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Percy collapsed on the couch, throwing his arm over his eyes like a Victorian fainting maiden. “We could have had a Subway Series!” he cried. “We could have all gotten matching Mets shirts. We could have made it our Christmas Card. It would have been adorable!”
“The Red Soxs are better,” declared Lucie. Boston born and pure Chase from blonde head to new-balance toe.
Percy moaned.
“I like the Mets, Daddy,” Thalassa promised.
“Me too,” Junie agreed.
Sophie just cheered. And Astrid just looked around at her sisters from where she was standing up in the pack in play.
“Well, you still have a team in New York,” Annabeth offered absolutely uncharitably. “The Yankees might win the World Series.”
“Don’t put that into the world,” Percy complained. “Not again. I can’t take it.”
“We could go to one of the Yankees games as a family.” Annabeth continued, smirk firmly in place, teasing and taunting her best friend like she had been doing since she was twelve. “We would look just as adorable in Yankees clothing.”
“Ew, no!” Cried Lucie at the same time as Junie declared, “Damn Yankees!”
Annabeth rolled her eyes. “How did I end up with a group of Yankee haters for a family?”
“The better question,” Percy said, sitting up, smile playing on the edges of his lips, “is how did a woman who was born as an eighth generation Bostonian become a Yankees fan?”
He could see it on Junie’s face, that she had never really questioned it before, but was suddenly insanely curious. “Yeah, Mommy,” she asked, “why would you like the Yankees?”
“I’ll tell you why,” Percy answered his own question. “The pure evil of Westport, Connecticut.”
“What does Mommy have to do with Connecticut?” Thalassa asked.
“That’s where Luke Castellan was from, and he was a Yankees fan, because he was evil,” Percy said.
“Evil?” Lucie’s lip was trembling, and Percy realized his mistake instantly. “I thought he was a hero.”
Annabeth shot him a look, less fond amusement and more actual disappointment.
“He was a hero, baby,” Percy said quickly, “he was just very hurt and misguided. Which is probably because he was raised as a Yankees fan. He was so hurt he thought that primordial evils were a good pillar of a social justice movement. Then he used his misguided notions to try and lead people astray before he realized the error of his ways, and became a hero in the end.” Despite his dramatics, he reached out and took Annabeth’s hand, squeezing it. “And he tried to lead Mommy down that path. But she was too strong for it! She knew that Kronos was a liar, who was just using Luke.” He brought their intertwined hands to his lips, placing a soft kiss there, the kind that normally made her melt, except then he continued. “But she fell victim to the evil of the Yankees.” She shot him a look and then yanked her hand away, making a point to wipe the back off with an exaggerated look of disgust.
“Boy cooties,” she complained, and all their daughters giggled. “Well, if you don’t want to root for the home team, there's always the Dodgers.”
“California traitors,” Percy whined.
“I’ll tell Frank and Hazel you said that.”
“Hazel is from Louisiana and Frank is Canadian,” Percy pointed out. “But you can tell Piper, if you want.”
In truth, there was plenty about California Percy liked fine. And they kept a villa in New Rome for visits and convenience. But as a couple of east coasters, they’d found California, even Nor Cal, pretty true to stereotype. And other than decent beach weather all year round, those stereotypes were pretty trying.
And it was the principle of the thing: Percy could normally fall under the ironclad Mets rule of cheering for whatever team was playing the Yankees. But the Dodgers, who had abandoned the beauty of New York for LA? The place with the main entrance to the underworld and everything? You couldn’t let that kind of betrayal go, even from forty years before you were born.
At least the New “York” Jets and Giants were just across the River in New Jersey. They hadn’t fled all across the country. To a place with two seasons and terrible pizza.
The Dodgers vs the Yankees. It was a rock and a hard place. Between Scylla and Charybdis. No matter who won, he lost. Like the Pats playing the Eagles. The Patriots winning at least made his beloved wife happy.
“I wish Piper liked baseball,” Annabeth said, more thinking out loud than anything. “Then she could go with me.”
“Sorry, you’re going to have to track down other Yankees fans,” Percy said. “No idea how you’ll do that.”
“I do live in New York City,” Annabeth said. “I could probably find someone.” She let out her own sigh. “But you all are my favorite New Yorkers, and you are all Mets fans.” And then she bent down and grabbed Sophie, who shrieked as Annabeth picked her up, and settled her on her hip.
“Well,” Percy offered, “hockey season just started. And all the little Bruins fans will look adorable in their outfits when Grandpa takes them to see the Bruins play the Islanders."
“Maybe that will be our Holiday card,” Annabeth said.
“Maybe we’ll win the Stanley Cup,” Lucie added.
Percy had learned a lot about hope. Both as a New York Sports fan who hated the Yankees, and as a demigod. Seeing his little girls, the dreams and hopes that had gotten him through Tartarus, so full of optimism was such a beautiful thing. He glanced at Annabeth, who’d promised him a kiss for luck if they won. Pandora had saved hope. Prometheus had given it to him. And he’d given it to Hestia. Hope belonged at the hearth and home.
Maybe that was the point of hometown sports teams.
“There's always next year, Daddy,” Thalassa said. “The Mets could win then.”
Percy smiled, despite himself. The optimism of young Mets fans. The optimism of young demigods. A legacy of Athena and Poseidon. An ancient feud banished with a kiss. Had anyone had hope for that, just twenty years ago? Now there were five living embodiments of it. Five living embodiments of Percy and Annabeth’s kiss for luck. Five living embodiments of love and hope found even in the depths of Tartarus.
Faced with that, maybe, just maybe, the Mets could win the World Series next year.
“Maybe you’re right, baby,” he said. After all, if there's one thing Percy knew was true, it was you had to have hope in your jar.