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“Mommy! Can I stir the batter?” I begged.
“No, it’s Cayla’s turn, you know that.”
“But—”
“Stop frowning,” she warned. “You did it last time.”
I glared at my little sister, sitting atop the counter, clapping her chubby hands together. Her blonde curls bounced with the movement. “I hate having a little sister.”
“Oh, don’t say that, Cael. You know you love her, and one day you’ll be so thankful that you have a sibling.”
“Whatever,” I grumbled, crossing my arms over my chest. My mommy glared at me, warning me to check my attitude. “Besides,” I continued, “she’s too little! She won’t stir it right!”
“Caelan Reese Gregory!” She yelled. “You need to be nice. It’ll be your turn next time.”
I glared over at my little sister. I hated her. I didn’t know why my mommy and daddy thought they needed another baby. Wasn’t I good enough?
And then Cayla pushed the bowl closer to me. “Cael, stir!” She yelled in her garbled baby talk.
“No, sweetie, it’s your turn,” mommy told her, rubbing her fingers through Cayla’s hair.
“Cael!” Cayla shouted again.
I smiled. “Can we do it together?”
Mommy nodded. “That would be okay.”
I climbed up on the counter and Cayla and I stirred the batter together. Maybe she wasn’t that bad. In fact, I kind of liked her.
The memory melted away and another quickly replaced it.
“Come on, Cael! You can do better than that!” My dad yelled when I dropped the football again. His smile cut out the bite his words could’ve had.
“I’m too short,” I pouted.
“Aw, kid, you’ll grow. Besides,” he crouched in front of me, ruffling my hair, “Our size has no effect on the person we become. You can accomplish anything if you believe you can and you love what you do,” he poked my heart.
“I really do love football,” I said, my voice small.
“I know you do, Cael. Practice makes perfect. If we practice every night, you’ll be surprised at how good you get.”
“Really?” My eyes lit up. My dad never lied. If he said practice would make me better, then it would.
“Really.”
A smile lifted my lips at the memories. God, I missed them. I yearned for them every day. I realized that grief never really went away. It may shift and recede, like the tides of the ocean, but it was always there. It became a part of you.
“So,” Cayla bounced on my bed, smiling giddily, “I have a boyfriend.”
I stopped in my tracks by my dresser where I’d been looking for a shirt.
I turned around, facing my fifteen-year-old sister. “No way! You’re too young!”
“Jesus, Cael,” she rolled her eyes, “You had a girlfriend when you were thirteen, chillax.”
“You’re my baby sister, I will not chillax,” I mimed her tone.
“I thought you’d be happy for me,” she stood from my bed, starting towards the Jack and Jill bathroom that connected our bedrooms. “Guess I was wrong.”
