“Lucy,” I said with a sigh, “He’s not a serial killer.”
Her face popped into frame and she performed a classic eye-roll before brushing a blonde curl behind her ear.
“You don’t know that,” She quipped. “He could be luring you into a false sense of security. That’s, like, serial killer 101. Chapter one of the murder playbook.”
I returned the eye-roll to my younger sister.
“I’ve been living here for three days,” I reminded her. “Pretty sure if he was going to off me, he would have done it by now. If anyone’s going to murder me, it’s going to be Gerald.”
There was a short pause before she asked, “Who’s Gerald?”
I let out a huff of laughter, shifting so I could run my hand through my hair. “He’s a… sock. Colton keeps him on top of his dresser. He’s like a white ankle sock with googly eyes glued on. Kind of looks like a kid’s project, honestly. But, apparently he judges people.”
Lucy blinked at me.
“A sock. With googly eyes.” She repeated back, sounding mildly disturbed by that particular combination of words.
“Yeah,” I caught myself smiling, unreasonably amused, and I ran my hand over my jaw to hide it. “Colton kind of introduced him as if he was another roommate.”
“And you’re wonderingwhyI’m worried you’re going to get murdered.”
“Okay, hearing it out loud does make it sound bad, but I promise you it wasn’t that weird. Just like… quirky.” I chuckled.
Lucy narrowed her eyes. “I don’t know what’s more concerning… The fact that the guy you’re living with clearly needs a psych eval, or that you’re just cool with it.”
“Oh, come on Luce,” I muttered, shaking my head, the smile not leaving my face. “It’s not that bad…”
When her blue eyes narrowed more, I held up a hand. “You know what? Forget it. I’m fine.” I assured her.
“Fine like that meme of the dog sitting in flames…” She grumbled.
Lucy was my younger sister and only sibling. We shared the same father but had different mothers. Not that it ever mattered to us. I was twelve when she was born, and from the moment her tiny, squirming body was placed in my arms, I was done for.
She was this reddish-pink little lump, wrapped up like a burrito in a hospital-issued blanket, and all I could think was ‘I have to protect her’. From then on, I made it my mission to be present. Always.
My parents were barely legal when I came along. A baby out of wedlock felt like a scandal back then, so they got married in a hurry. But that quick decision turned into yearsof quiet resentment, mostly on my mother’s part. My dad tried to make it work, juggling college, a job, and a kid. But I think the damage was already done. My mother never forgave the timing of my birth. By the time I turned six, they couldn’t look at each other without screaming. And then came the divorce.
Suddenly, I was a pawn in the middle of a war, dragged between courtrooms and told to say things about each of them that no kid should ever have to say. In Texas, kids twelve and over are eligible for their own legal representation in divorce cases. But under that, they don’t get a voice on who they want to live with or anything else regarding their care. So at just six years old, I had no protection as I was being weaponized by two people who should’ve been shielding me from the storm.
That experience? That’s why I went into family law. Why I fought so particularly hard for the kids in my divorce cases. But, also why I hated divorce.
Eventually, my dad offered my mother a large settlement, courtesy of my grandparents, to give up custody. She’d agreed and packed up to move to North Carolina before the ink had even dried on the divorce decree. After that, I only saw her on select Thanksgivings and Christmases. Her love came with a dollar sign, and once it was paid, she was gone.
A few years later, my dad met Toni, Lucy’s mom. She was everything my mother wasn’t. Calm, soft-spoken, blonde with porcelain skin and kind blue eyes. I loved her almost instantly. And she truly brought out the best in my dad. He felt lighter, freer,happier, than he had my whole life. It was like I was meeting him for the first time after Toni came into the picture.
When they got married, I’d finally felt like I’d been given a real mom and dad. And then Lucy came along.
Her chubby cheeks, gummy smile, and tiny fingers wrapped around mine and she owned me from day one. Shedeserved the best big brother in the world, and I was determined to deliver.
I brought pictures of her to school that first year of life, bragging about how cute and smart she was for her age. I knew her milestones like I knew my school assignments. I was present for every dance recital, cheer competition, and birthday party—even when I was drowning in law school. Being there for her felt like rewriting history. Like maybe, through her, I could give us both the childhood I didn’t have.
Lucy and I chatted for a few more minutes about college applications and this boy in her summer SAT-prep course that was ‘major red-flags but also kind of hot’ before I had to get ready for my day.
“Just promise me you won’t let this guy kill you in your sleep, okay? Or worse, borrow your socks without asking.”
“Duly noted.” I responded, still amused.
“I’m serious,” She retorted. “Text me later. I want updates. Vibes. Intel.”
