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We picked this house because of those trees, a taste of Springbrook Hills, and the back deck. When I was pregnant with James, and it was time to move us out of the townhouse, I fell in love with the idea of this exact moment.
I’ve never stumbled upon it until right now, but as I do, I put a hand to my belly—a sister for Kayla.
Five years apart, just like Lilah and me.
“Yeah, pumpkin,” Ben says, eyes staying to the trees.
“What happens if I don’t like art?” His hand pauses.
“What?”
“If I don’t like art the way you do.” Kayla’s hand starts moving again, dipping in a pot of water to clean her brush before moving back to the watercolors. Ben’s hand is frozen. “Like, what happens if I don’t want to be an artist? What happens if I want to be a chef or a firefighter?”
“Lala, you will be whatever you want, no matter what.” His head turns toward our girl, his eyes soft but holding a knowledge he holds close. The hair at his temple has started to gray, and more art has been added to the arm I can see, but he’s still the same man I fell in love with all those years ago.
“Yeah, I know. But art . . . It’s our thing.”
“Yes,” he says then starts moving his hand again, but I see the gears working.
“Like, what if I want to build houses?”
“I bet Uncle Tanner would love your help.” She giggles, and I try not to because my brother-in-law would love nothing more than a crew of Coleman girls taking over Coleman and Sons one day, his nieces and his own girls leading the family legacy.
Or not. We’ve all learned that the futures of our children are not for us to plan.
“Hey, Daddy?” Kayla says again after they’re silent for a few more moments.
“Yeah, baby.”
“Do you think I’ll be an okay big sister?” Ben stops now, setting his brush aside.
We haven’t been able to get much out of Kayla regarding her moving from being the baby to a big sister, but it seems she’s ready to talk.
“Do you think you’ll be a good big sister?” She doesn’t stop looking at her paper, adding pink hearts to the edges. He shoulders over, a subtle shrug.
Ben doesn’t talk.
Doesn’t push.
He does what he does best. He waits silently until she feels safe enough to speak.
Just like he did for me years ago.
“I’m kind of scared. Because babies are delicate.”
“Yeah, they are.”
“And it’s going to be my job to take care of her.”
Now Ben turns in his chair to face her.
“And what happens if I’m taking care of her so I can’t go to soccer? Or go play at Emily’s house?” I hear the concern in her voice, the slight shake and shit. This is what’s been eating at her.
And like Ben does, he tugs it out of her.
“Kayla,” he says, gentle. She doesn’t stop the hearts. “Kayla, baby. Look at me.” Our girl does, and I see her light hair tied in braids, a task Ben took upon himself to learn when he realized we were having a girl. “Your job is not ever to take care of your baby sister.” My stomach roils, memories popping into place.
“But Grandma—”
