Lala shamelessly evaluates Eliza, her little head tilting with a full-body scan. “You don’tlooklike you work on the farm.”
No, she doesn’t, in a pretty little sundress that shows the smallest glimpse of her thighs.
Eliza smiles kindly. “My work is different from your brother’s. I do marketing.”
Lala bulldozes right on to her next question. “Do you play soccer?”
“I didn’t grow up playing soccer, but I can play sports.”
“Can you do goalie?”
“I can probably figure it out.”
“Then you’re the goalie,” La declares.
“Honey, she’s wearing a dre?—”
“It’s alright,” Eliza says, taking me by surprise.
Not because I doubt her athleticism, but because she came over for a tasting of Anson’s newest wine—and looks the part, glossy lips, strappy sandals, and all.
Apparently, she takes Lala by surprise too, because my little sister loudly states, “The last girl Gray brought wouldn’t play goalie.”
Kids and the shit they say. “La, that’s not?—”
She barrels on. “All she did was twirl her fake hair and flutter her eyelashes?—”
“Enough,” I say sternly.
Lala recognizes my rare not-messing-around tone and sheepishly eyes her cleat-covered feet, kicking the ground. “Am I being ill-mannered?” she asks.
That choice of words would throw me if she wasn’t being raised by Anson.Ill-mannered.Christ.
Pulling on my parent-role pants, I tell her, “Talking about people who aren’t here in a negative way isn’t nice.”
“But she was mean to you, and she made you sad. How can I talk about her in agoodway?”
My heart warms at her protectiveness, even as I say, “It just isn’t a good way to welcome a new guest, who just offered to play soccer with you.”
“Okay. I’m sorry.” She hits Eliza with her signature green doe-eyes. “Welcome to our home. Will you still play soccer?”
Eliza fights a smile. “Thank you. And yes, soccer sounds fun.”
Lala beams just as Anson leans out the front door, wearing a button-down. “Hello, Eliza,” he greets with the formality of a board meeting. To our little sister, he says, “You have twenty minutes. Do not kick the ball at her face.”
“Thirty minutes.”
“Twenty,” Ansonsays firmly.
The gears in her little mind turn as she thinks over her next offer. Anson knows it, which is why he says, “I’m willing to change it to ten.”
Lala’s eyes widen. “No, thank you!” She heads for the backyard, shouting “Hurry up! We only have twenty minutes!” over her shoulder.
Eliza meets my eyes as we follow. “So…you dated the daughter of a man who hates you, who also refused to play soccer, huh?”
Thank you, Lala, for bringing up Mackenzie.Not sure why I thought Eliza would let that one slide.
I opt for a lame, “Yep.”
