“Mmmm,” I hum as I transfer some plates to the dishwasher, although I think that comment was his way of responding to my “friendly” remark earlier. “Is the season going well?” Soccer and sex have always been the two safe topics between us, and we already covered the latter with abysmal results.

“We’re playing decent.”

“So, you’re undefeated?”

Beck flashes me an arresting grin. “One draw.” I scoff as I throw away the desiccated lemons from Emma’s cocktail. “You had a good game yesterday?”

“Yeah. Three zip against one of our main rivals. Northampton. They were at CFOC.” I pause. “My dad came.”

“I figured that was why he was here,” Beck replies. “How was it?”

I lean against the now-clean counter. “I don’t know. It’s nice he made an effort. But it was weird, you know? Sharing this part of my life with him. Having him here. Him seeing me play. Meeting my friends.”

“You can’t expect to go from no relationship to a perfect one in a single visit,” Beck replies. “And it doesn’t have to be all or nothing. Let him in as much or as little as you want.”

“I don’t know what I want,” I whisper, and I’m no longer talking about my dad.

“Yeah, I know,” Beck replies. His tone is dry, and I know he isn’t anymore, either.

“Hello! Anyone home?” Emma’s voice echoes from the entryway, and then she appears in the doorway to the kitchen, with Cressida right behind her. They both stop and stare.

I straighten and sigh. I have no idea how long Beck is going to stay, and at this rate it will take us a week to get through a full conversation about anything meaningful. “Hey, guys. Um, this is Beck. Beck, this is Cressida and Emma.”

Beck smiles. “Nice to officially meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you both.”

Neither Emma nor Cressida say anything; they just gape at him.

“Don’t make it weird, guys,” I say.

Beck’s phone vibrates against the countertop. “Sorry, I have to take this,” he tells me. He grabs the phone and starts a rapid stream of German.

“Hey, Emma? Can we come in?” a voice calls from the direction of the front door.

My head whips to the left. “Who is that?”

“One minute!” Emma calls out. “If you’d answered any of my texts, you’d know.”

“My phone died,” I respond. “I normally charge it overnight, and there wasn’t exactly a cord on the living room floor.”

“Well, if you had charged it then you would know I agreed to host study group because this may or may not be the first time I’m attending it and I’m hoping they’ll give me the old notes,” Emma informs me. “You disappeared after practice and weren’t answering!”

“Why are they all outside?” I ask.