Chapter 2
Chapter Two
MARCUS
“ D ad, will you play chess with me?”
“In a minute, sweetheart. Why don’t you ask Sam to play with you until then?”
My words are met with a long-suffering sigh from Sadie. “Because Sam doesn’t like chess.”
“Chess is boring!” The words are shouted from the back playroom. “Why can’t we ever do what I want to do?”
Standing in the kitchen of the open floor plan, I brace myself for what is going to follow. Sending the girls to play together while I tried to get their backpacks ready for school tomorrow didn’t last long.
Stomps are followed by Sadie’s twin barreling into the kitchen with an attitude that could match an NHL player’s.
“We always do what you want to do!” Sadie fires back. “I don’t want to play dress-up. I want to play chess!”
“But—” Sam starts. I quickly step between the girls so a fight doesn’t break out.
“Okay. Sam, why don’t you go play dress-up?—”
“I don’t want to play dress-up by myself.” Sam crosses her arms, staring up at me like it’s the dumbest thing in the world. Her caramel-brown hair is pulled back into a messy braid.
Five years since their hair got long enough, and I still can’t manage a passable braid to save my life. Bright, blue eyes are full of annoyance. Turning my attention to her identical twin, I’m met with the same look.
“And I don’t want to play dress-up, so you have to play by yourself, Sam.”
“Dad!” Sam screams, stomping her foot. “Tell her to stop being mean.”
I scrub a hand down my face, trying to quell my own rising frustration at the escalating situation. When the two of them entered second grade, it’s like their personalities flipped a switch. They became two different people. Two different people that can’t seem to get along no matter what I do.
“Then go play in your room, Sam, and Sadie, you can play chess down here.”
She quirks a brow at me. “By myself? I can’t play chess by myself.”
“Can’t you be both colors?”
Sadie rolls her eyes at me. “I’ll know the moves to do though. I won’t learn anything by playing myself.”
“You have the book you can use,” Sam tells her. “That means you can play by yourself.”
“That means you can play by yourself too. Right, Dad?”
Sadie pins me with a stare. No matter how I answer this question, I’m not going to give them an answer that either will like.
Fuck. The problem with raising twin girls. Most days, I’m flying by the seat of my pants and feeling that whatever I do isn’t good enough for them .
Maybe if I had someone, it’d be easier. But not just anyone.
There’s only one person who could have handled this. But there’s no use going down that path right now.
The chime from my phone signals the doorbell. Thank God. Both girls run to the door and peek out the glass on the side windows.
“It’s pizza!” Sam yells, excitement now coming from her. At least one girl is happy.
“Why are we having pizza tonight? Isn’t pizza for special nights?” Sadie asks.
“Shh!” Sam says. “I want pizza.”
“It’s not like we’re going to return the pizza,” I tell them, walking to the door. “I didn’t have time to make dinner after practice before the thing at school tonight.”
“It’s not a thing, Dad. It’s fall parent night so you can see everything we’ve done so far.”
I smile at her as I open the door. I fish a large tip out of my wallet and hand it to the delivery guy. Seeing as how I order from them more than I should, they know me. And if I keep giving them good tips, we get pizza faster.
Meaning I keep the girls happy.
“Thanks, man.”
“Anytime, Mr. Evans. Thanks for the tip.” He jogs down the stairs as I kick the door shut behind me.
Holding the box down, I let them grab the breadsticks and juice boxes from the top and watch as they run into the kitchen and take their seats at the table.
“Gigi will be over in a little bit. I have to go meet with your teachers.”
“Why can’t Gigi meet our teachers and you stay home with us?” Sam whines.
I set my crust down and lean across the table. “Is there a reason you don’t want me to meet your teacher? ”
“Sam talks too much in class.”
Sadie sucks the last dregs of her juice and earns a scathing glare from Sam.
“I do not! You’re always talking.”
“Because I’m smart and answer the questions.”
“I’m smart too!” Sam says. “Right, Dad?”
“You’re both very smart.”
Sadie rolls her eyes at me and before she can argue, I cut her with a look to tell her to cool it.
At least she can read that.
Raising twin eight-year-old girls is not what I had in mind at this stage in my life. If one is happy, it’s likely the other isn’t for some mundane reason.
I held them back from starting school a year to give them more time to learn and adjust. It seemed to help given how smart—and sassy—they can be on any day of the week.
“How about this?” I grab a breadstick, take a bite, and chew. “If I get good reports from your teacher, then you two can pick what I make us for dinner tomorrow, okay?”
That earns me big smiles and cuts any arguing. “Okay!”
“Can we have grilled cheese with apple slices?” Sadie asks.
“Yeah!” Sam agrees. “That’s my favorite.”
I smile. “You got it. But I better get good reports from Mrs. Gonzalez. I don’t want you two to be the troublemakers of the class.”
“We’re not, Dad,” Sam tells us.
“Promise?”
“Promise,” they agree.
A knock sounds from the door, but this time, it’s more to signal that they’re here than anything else. “Hi!” Mom’s voice rings out .
“Gigi!” the girls yell out.
“Uh-uh. Finish dinner.”
Mom toes off her shoes and walks into the kitchen.
I stuff the rest of my breadstick in my mouth and stand to give her a hug.
“Did I not teach you any manners?” Mom shakes her head at me as the girls start giggling.
“Apparently not,” I say around a mouthful. “But I don’t want to be late.”
Mom looks down at her watch before dropping kisses on both of the girls’ heads. “You know you’re running late, right?”
“What? No, I’m not. It doesn’t start for another hour.”
“No, it ends in an hour.”
“Seriously? Shit.”
“I thought you were going late,” Mom says. “I told you Monday what time it was.”
“Well, obviously I forgot.” Grabbing a slice, I find my keys and wallet before stepping into my shoes. “Bye, girls. Be good for Gigi.”
The last thing I hear as I’m out the door is the argument I thought was over before dinner came. Chess versus dress-up.
My never-ending battle.