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“Good for you, schatz,” my father tells me.
He says some similar version of that every time the topic of photography comes up. Supportive, but not understanding. Paired with the childhood endearment, it feels like his usual indulgence.
My father thinks taking photos is a hobby, not a career, and I’ve never been bold enough to ask him why kicking a ball around a field qualifies as a higher pursuit in his eyes. My dad is an older, sterner version of Adler, but I’ve never seen him display any of the warmer affection my brother does. He shows his love in subtler ways, like the apartment he bought me in the city center before I started university. Like the wine we’re drinking, the same bottle he brings every time we do one of these family dinners because Saylor once commented how much she liked it. He never makes a scene about showing his affection. He handed me the apartment’s keys in the same matter-of-fact way he sets the bottle on the table.
I’m terrified to disappoint him, desperate to impress him. And that’s a large part of why Harry’s request was too hard to pass up. Plenty of successful photographers work freelance. But I’m hoping I’ll be able to tell my family—my dad, in particular—that I have a steady staff position. That they won’t need to support me post-university as I continue to waffle around on what to do with my life. Hopefully my short stint as a sports photographer will be my ticket to accomplishing that.
One obvious difference from my intended career and my brother’s: Adler has made millions through football. Not only is he the highest-paid player in the German league, he has sponsorships and endorsements and has been gifted so many free sports cars that he gave me one. I’m proud of my family’s accomplishments. But I don’t want to be supported by them any more than I want to be defined by them.
“Does that mean we’ll see you on Saturday?” my mom asks.
Kluvberg’s first game of the season.
“If you look at the sidelines, yeah. I don’t know exactly where I’ll be standing.”
“I’m sure you’ll do an amazing job,” Saylor says. “Your photos are incredible.”
“Thanks.” I smile at her.
Gigi starts wailing again, and everyone’s attention shifts off of me.
I glance over when I hear the door slide open. My parents left about twenty minutes ago since they have a longer drive home. After helping with the dishes, I opted to carry my wineglass out onto the enclosed patio that boasts an expensive view of Kluvberg. I’m sprawled out on the couch, staring up at the few stars whose light isn’t drowned out by the brightness of the city.
Saylor walks out with her own wineglass and takes a seat on the matching couch, tucking her feet underneath her.
“So…where did you go tonight?”
I raise one eyebrow.
Saylor smirks, glancing at my dress. “Come on. That’s what you picked out for dinner here? What a waste of a cute dress.”
No matter how much Adler pisses me off sometimes, I owe him majorly for getting me Saylor as a sister-in-law. For a while there, I thought he’d end up with one of the aloof models he’d “dated” for years.
“32nd Lounge.”
“Ooh. Is that the place with the velvet booths?”
“Yep. Exactly.” I take a sip of wine.
“And? Any cute guys?”
“Saylor.”
The screen door slides open again, and Adler appears on the balcony.
My sister-in-law laughs, lifts her legs, and then drops them on his lap once he’s sat down. She wiggles her toes, and he starts rubbing her feet.
“I was just asking.”
“Sophia still has a semester left of university. She should be focused on finishing school.”
Saylor rolls her eyes. “Right. Because we all know you were hitting the books hard at twenty-two.”
“Sophia’s smarter than I am.”
“She’s also young. She should be going out and enjoying herself, which is exactly what you did at her age. Hypocrite.”
I smile before taking another sip from my wineglass. Saylor is the one person my brother tolerates pushback from, and it’s always entertaining to see him fold.
