“Maybe I should’ve said fourth job,” Eden says. “Add home remodel to that list.”
Confusion lands on Paisley’s face. “Home remodel?”
Annoyance fills me. I wish my sister would stop talking. “The owner of Obstinate Daughter is in the middle of remodeling his house. I’ve been helping him out here and there.”
Paisley tips up the brim of her hat so she can see me better. “Now you’re an architect?”
My arms cross. “No, I’m good at swinging a sledgehammer around and knocking shit down.”
She stares up at me, lips pursed.
“What?” I look down at her. She’s probably scrambling to figure out how she’s going to explain to her mother that her boyfriend is also a swinger of sledgehammers. Is she wishing she’d stumbled onto some other guy with a better pedigree to be her fake date? The thought puts a sadness deep in my chest, and a layer of scorn on top. “You don’t like the fact your fake boyfriend has callused hands? Are you having second thoughts about parading me around in front of your family?”
She lets out a little breath, offended. “That isnotwhat I said.”
“Geez, Klein,” Eden interjects. “It won’t be your calluses that get you kicked off the love train, it’s going to be your bad attitude.”
Paisley crosses her arms and glares at me. “She’s right.”
In the center of the field, the referee glances at his watch and slows his pace. He brings his whistle to his lips and blows a cadence signaling the end of the game.
The adults clap, shouting,Good work, boys, andIt’s OK, you’ll win the next one.
Bummer. The disappointment I feel is similar to that of Oliver and his teammates trudging off the field.
“One scoop, Klein,” Eden instructs, warning in her tone.
I refuse her with a head shake. “It is a two-scoop day, Eden, and don’t try to tell me otherwise.”
“Fine,” she grumbles. To Paisley, she explains, “Klein takes Oliver out for a treat after soccer. Win or lose.”
Oliver comes off the field, backpack weighing down his already hunched shoulders. His gaze meets mine, and his lower lip quivers.
I wrap him in a hug, ignoring the sweaty smell coming off him. “You played well. Be proud of that.”
“We lost,” Oliver says irritably.
“There are lessons to be found in losing.”
“Uncle Klein, right now I just can’t see what they are.”
I nod, eyes squinting like I’m thinking deeply. “Do you believe a double scoop of ice cream will help your vision?”
One side of Oliver’s mouth curls up in a smile. “Only if there’s marshmallow fluff and crumbled Oreos on top.”
Eden huffs. “If you insist on giving him all that sugar, you’re taking him for the afternoon.”
I offer a high five to Oliver. “Told you I could get her to let you come over for the afternoon, and have a treat the size of your head.”
Oliver beams, his lost soccer game behind him now that ice cream is in his future. He slaps my palm with as much force as he can muster. “Uncle Klein, you’re the best.”
Over Oliver’s head I point back at myself and mouth to Eden, “I’m the best.”
Eden less-than-gently taps the center of my chest. “Best uncles facilitate the building of dioramas. That we don’t have the materials for.” She pretends to shake pom-poms. “Yay.”
Oliver groans and swings his body around like this is the worst news he could receive.
I wink at him. “It’s a good thing I double-majored in creative writing and diorama construction.”
