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SIX
SOPHIA
Iknock twice before the door swings open.
“Hey!” I throw up my arms.
“You’re late.” My sister-in-law, Saylor, shakes her head in mock annoyance, but she’s smiling.
“I know; I know. But I actually rushed to see the cutest niece in the whole wide world.” I scoop Greta—Gigi, as she’s called right now—out of Saylor’s arms, lifting her up in the air.
She giggles the cutest baby gurgle that makes me smile.
“My parents here?”
“They were early.”
“Of course they were.”
My mom considers on time to be late, and my dad follows her schedule. Even for Germans, they’re ridiculously punctual.
I press a kiss to Gigi’s chubby cheek and then hand her back to Saylor so I can kick off my heels and sling my bag on a wall hook.
“Everyone’s in the living room,” my sister-in-law says, then continues down the hallway.
She and Adler moved into this ten-million-euro penthouse right after they got married. It’s close to both of their practice facilities and an incredible location right in downtown Kluvberg, but I’m guessing they’ll move out of the city once Greta is a little older.
Adler and I grew up running through the gardens of our parents’ estate—me chasing butterflies and him after a football—and I’m guessing that’s the kind of upbringing he’ll want for his own child.
My parents are seated on one of the couches in the living room, grazing on the appetizers that have been laid out.
I kiss both their cheeks, ignoring the headshakes my dress garners. I changed in a haste after leaving the paper so I wouldn’t keep Marie waiting for too long. And this is a laundry weekend, which means options were limited. It left me in a short black dress that worked well for 32nd Lounge, the bar we went to, but not so great for a family dinner. Neither of them comments on my outfit, though. My parents gave up on policing my decisions a while ago. Adler is the one who gets their criticism and the bulk of their attention.
No part of me wanted the pressure of carrying on their football legacy. But I also gave up their investment in my choices in exchange, it feels like. They love and support and indulge me, but it’s never felt like they expect much. Like now, their matching expressions say, Of course Sophia wore this to dinner.
“Are you eating enough, Sophia?” my mom asks as I grab a handful of crackers and shove a couple into my mouth.
It’s common knowledge in my family that I’m a terrible cook and essentially live off reheating and takeout.
“Yes,” I reply after swallowing, settling onto the couch across from her and then leaning forward to grab a piece of cheese. “How’s the patio project going?”
My parents are redoing several parts of their sprawling yard over the summer.
“They’re ahead of schedule,” my mom says.
“Really?”
“Your papa has been spending a lot of time outside,” she explains, glancing at my father.
“Ah.” I shove another cracker in my mouth.
My father’s default setting is intimidating. Even now, relaxing on the couch, he’s wearing what could easily be categorized as a frown. I can only imagine what the workmen are thinking as he appraises their every move.
“Dinner is almost ready,” Saylor announces, entering the living room with Gigi on her hip.
My mom immediately opens her arms. Saylor sets Gigi on her lap, then takes the seat next to me, reaching out for the open wine bottle and filling a glass with a generous splash. She downs half of it in one gulp, then glances at me.
I smirk. “Rough day?”
