Page 18 of Silver Player

I only shake my head. I don’t have the energy to keep sparring with Billy, and I can’t coach him on parenting. He needs to figure out this minefield on his own.

My phone rings, and I reach for it on the kitchen counter. It’s Grace, reminding me she needs to leave early, which means I need to get down to the store.

“I need to head downstairs,” I tell Billy, standing from the table although his plate remains relatively full. He hasn’t eaten much I notice. I’m not a gourmet cook, but I’ve been trying to incorporate kid-friendly foods into my menu and keep a scheduled dinnertime for Sadie. She needs stability and repetition.

“I’ll clean up,” he says standing briskly to the point we almost collide in my small kitchen. His hands grip my upper arms to catch me.

“I can’t leave you here with Sadie.” My brows lift, emphasizing my concern.

“Nothing’s going to happen. I’ll keep to the kitchen, hide the knives, and make sure she doesn’t ignite the stove to set me on fire.”

I shouldn’t laugh, and I don’t, actually. It’s more of a nervous chuckle.

“Do you even know how to wash dishes?” I snort.

“Barkeep, remember? Glassware is my specialty. I take care of delicate things.” His eyes meet mine, and I hesitantly scoff again.

“I’ll be downstairs. Just let Sadie be, okay?”

“Scout’s honor,” he swears, holding up four fingers, and I know right then he’s a liar because the Boy Scouts only use three.

8

A date

[Billy]

My mother would have never let us stew after she cooked a meal. Cleanup was on those who didn’t cook, and if I am Sadie’s father, the same rules will apply in my house, so I help myself to wander Roxie’s apartment until I find a door marked with a wooden cutout of Sadie’s name painted yellow and hanging on the doorknob.

“Sadie, Roxie had to go down to the bookstore. We need to do the dishes.”

Silence.

“Look, house rules. If you didn’t cook, you clean up. Roxie made us a nice dinner, and we repay her by cleaning the kitchen.”

More silence.

Man, this kid is tough, but then again, I don’t know what I expected.

“And I’m sorry I raised my voice,” I say softly to the door and then turn back for the kitchen. I’m not known for my apologies, but I’m trying here. As I walk back down the hallway, my eyes wander for Roxie’s bedroom, but I don’t have the energy to snoop. Instead, I veer left for the kitchen and stopper the sink to wash the dishes. The basin fills with suds and water while I scrape the plates, and then I scrub the silverware and set it on a dish towel. Suddenly, the utensils move, and I peer over my shoulder with my hands deep in dishwater. Sadie stands next to me with another dish towel, wiping the forks dry. We work quietly in tandem for a while before she speaks.

“What do we need to do for the test?”

I’ve read up on a few possibilities, but I’d come to the consensus it is rather simple. “We each swab the inside of our cheeks, and a lab analyzes the results to see if we match.”

“Like ancestry dot com?”

“Something like that.”

A question still lingers between us—what happens after?—but neither of us asks.

“It takes about three days for the results,” I add. She nods, and I take this as acceptance. “So, it’s a date?” I tease, handing her the bowls I’ve cleaned.

“Do you want to date my aunt?” she blurts out, and I slowly grin.

“What? No. Ew. Dating is just yucky.” I wiggle my entire body as though I’m repulsed by the idea, which isn’t a total lie. I don’t date. I’m more a pick-up man. Pick-her-up and another word which comes close to rhyming. I keep things casual, up front, and no commitment, and none of this is information I’ll be sharing with a sixteen-year-old.

“No one says yucky,” she snarks, glaring at me with those eyes that match the shape of her aunt and must have matched her mother’s. I don’t see a single trace of myself in her.