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“Sometimes.” Aran’s face is serene, as usual. Most people think he’s a sarcastic little shit, but I know better. Nothing that goes through his mouth is ever a lie.
I narrow my eyes at him. “I thought you were on my side.”
“I am.” He shrugs. “Sometimes you’re spectacular. Other times, you give me secondhand embarrassment.”
Olivia chimes in, “If it helps, you always give me secondhand embarrassment.”
“It definitely does not help.”
Abruptly, I’m pulled into a hug so fierce it twists my body in a way that will make me hit the foam roller up in my room. Mom sniffs against my shoulder, where she’s buried her face. Her words come out muffled when she speaks.
“I’m so proud of you.”
The scrape of Dad’s chair against the linoleum alerts me to his movements. While rigid in Mom’s embrace, I feel Dad’s hand caress my head.
“We just worry, mijita. We don’t want anything bad to happen to you—to any of you.”
“I know.” I sound like I did when I was five and being reprimanded for something I definitely did do. “But you also have to let us live.”
“Agree,” Aran says.
Olivia starts snapping her fingers.
“You two still live under this roof,” Dad says, his gruff voice back. “My roof, my rules.”
My siblings groan and shake their shoulders like the children they are. My silly, adorable, annoying siblings.
Before the accident, we were like any other kids, fighting over everything. Aran has always loved hockey as much as I do, and he used to try to one-up me while we played in our backyard. Except he was a ten-year-old runt back then, and I was a whole head taller. Never winning a faceoff against me, always being fooled by my dangles—me, a girl—made him absolutely hate my guts.
Meanwhile, seven-year-old Olivia couldn’t possibly care less about hockey. Or us. She’s always been a bookish girl, and the ruckus Aran and I made grated on her nerves. Often, she’d tuck herself inside the laundry closet just to have a quiet moment to read. Until we found her and forced her to play with us. Aran and I were the easy ones to handle for our parents, because Olivia has always had severe food allergies. Maybe that’s part of why she felt so different from us.
After the accident, everything changed. Aran and Olivia had to make room for my needs in our parents’ lives and their own. They went through the whole five steps of grief at their own pace, but at the end, they somehow grew up more than I did. Or maybe I’m still trying to make up for my lost childhood, while they have resigned themselves to a wild older sister who doesn’t fit the mold.
I extricate myself from my parents, then wrap one arm around my sister and the other one around part of my brother. He’s too big for my grip, but I still squeeze him tight against Olivia and myself.
“What the?—”
“Air! I need air!”
“Shush. Let me love you.” I grip them even tighter and, because I know it will annoy them, I smack a loud kiss on each of their cheeks.
“You’re so embarrassing.” Aran grunts, but while he could easily overpower me, he stays put.
Olivia sniffs me. “I like your perfume. Can I have it?”
I let them go, but not before rubbing their heads and messing up their hairdos. This will be my God-given right forever, as the eldest sister.
Mom and Dad stand together, hand in hand, watching the whole thing, as if they can’t believe it’s happening. It’s not like they now want me to keep playing, but the fact that we’re not screaming at each other is major progress. And not at all what I expected.
It’s wonderful what can happen when people just… talk. We don’t always have to agree. All we need is to understand one another.
I don’t think that’s a courtesy I’ve extended to Max these days, but I want to try. Just like my parents can’t magically fix my back and my life, Max and I can’t fix our teams. But it doesn’t mean we should continue not speaking to each other just because it’s easier than to deal with a messy conversation. All week, I’ve been afraid that another fight may break us up, but I’ve missed him. Just like I’ve missed my parents all these months.
The difference is that my parents are mine forever. But if I don’t do something, I may lose Max. And that’s a pain ibuprofen can’t mitigate.
Once we’re done clearing the table, I sneak off to the quietest area in the house, the laundry closet. I pull my phone from my back pocket and find my S’more.
Me
