Page 18 of Scoring Chance

“It’s—I’ll explain it later. I need to get the kids home. Thanks for baking the brownies.”

I pivot and twist away from Russ, not unlike maneuvering away from an aggressive defenseman on the ice. I let out a long, slow breath as I slide into my car and shut the door. My head is clouded with spiraling thoughts and the stench of my sons’ flatulence.

I peel out of the pickup lane at ten miles per hour—twice the speed limit.

Another A-plus parenting moment.

Nailed it. Kind of.

Back home, I make grilled cheese and tomato soup. That’s as close to pizza from scratch as I can muster. Dean helps by doing impersonations of the Swedish Chef, and Lulu helps by trying to eat all the cheese.

Lena is studying at a friend’s house, and Davy gets picked up for hockey practice. I can fill them in later. They’re old enough to hopefully have a better understanding of what’s going on with Uncle Des. My two youngest need more handholding.

“Okay, guys,” I say as we sit down. “We need to talk about something.”

“Can I get a rabbit?” Dean asks.

“A rabbit?” I hand them napkins to put on their laps.

“Not as a pet. To pull out of my hat.”

I notice then that Dean is wearing his magician’s hat.

“Can I get a pet rabbit?” Lulu asks.

“You don’t like rabbits,” he shoots back.

“Yes I do! Daddy, can we get a pet rabbit?”

“This rabbit would be part of my act. He’s not a pet.” Dean dips half his grilled cheese into his soup, then his mouth. “How do magicians get rabbits to stay still under their hat?”

“Dean, you are so delusional,” Lulu says with a slight lisp. It’s her new favorite word that she picked up from her older sister. I doubt she actually knows what it means.

“No rabbits. We need to talk about Uncle Des.”

Dean narrows his eyes. “Is he okay?”

“Yeah, he’s fine. He’s great.” I tap my fingers against my leg, nerves pinballing around my stomach. “The thing is…remember when I told you Uncle Des and I had to go to the courthouse for something last week? Well, we technically got married.”

They both stare at me, their little brains trying to compute.

“To each other?” Dean asks.

I nod yes.

Lulu gasps again, delighted. “You’re princesses!”

“Close,” I say. “It’s a…special kind of marriage. It’s not the same kind of marriage as your mom and I had.” I get a little sting at the back of my throat, as if my body’s betraying my explanation. “Some people get married because they’re in love and want to live happily ever after. And some people get married to help out their friends.”

Crap, am I falling into a backdoor explanation of green-card marriages? Why did I have to wear that stupid ring outside the house?

“Uncle Des and I got married so that Uncle Des could help us out with something really important. But it’s not forever.” I let out a quick sigh of relief because I didn’t blatantly lie to my kids. I merely distorted the truth. And yes, there is a difference.

“We don’t need to tell people about this favor Uncle Des is doing. It’s not nice to brag about good deeds because it makes them less special.” I feel like that guy who walked on a tightrope between the World Trade Center. Careful. Caaaaareful.

Dean and Lulu’s face squiggle with turning wheels as they digest this news.

“Does that mean he’s our…stepdad?” Dean asks.