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Everyone who’s anyone in the European soccer world is an old friend of my dad’s, including Kluvberg’s current coach. They played together at one point, I believe.
He’s trying to intimidate Will, which I find interesting. Usually, his name is enough to make eyes go wide. Adler is a current attraction. My dad is seen as a living legend, no longer subject to the highs or lows of winning and losing. His legacy is frozen in time, infallible and impressive. Whenever people meet him, they’re awed.
Will appears unbothered. He leans back in his chair, but keeps his balance. “Let me guess. You were one of the ten.”
My father laughs. Laughs. “I was,” he tells Will.
I have no idea what that means. I glance at my brother, but he looks equally confused.
“I might be changing my mind.”
Will’s expression is wry. “What did it? How well I’ve been practicing sitting on the bench?”
My dad still appears amused as he nods. “Leon rewards effort. He doesn’t waste time or money. Or talent.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Hans, please.”
Adler looks stunned. I’m just as taken aback.
I’ve never seen my dad act so friendly. Him meeting Will was not an encounter that ever occurred to me. But had I given it any thought, I would have assumed they wouldn’t get along. Will is loud and brash and opinionated, essentially the polar opposite of what I associated with my staid, serious father.
Will nods, taking it in stride. He has no idea this isn’t how my dad normally acts. “Thank you, Hans.”
I expect that to be the end of the bizarre conversation.
But my dad shifts in his chair, his attention still on Will. Studying him with visible interest. “I heard you scored thirty-three goals last season.”
The corner of Will’s mouth curls up as my dad keeps the surprises coming. I vaguely recall Saylor talking about Will’s stats at our last family dinner. I didn’t realize my dad was paying attention, much less that he’d memorized the exact number.
“I sure did, si—Hans.”
“My final season with Kluvberg, I scored thirty-five. Club record.”
Will’s smirk grows into a full-blown smile. “I can’t believe you retired after that. They would have had to carry me off the field a few years later, chasing thirty-six.”
“My ACL was shot. Shredded it, taking all those shots.”
“Let’s not talk about injuries in a room of pro footballers, please,” Saylor says. “Come on, Hans.”
My dad smiles. “Just letting Will know what the record is. It’s the only one of mine Adler hasn’t broken. Did your folks play, Will?”
Without me consciously deciding it should, my mouth opens. “I think I hear Gigi,” I blurt out.
Saylor sighs. “Crap. She must want her night bottle.”
“We should get going, Hans,” my mom says. She’s been hiding yawns behind her hand for the past hour.
Around the table, everyone is suddenly standing and moving. Noah excuses himself to use the bathroom. Saylor goes to check on Gigi. Adler and my parents head into the kitchen, carrying some of the dishes.
Will and I are the only two people who stay seated at the table. I can feel his eyes on me, but I avoid his gaze. Interrupting was a reflex. I didn’t want Will to have to talk about his family if he didn’t want to, knowing it’s a sensitive subject. But I didn’t need to say something. I probably shouldn’t have said something even though I’m relieved it essentially ended this uncomfortable evening. My first instinct was to…protect him, I guess, and I really wish I didn’t know that.
I search my brain for something casual and blasé to say as we sit in silence, coming up entirely blank. So I just run my finger up and down the thin stem of my wineglass, pretending like I’m alone. There’s nothing left to say and too much I want to. Keeping my lips pressed together seems like the smartest move.
Then, commotion surrounds us again, as my parents and Adler reenter the dining room. Saylor appears a minute later with a smiling Gigi on her hip. I guess she did wake up. The room fills with chatter, erasing the emptiness between us.
He wasn’t supposed to fit here, I think petulantly.
