Several years ago, now, Amy and I and some other people had gone out drinking back home, over the river in Canada.  It was one of those nights out where you see lots of people from the past, and when we got home, her brother told us the story of Ash’s brother’s girlfriend, whom we had met as we drank pints in the basement irish pub, in front of the fireplace.

The backstory: Ash went to our high school, was a California transplant that had a hard time adjusting at first, and ended up becoming one of those beloved kid sin high school.  Nice to everyone, true to himself, creative, and even attractive-despite-serious-acne. You know the type.  He also got to know my dad through his photography and skiing pursuits, and his mom worked at the import clothing store in town, where the crunchy types (like me) bought dresses with tribal designs and tiny mirrors and embroidery trim for Class Night and Graduation ceremonies.  After I graduated, I waited tables with Ash, abd replaced him before he went off to college.  He used to stop and check in with my dad when he was home visiting, but I don’t think his mom lives there anymore, and so I don’t think he has a reason to go home. Last I knew, he was a rollerblade demo/salesman guy, and loved his job.

Anyway, this was years ago that we were in the pub, late nineties anyway.  We all knew about Ash’s dad at thispoint, he was a helicopter pilot for the mill, and was being eaten up by stomach cancer. It wasn’t good, and everyone hated it because they were this super cool family, with a mom who was the nicest person ever, and this kid that was really well adjusted.  He had an older brother who went to boarding school (for skiing, I think, his mom said he needed to be outside and active to really learn, so they found the best school for him — again, just cool people.)

The brother, Aaron, traveled around, was mostly a professional ski bum (or something like it), living hand to mouth with short arms, but loving life.  He met a girl very similar to him, and they fell in love and were very happy. Then his dad got sick.  They wanted to send him to the Mayo clinic, but insurance wouldn’t cover it, and they didn’t have the money.  The girlfriend, at that point, said "I think I can help."

Turns out, the girlfriend, the modest free spirited blonde chick, was Jill Schulz. As in, Charles Schulz’s daughter. As in, "My Dad invented Charlie Brown, how much do you need?"  She paid for the dad to get the best treatment, but sadly, he died anyway.  Jill and Aaron, though, got married.

Her whole deal was that she didn’t want to be loved for her money; she wanted to be loved for who she was.  I met them, once, before I knew the story, and before Charles Schulz died.  When he did die, it made me happy to hear that they had gotten married.  I just googled them, and found this picture (which, I think that is Ash in the background, but that’s the woman that sold me LOTS of incense in high school) and this whole page which shows the main characters of that story.

Anyway, when Dad I were at the hocky game, he brought up this story between fistfuls of kettle corn.

"You know," he said, "I think Pete might be like that Schulz girl.  I think there’s a lot more to his story than he’s telling us."

Pete, being, of course, OF COURSE, my sister’s boyfriend.

Let me preface by saying, first, that Pete is AWESOME.  I would love him for my sister if all he had was a splintered wooden nickel.  He is just right for her, he really is.  He has just the right amount of eye-rolling and supportive comments. Seriously, we LOVE PETE. LOVE him.

But, here’s the thing. He works less than my sister. DId you hear that? LESS than my sister.  He does a lot of the same types of jobs (exactly the same in winter) but you know, less of them.  However, he just bought a house for well, a lotta money. More than twice what ours was.. With a lot down. PMI is not an issue with his mortgage.  They close on the 30th, and he wrote a check for a hot tub that was more than the cost of my car, NEW. (Granted, my car is 10 years old, but still.) My sister emailed me to tell me how they took a trailer to Boulder and loaded it up with furniture.

"And think about it," dad said, "anytime Kate needs money, she gets it . . . .  without calling us." 

The general consensus is that there’s more there than we know about.  Pete, because he is such a good guy, wants someone that loves HIM.  And my sister, the Golden Retriever of girlfriends, is oblivious.  She just smiles big and is happy and excited to have a new couch and king-sized bed, and to be free of roommates for the first time, ever. 

Sigh.