foyer. I placed them neatly by the door.
"Please, make yourself at home," she said. "I'm going to have to go check on the sweet potato casserole."
I was about to nod, but she was already heading for kitchen. Shrugging, I moseyed through the foyer. I decided to take a peek at the dinning-room on my way to the living-room. Chris had this giant eight-place-setting oak table in the dinning-room. It was only used for special occasions, but I saw that Rosalind had decorated it to the nines. A beautiful white linen table cloth that was crocheted at the ends was draped across it, Chris's fine china was already put in place, and the silverware had been rolled, restaurant-style, into matching white handkerchiefs. The children had their own miniature plastic table next to ours. It was set in a similar fashion, but wisely everything on it was made of plastic.
"No, Uncle Jay, you're supposed to color inside the lines. Inside the lines," I heard a little voice reprimanding.
I chuckled and wandered into the living-room.
There was Jay, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the room, surrounded by children, coloring books, and half a dozen crayons. He gave the young boy reprimanding him a puzzled look, as he leaned over to see the mess the boy had made of his own picture.
"Well, you're not coloring inside the lines."
The blonde-haired boy stared at him for a moment.
"Hello…I'm six," he said, matter-of-factly. "You're, like, a gazillion years old. You should know better."
I laughed. That was Ash Jericho. Not only was he the blue-eyed, crooked smile, spitting-image of his father, he also had Chris's quick and insulting wit.
What a fine looking old man he is, if that's the case, I thought to myself as I crossed the room and took a seat on the sofa.
"It's not my fault that I'm obviously going blind in my old age," Jay retorted with a laugh. "You know, I'll be a gazillion and one at the end of the month."
Ash shrugged in response.
"Whatever makes you feel better, Uncle Jay." He sighed, shaking his head and returning back to coloring.
Jay looked over at me.
"What? No words of encouragement for me, AJ?"
"Eh," I shrugged. "What can I say? The boy's an astute observer."
Jay glowered at me, playfully.
"If I'm a gazillion years old, that means you are, too."
"No, she's not," Ash chimed in, never looking up from his coloring book. "Girls don't grow old like boys do."
Jay grinned as he looked back at the six-year-old.
A few minutes later, I found myself sitting in the floor, coloring with the rest of the group. I could feel Jay staring at me, but I was avoiding eye-contact out of discomfort. I distracted myself by having short three-word sentences with the twins. Even then, I felt Jay's eyes trying to penetrate my flimsy exterior. Didn't his mother ever tell him that it was impolite to stare?
"All right, everyone. Dinner's ready. Jay, would you mind getting the kids settled while I go round up the rest?"
Rosalind had made such a quite entrance into the room that, whenever she spoke, all five of us jumped.
"Yeah, no problem, Ro-Ro," Jay replied and jumped to his feet. "'Kay, kiddos…Let's put everything back where we found it, wash our hands, and get ready for dinner."
"Christopher Keith," Rosalind yelled as she darted down the hallway. "Dinner's ready. I need you, Heather, and Heather's friend front and center."
"Are you gonna sit with us at the kiddy table again this year, Uncle Jay?" Ash was asking as he helped—tried to help—Jay and I stack the coloring books and put the crayons back into their box.
"Probably not," Jay replied. "I haven't broken any of your daddy's things as of late, so I do believe I will be upgraded to the big boy's table."
Ash grumbled in disappointment, grabbed his two sisters' hands, and then led them into the kitchen to wash-up.
"Awww," I looked at Jay with a pouting expression. "It's like he just found out that Santa doesn't exist…I know I said I wouldn't shove you into anything, but maybe I could break a couple of those nice plates in the dinning-room and blame it on you. I don't want the little guy feeling like you've abandoned him."
"The kid's gotta get used to disappointment sometime," Jay laughed as he threw an arm around my shoulder. "Me, I'm going to relish in the fact that my knees won't be up to my chest for a change…Now, come on, let's get in there before all the good seats are taken."