Chapter Six

Four days later, I leave the house earlier than usual. I got the all-clear on my knee yesterday, and tomorrow’s the first day I’ll be practicing in Kluvberg’s stadium with the rest of the Scholenberg attendees. Today is our weekly film day. There’s a bus that shuttles us the dozen blocks to the stadium, but I prefer walking. I’ve grown surprisingly attached to the scenery of Kluvberg, and it’s a beautiful day.

Halfway into my walk to the stadium, I come across a tiny coffee shop I decide to duck into. Just as I’ve joined the line, my phone rings. I sigh when I see the name flashing on the screen. I thought being in a different time zone than Hallie would be a respite from the family check-ins. Thanks to my nephew’s erratic sleep schedule, they’ve only become more frequent. There have only been a couple days she hasn’t called since I arrived in Germany.

“Hello?” I drone.

“Don’t sound too excited, or I might call more often,” Hallie replies dryly.

I exhale again. “More often? I’m not sure if that’s even possible. I thought you’d stop mothering me now that you have your own child.”

“Most people enjoy having others check in on them.”

“Or you want to pass on information about more wedding shit you know I don’t care about.” That’s been the main topic of our past few conversations: our father’s upcoming wedding.

Hallie doesn’t deny it. “There’s not much new to report. Sandra doesn’t want to make a fuss. All that’s left to decide on is the flowers.”

“Not make a fuss? But you only get married—oh, wait, this is her third marriage, right?”

“Saylor,” Hallie chastises, a clear note of warning resonating in the tone.

“I’m right. I distinctly remember her mentioning her second husband at your wedding.”

“You ‘forgot’ her name when Dad told us he was getting married, but you remember she was married twice before?”

“She only said her name once. The second husband came up multiple times.”

Hallie lets out a long sigh, but I can hear the amusement hidden deep beneath the irritation. “She’s going to call you tomorrow about the bridesmaid’s dresses, okay?”

“Hold up—I’m supposed to be in the wedding? What happened to not making a fuss?”

“He’s our dad, Saylor.”

“Barely,” I mutter. Harsh, but true. I’ve had more meaningful conversations with the man who owns the corner convenience store one block from campus than my father. I haven’t seen him in person since Hallie’s wedding—two years ago. Haven’t talked to him since he called to say he was getting married—four months ago.