Page 45 of Scoring Chance

To that, Russ simply laughs.

He and Cal bicker all the way back to their car, and I stand there for a moment, chuckling as I watch them go.

Russ is a lot—loud, opinionated, and intimidating in a crisp-button-down way—but he has a heart under there. And Cal is the chaos gremlin that keeps him humble.

Katie and I had a solid relationship like theirs. Having four kids meant a sense of humor was needed to survive. I wonder if I’ll ever find a connection like that again. Dating isn’t on my radar. Yet those thoughts of me, Des, and the kids crowded in the kitchen, or struggling through the chaos of a family photo stir feelings in me that had long since been dormant.

And for the sake of my family, I need to tamp them down.

14

DES

The photograph was hideous. Truly, spectacularly hideous.

Lena was blinking mid-eye roll. Dean was sticking bunny ears behind my head. Davy looked like he was about to strangle his little bro. Lulu had her whole sticky hand wrapped around my tie. Tanner’s mouth gaped open mid-yell at his sons. And I—forehead glistening with flop sweat, forced smile stretched like taffy—looked like a man being slowly devoured by four small, chaotic wolves.

But I couldn’t stop looking at it.

“Cute picture,” Craig says as he strides into my office, pencil behind his ear and notebook in hand.

I step back from the wall where it’s hung—a perfect position so anyone walking by can see it.

Craig gets up close, studying each face. He snorts to himself. “Never thought I’d see you willingly surrounded by kids.”

“It’s the dawn of a new day.”

“Is he giving the camera the finger?” Craig points at Dean’s finger sticking up behind my head.

“That’s an index finger. He was trying to give me bunny ears.”

“Nice.” Craig raises a fist in troublemaker solidarity with Dean.

Lisa, my senior copywriter, joins us in my office. Her wildly curly hair and boundless smile always help to put me in a good mood. She leans against Craig as she gazes at the picture. Craig is like a freestanding wall in that way.

“Aww. That’s so cute!” She clutches her heart. “So sweet.”

“I need to get a better one taken. That was a disaster, as you can tell.”

“Looks about right,” Lisa says. “We hired a photographer for family pictures. She shot for a half-hour, and we ended up with one usable picture where the kids were both looking at the camera and smiling.” A flash of frustration, not unlike the one I felt the other night, crosses her brow.

“Yeah, that looks like every family picture we ever tried to take. My dad’s face was so red one year because he’d been yelling at me and my brothers to shut the hell up,” Craig says.

“I figure this is as good as we’re going to get. We’re going to hire a professional photographer for our holiday pictures.” The lie comes out remarkably easily, but I tell myself I’m selling a story. This fake family is just like mustard or cosmetics. If we have to keep up this ruse by then, I think a family Christmas picture would make sense…and be nice.

The image was a disaster, sure, but it was mine. And it was real.

That was the part I kept coming back to.

It had felt real—everyone jostling to fit into frame, the exaggerated, rubbery expressions on the kids’ faces. That tangle of noise and life. The way Lulu had wormed into my lap without hesitation.

“Oh, now this is a good picture.” Lisa swipes the frame off my desk where I put mine and Tanner’s shot, the one Lena convinced us to take.

“Cute couple,” Craig says, easily peeking over Lisa’s shoulder. “Never thought I’d see the day when Max Desmond would settle down.”

“You’re so smart for not doing a wedding. Six years later, my mother-in-law and I are still salty with each other over a fight about napkin rings.” Lisa puts the frame back on the desk. “Married life suits you well, Des.”

Craig slowly steps back from Lisa so that she doesn’t collapse. He flops onto my leather couch, a spot where I’ve spent many a late night coming up with the perfect pitch. His legs are so long his knees bang into the coffee table. He is a man on stilts.