Page 104 of No Contest
"No problem."
She studied me for a moment. I braced for something—a test or judgment. Instead, she nodded once. "You're good at this."
Then she was gone, pulled into another conversation.
Mae found me in the kitchen, tugging on my sleeve with sticky fingers that smelled like grape juice.
"We're bored," she announced.
Liam appeared behind her, all sharp elbows and restless energy compressed into a ten-year-old body that didn't know what to do with itself. "Mom says we have to stay inside, but there's nothing to do, and Tommy keeps crying and—"
"You wanna build a snowman?" I asked.
They looked at each other. Then at me.
"It's freezing out there," Mae said, but her eyes were already bright considering the option.
"That's why they invented coats."
Five minutes later, we were in the backyard.
The snow was perfect—wet enough to pack. Mae immediately started rolling a ball for the base while Liam launched himself into a drift, disappearing up to his waist.
"Okay, strategy." I crouched down to Mae's level. "Bottom's gotta be huge. Bigger than huge. Like, as big as you can make it."
"How big is that?"
"Show me."
She spread her arms wide. I shook my head. "Bigger."
She spread them wider, standing on her tiptoes.
"Perfect. Go."
While Mae attacked the base, I helped Liam extract himself from the drift. Snow clung to his hair, jacket, and the inside of his boots. He shook himself like a dog, spraying snow everywhere. "Can we make the head?"
"After the middle. Architecture, kid. Foundation first."
We worked quietly, interrupted by occasional strategy sessions. Mae needed help rolling her snowball once it got too big to push alone. Liam insisted the middle section should have "muscles," which resulted in a lopsided torso that looked like a snowman who'd been hitting the gym on one side only.
"Arms!" Mae declared, abandoning her post to hunt for sticks.
She returned with two branches that were different lengths. One was thick and sturdy, and the other was thin and bent at an odd angle.
"Perfect," I said.
"They don't match."
"Nothing ever does. That's what makes it interesting."
Liam found rocks for eyes while I lifted Mae onto my shoulders so she could place them. She wobbled, gripped my head for balance, and carefully pressed each rock into place.
"Down, please."
I set her down. She stepped back, hands on her hips, surveying our work.
The snowman was a disaster. Lopsided and asymmetrical, with a head that tilted at a dangerous angle. The stick arms jutted out at weird angles, and one of the rock eyes was significantly higher than the other.
