Chapter Text
Rebecca was used to picking up Millie and dropping her off at school without a whole lot of interaction from the other parents. The other mums didn’t like her much - some because of the tabloids, others because their husbands were friends with Rupert. On occasion, when she was feeling down about something else, the lack of camaraderie hurt her feelings all over again, opened a fresh wound. She lost count of how many times she blinked away tears that were triggered by the isolation, caused by a million other things.
Other times, she didn’t care at all.
Motherhood was complex.
And then Millie had run up to a kid with an orange hat, and suddenly, there was someone at pick up and drop off every morning and afternoon who said hello and goodbye like she was a friend. Ted Lasso was…an enigma, a mystery with an American accent and a mustache. She couldn’t figure him out. Were all Americans so friendly with everyone so fast? Was that just the…particular brand of American from…wherever Ted was from?
It made her feel like she was always on the back foot, like he was so nice that surely she was going to be the one who said something mean, because almost everything was mean compared to Ted. It was even more frustrating that Ted seemed completely oblivious to this…intimidation factor that he had.
Every morning, without fail, Ted and his son would be at the gates, Henry waiting faithfully for Millie to arrive before he would go inside, Ted giving both Rebecca and Millie their own respective good mornings before the children would go inside, leaving Ted and Rebecca standing alone together.
She never knew what to say to him. His eyes were so friendly, so sincere, and he seemed entirely oblivious to the looks he got from the other parents every time he went out of his way to say hello or strike up a conversation. But she wasn’t oblivious - every discussion felt like a stage play, like everything she did was being observed and picked apart. Surely everyone was wondering why Ted was talking to her, of all people. What could they possibly have to talk about?
After the first few weeks of term ended, Ted started varying his greetings. No more did Rebecca and Millie get simple good mornings. One morning, when they approached, Ted turned to them and said, “Favorite color?” to Millie, who blinked.
“Yellow,” she said. “What’s yours?”
“Green,” Ted said, turning his gaze to Rebecca. “First concert, best concert.”
“What?” she asked.
“First concert, best concert,” he repeated. “It’s an ice breaker, Rebecca.”
She looked down at the ground. “You’ll have to wait until December for some ice to break, Ted. London doesn’t get as much snow as people expect.”
He grinned, pleased with her attempt at humor. “You know what I mean,” he said.
Rebecca was spared answering by the bustle of Millie and Henry’s goodbyes, hugs and waves. They both watched their children walk through the gates, as they always did, without speaking, and then Ted turned to her and wiggled his eyebrows.
“Well?”
She huffed. “Spice Girls and…well, Spice Girls.”
He nodded seriously. “Those are great choices,” he said. When Rebecca snorted a little in disbelief, he shrugged. “I watched Spice World about a dozen times. I think I had it on VHS.”
She surveyed him closely, looking for a fib, for a tell that would give him away. But, as always, he looked almost annoyingly sincere. She smiled, glancing over her shoulder as her driver pulled up. “I have to go,” she said, feeling, for the first time, a little disappointed. She hesitated for a second. “Can I…can I give you a ride?”
He blinked, surprised, and nodded, following her to her waiting car. He waved her hands away from the door to open it for her, waiting until she was inside before he shut the door and went around to the other side.
“Are you going to tell me your favorite concert?” she asked as the driver pulled away from the curb.
He grinned. “Sure, if you wanna know.”
She raised her eyebrows at him. “I’m not so rude that I wouldn’t want to know your answer,” she said, a little defensively.
“I didn’t say you were rude,” he reminded her. “People just don’t usually ask me questions back.”
“Millie did -”
“You’re right,” Ted amended. “She’s a sweet girl, Henry is really happy to have a friend like her in a new school, in a new country.”
There was so much sincerity in his voice, so much love when he talked about his son, Rebecca’s chest ached at the sound of it. She wished, so suddenly it was almost like a reflex, involuntary, that Millie had a father in her life who loved her as much as Ted loved his son.
“We should schedule a playdate for them,” she said. “I think they both would like that.”
His smile widened. “Really? That sounds really great, Rebecca. What about this weekend?”
How long had it been since she had a genuinely friendly conversation with someone who wasn’t one of her employees? Rebecca couldn’t remember - every day was full of work, meetings, her daughter, and nothing else. She was astonished at how refreshing it was, a simple conversation with someone who wasn’t pretending to be nice.
“I will agree to ask Millie if -” she paused, Ted lifting his eyebrows at her. “And only if you finally tell me your favorite concert.”
He laughed. “Oh, I did forget to get to that, didn’t I?”
“You did -”
“Alright,” he said, waving her off. “My dad took me to see the late, great Kenny Rogers when I was sixteen,” he said, the wistfulness in his voice evident. “It was the last concert we went to together before he passed away.” He sighed, looking over at her. “You have no idea who Kenny Rogers is, do ya?”
She scoffed. “I had no idea inviting you into my car would make you so presumptuous -”
“You’re right, that was like one of those guys who demands you name three Nirvana songs because you’re wearin’ their shirt, you’re right, I’m sorry -”
“I have no idea who Kenny Rogers is.”
His laugh made her laugh, too. He had flushed a little when she reprimanded him, the color high in his cheeks, but his smile was genuine and carefree, his eyes deep, dark brown. He seemed, for a few seconds, like the epitome of happiness, as if every physical characteristic fed into this image.
Rebecca didn’t understand where that thought came from, or why she thought it. She let him ramble on for the rest of the short drive, her driver leaving her at the front of AFC Richmond, as he always did, in time for her morning meeting.
“Walter will take you where you need to go,” Rebecca said when she got out of the car, leaving Ted behind. “Thank you, Walter -”
“Thank you, Walter,” Ted chorused after her. “And thank you, Rebecca.”
She gave him a salute and shut the door, glancing back at the car as Walter drove away.
***
When Henry went to school in Kansas, Ted was part of the PTA. It helped that he was a teacher at the high school, that he coached football and, as such, was part of the school district. It was only logical that he was involved closely with Henry’s school. The meetings were long and sometimes tedious, but he liked doing it - he liked the paper cups of coffee, the slightly stale donuts sitting beside them, their glaze crunchy and untouched.
But his school was small and didn’t have a lot of events besides typical parent-teacher conferences, a Christmas variety show, and nothing else. A little bit of involvement went a long way.
But here, in London, it wasn’t as simple as a conference here and there. No, parents had to volunteer a specific amount of hours per term in order for their children to stay enrolled, and their events were nearly weekly - netball matches, conferences, bake sales, field trips, it seemed like the school invented a new name for a gathering every time Ted opened his email.
Participating didn’t bother him - he liked meeting some of the parents, and meeting them made him feel a bit more like London could be home. For a little while, he could watch Henry play and talk with acquaintances and chase away his worries. He liked feeling like he was still in a small town, if even for just an afternoon, even if, in the back of his mind, he knew it wasn’t a small town at all.
It brought him comfort when very few things did.
He hated that he still missed life back in Kansas, that, by extension, he missed Michelle. He had been comfortable there - he could drive the streets without even paying attention, letting his muscle memory take him from place to place. Everything was still new in London - he didn’t have a driver’s license here yet, couldn’t teach until he was certified in the UK to do it. Every waking moment was occupied - work, studying for certification exams, being a present father to Henry.
He needed something easy. Sometimes, it was volunteering for Henry’s school.
Sometimes, even that didn’t work.
“Ted, dear, you look exhausted,” Gwen Davies, who had twin boys in the same year as Henry, laid her hand on his shoulder. “Here, I made you a cuppa.”
He didn’t have the heart to tell her that he hated tea. “Oh, thanks,” he said hesitantly, taking the cup, pretending to take a sip. “Mmmm, delicious.”
He wasn’t sure she believed him - it certainly wasn’t his best performance - but after a moment of no expression at all, Gwen beamed. “Oh, good,” she said. “I wasn’t sure how you take it. Being a single father must be so hard.”
He blinked. “Uhh…yeah,” he agreed. “Sure is.”
“If you ever need anything,” Gwen continued, even when Ted started to inch away, toward some of the other parents, toward the kids. “You can just give me a call. I can pick up Henry if you’re stuck at work, or carpool -”
“That’s very considerate of you,” Ted said earnestly. “But uh…I still don’t really know you that well, so I don’t think I would be comfortable -”
“Well that just means that we should get to know each other better,” Gwen pressed, her hand falling to Ted’s wrist for a second before she took it back. “I’ll give you my mobile number -”
“Mum! Hugh kicked me in the shin!”
“I did not! You got in the way!”
Ted glanced toward the noise, Gwen following his lead. “I think you’re bein’ summoned,” he said, chuckling.
Gwen sighed in exasperation. “To be continued,” she said, stepping around Ted to go to her sons, who had resorted to kicking the grass in front of each other in a hilariously skewed pantomime of Punch and Judy. Ted watched her separate them, one hand on each of their upper arms, one of them scowling while the other rolled his eyes.
“You can throw that tea away over there if you’re tired of holding it.”
He recognized Rebecca’s voice the moment he heard it - he glanced over his shoulder at her, in a pencil skirt and light pink blouse, heels swapped out for sneakers (trainers, they called them here, he thought). She raised her eyebrows at him expectantly.
“Might be a bit rude to do that so soon, don’tcha think?” he asked, taking a step back so they were standing evenly beside each other. “It was a nice gesture.”
She grinned. “You think so, huh?”
He couldn’t help but match her smile - something about her expression just invited a smile of his own. “What do you know that I don’t?”
She lifted her shoulders in a shrug and didn’t answer. He always felt a little at a loss in moments like this, when Rebecca didn’t say something, when her face was just impassive enough that Ted wondered if she thought he was annoying, if she wanted him to stop talking.
“Okay, crisis handled,” Gwen said, out of breath, trotting over to Ted’s side again. “Where were we? Mobile number - oh, Rebecca, nice to see you here.”
Ted got the feeling that it was not, in fact, nice for Gwen to see Rebecca. He glanced over at her, watching the minute changes in her expression, the blankness in her eyes, the tightness of her mouth.
“Gwen,” she said flatly. “How are the boys?”
“Boys will be boys, you know,” Gwen answered, barely even looking at her. “I was just talking to Ted about something important -”
“Right,” Rebecca said, chuckling a little under her breath. “Bye, Ted.”
“Wait,” he called after her, but she was already gone, her long strides restricted by her skirt, her hair blowing a little in the wind. He watched her stop at the side of the field, leaning down for a bag of little cones, laying them out carefully on the grass. People walked by her, their eyes lingering on her.
No one spoke to her.
“I’m surprised she stopped to talk to you,” Gwen said, recapturing his attention. “She usually just glides in and out like she’s too good for the rest of us.”
Ted frowned. “She does?” he asked, confused. “She’s always been kind to me.”
“Her ex-husband is friends with my husband,” Gwen said, leaning even closer, close enough that Ted could smell her perfume, something flowery and a little stale. “Apparently, she stole his football club right out from under him in the divorce. She doesn’t even like football, she just did it to hurt him.”
He hummed. “What did he do to her?”
Gwen blinked, tucking some of her hair behind her ear. “You haven’t heard the rumors?” she asked.
He wondered, a little annoyed, if she forgot that he didn’t even live in the country a few months ago. “I don’t think I’ve heard a rumor since I got here,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at Rebecca again. She had moved on from the cones - she was sitting down behind her daughter, brushing her fingers through her hair, fixing her ponytail. There was a tender smile on her face, a softness that touched him.
“Walk with me, I’ll tell you.”
***
Ted’s apartment was closer to Rebecca’s townhouse than she anticipated - she made the walk with Millie on Sunday morning, across Richmond Green. She wasn’t sure what the protocol was with playdates - Millie had been invited on very few playdates in her life, especially since the divorce had gone through entirely, since Rebecca took over AFC Richmond. Her entire social circle had been Rupert’s friends, Rupert’s friends’ wives, people who liked her because they liked Rupert, not because they knew her at all.
“Are you excited for your playdate?” she asked outside of Ted’s building.
Millie hummed, swinging her arms a little, swaying on her feet. “I told Henry I would teach him some football tricks,” she said. “We’re going to go to the park -”
“If it doesn’t rain,” Rebecca reminded her.
Millie sighed. “If it doesn’t rain,” she repeated faithfully.
“Good girl,” she said, tugging her over to slip her arm over her shoulder. “Alright, go ahead and go knock.”
She watched Millie jog over to Ted’s door, knocking lightly on it. Henry answered the door, beaming brightly at his friend, his eyes lifting to find Rebecca standing behind her.
“Hello, Ms. Welton,” he said politely.
Ted appeared at the edge of the doorway, wearing a khaki apron. “Mornin’ missy!” he said to Millie, tugging Henry aside to let her inside. His gaze found Rebecca, his smile just as exuberant as before. “Come in,” he said invitingly. “I’ve got coffee and cookies - well, y’all call ‘em biscuits.”
She chuckled, hesitating for a moment before she obliged. She wasn’t sure if she was supposed to leave Millie to play with her friend, if she was supposed to stick around - it didn’t feel right to leave her there, but she wasn’t the one who had been invited, ultimately. But Ted welcomed her inside with no problem at all, without any suggestion that it was an obligation.
There was a bearded man sitting at the little dining table, a book open in front of him, a half-empty cup of coffee in his hand.
“Rebecca, this is my best friend, we call him Beard,” Ted said, patting his friend on the shoulder on his way into the kitchen. “Can I getcha some coffee?”
“Beard?” Rebecca asked. “Just one name, like Madonna?”
“Or Prince,” Beard said. “Nice to meetcha.”
“Coffee, please,” she said to Ted, who had already poured her a cup. She cradled it in her hand, looking around the modestly-sized flat. It was sparsely decorated, but there was a large set of bookshelves at the back of the room, full to bursting with books of different colors and sizes, spines cracked and obviously read.
The mantle had framed pictures on it, pictures of Ted with Beard and Henry, pictures of Henry as a baby, as a toddler. The window was littered with little green figures, the couch with askew throw pillows and a fluffy blanket that was halfway on the floor.
“Does it meet your approval?” Ted asked, his voice just soft enough that Rebecca knew it wasn’t an accusation or a judgment. She glanced over her shoulder at him, shrugging just to see if he would laugh. He did, the movement punctuated by Millie’s laughter in the other room.
“Have you lived here long?” she asked.
“Couple of months, right, Beardo?” Ted asked, looking over at his friend, who nodded.
“You live here together?” Rebecca asked.
“Yeah, for now,” Ted said. “I’m workin’ on my teacher training, so for now, we thought it was best that we all stick together. And Henry’s mom and I do better during visits with a bit of a buffer, so…” He stopped, grimacing. “That was probably a bit of an overshare, huh?”
She looked over at Beard, who was reading his book again, giving them a semblance of privacy. “Not an overshare,” she said reassuringly. “I didn’t realize you were divorced.”
“Yep,” he said, a little awkwardly. “And now that I’ve put my foot in my mouth -”
“I just said you didn’t -”
“Would you like a biscuit?” he asked, picking up the blanket from the floor on his way back into the kitchen. “I tried this recipe, and I’m not really sure if I did it right. I need a real Brit to tell me the cold, hard truth.”
He put a few rectangles of what Rebecca recognized as shortbread on a plate, passing it over to her. She blinked incredulously at him before she picked one up, taking a tentative bite.
Shortbread was one of her favorite biscuits of all time - her grandmother used to make shortbread for her every time she came to visit, sneaking a few extras in her bag when she went back home to her parents, a secret little snack that always made Rebecca feel extra-loved. She hadn’t had shortbread since her grandmother died.
Somehow, Ted had managed to capture almost the exact taste. She heard the embarrassing sound as it left her mouth, her hand covering it as if that would stifle it. Ted beamed, lifting his eyebrows expectantly.
“Fuck me,” she breathed, Beard snorting from his seat behind Ted. “These are so good -”
“Really?” Ted asked, reaching for one of the rectangles on her plate. She moved it away, shaking her head.
“No, sorry, these are mine,” she said with her mouth full. “Get your own.”
He laughed, Beard chuckling behind him. “Well alright,” he said, pleased. “I’ll remember that.”