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“I’m here,” I say, before pressing the mute button. “Naomi, go find your shin guards. Tell your dad to help you with them.”
“Amy?”
“I’m here.” When there’s silence I realize the phone is still on mute. “Blair, stop coloring on the dog.”
Dana sighs so heavily I’m forced to pull the phone away from my ear. “Are you there? Maybe I—”
“Sorry,” I say, taking her off of mute. “It’s chaos around here.”
“I can hear that.”
I figure she’s about to launch into one of her tirades about how every time we speak it reminds her why she doesn’t have children, but today she surprises me. She must be pressed for time. “Anyway—,” she says. “Listen, I’m supposed to hold this open house at eleven—it’s the Clairmont listing—you know the one?”
“Sure.” I realize what’s coming next and I’ve already prepared my response.
“It’s pretty much a done deal, the sale—”
“That’s great,” I say, cutting her off.
“Well…sort of. A few clients are coming over to take a look. I wanted to hold the open house, just to see who else the cat might drag in… you know what I mean? A house like that draws attention. For sure, there will be multiple offers.”
“Right.” Blair changes up her color of choice. Instead of yellow, the dog is quickly becoming a pale shade of purple. I wave her off, but it’s pointless. My brow furrows. I remember specifically telling Greg to put the markers up.
As Dana prattles on about comps, and God knows what, a dry cough catches my attention. When I look up, Mrs. Crump is peering over the fence. I give a cheerful wave. She nods, a familiar look of disapproval written on her face. I don’t take it personally. Her face is always fixed like that. I sold her the house, and Greg likes to tease that I could have, that I should have found a more cheerful neighbor. At least she’s quiet, I tell him. And anyway, by the looks of it, I can’t imagine she’s had an easy life.
“So you’ll do it?”
The dog brushes up against me, smearing purple onto my favorite pajamas. “Huh?”
“You’ll handle the open house?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Dana—but Naomi has a soccer game.”
“You weren’t even listening, were you?”
“Of course I was…but…it’s family day.”
“Realtors don’t get family days,” she says dryly.
“I—”
“Well, if you were listening, you would’ve heard that I promised you a cut of two thousand dollars. With that and a little extra push, you’d be almost guaranteed to hit gold. You’d probably even have a little extra left over to put toward our couples trip.” She scoffs dramatically. “I knew I should have called Sharon.”
I smile. Bless her. She means well.
“Two thousand…” I say, but really all I’m thinking about is a white sandy beach with no children in sight.
“See! You weren’t listening.”
“Well—”
“I bet she won’t even notice you missed the game. Come on, Amy—do the math—the kid’s eight. How many more soccer games do you imagine she’ll take part in throughout her adolescence?”
This is why Dana runs the top agency in the county. She knows how to sell. She knows which buttons to push. I do the math in my head. “11:00 to 1:00?”
“Sure, you could probably even cut out by 12:30 if you want. At this price point, you know how buyers are. They don’t dilly-dally.”
She isn’t wrong. If I cut out at 12:30, I could make the last quarter of Naomi’s game. I want to say yes, but then I see Greg out of the corner of my eye. He’s bent down in front of our daughter, wrangling with her and the laces on her soccer cleats. I’ve never been more in love. He looks up at me and gestures with his hands. The signal for starting an ignition. He’s lost the car keys again. I mute the phone. “The spare set is in the drawer.”
