Stepping onto the stoop of my parents' brownstone, I brace myself for what's to come.
It's not all bad—Blake and I are really close, and I love his wife Amy. My niece, Selah, is almost two, and we already have a bond that could rival some of the best out there—Bonnie and Clyde, The Wet Bandits, Adam Sandler and Kevin James. But the rest of the attendants are way less cute and a lot more of a pain in my ass.
I love my parents. They kept me safe and fed and put up with more than they probably bargained for. But I always felt like I was on the outside. Like I was playing a game and losing because I didn't know the rules.
Blake belonged. He was all solid grades and good behavior. Always falling into step with Mom's predetermined plan without so much as a hiccup. He coasted through his teenage years—no late-night partying or questionable piercings like another Larkin I know—and then kept right on track through adulthood.
He and Amy went to the same college. He studied physical therapy, she studied nursing, and they both proceeded to land great jobs. Soon after, they got engaged, then married, and finally, bought the exact house I always pictured them in—red brick, welcoming front porch, and white picket fence to seal in the perfection.
That was never me.
I was always more bull than porcelain. More winding roads than Adult Highway, always detouring off of the more predictable path. My parents never said the words outright that they were disappointed in the way I acted. But it was there in Mom's backhanded comments and Dad's heaving sighs that cut through the silences.
I used to make light of it. Mom would complain I never had a boyfriend, and I'd hit her with,"Well, at least a nonexistent man can't knock me up!" Dad would ask me over and over if I was sure there was nothing he could do to convince me to go to college, and I'd answer with,"At least this is one thing I'm sticking to!"
But the humor only dulled the sting.
I can see the good in growing up on my own—the independence it gave me. The way I don't need anyone to make me feel whole. How I accept myself and my life for who and what it is, only decidingnowthat I'm ready to make any alterations. But that doesn't change thatwhen I step through these doors I'll be the one dodging passive-aggressive remarks and being compared to a brother in a whole different league.
With one more deep breath—and one last regret that I didn't buy full-alcohol wine along with Amy's—I grab the knob. But before I can even crank my wrist to turn it, the door flies open, and Mom's pink cheeks and raised brows meet me at the door.
"I win," she says in a cheerful voice onlyIcould spot as proceeding an insult. "We took bets on when you'd show. I said 6:05, and it's..." She lifts her arm to read her slim-banded watch. "6:04."
And there it is.
She smiles at me with only one corner of her mouth lifted. "So, I win."
"Not without going over," I quip, smiling as I step through the door, masking my discontent as usual. "Maybe next time, Mom." I lean over and kiss her cheek, then proceed through the hallway. "I assume everyone else is here already?"
"They're in the dining room," Mom calls out just as I round the corner and see for myself that the table is full.
My dad, my brother, and Amy with her swollen belly, all swing their gaze to me as I walk through the kitchen. Plates are already set on the table, steam still floating off of Mom's signature roast. No one except Selah has started eating yet, chunks of meat and two baby carrots set up next to a mound of mashed potatoes and some tan, lifeless cereal. When Blake calls out to me, her little eyes find mine, her hand mid-trek toward her mouth with a Cheerio.
"Book!" she screeches, and I'm instantly happier.
"Say Say!" I yell back, rushing toward her.
When I get to her high chair, I lean down, plop a kiss on her head, and steal a piece of cereal off of her tray, popping it into my mouth.
"Hey!" she whines, her face dropping on a dime to one much grumpier.
I laugh, tickle under her chubby little arm, and her smile returns, reaching each ear. "I missed you," I whisper, stepping behind her chair to the head of the table.
I lean down, squeezing my father's shoulders. "Hey, Dad."
"Hi, hunny," he says, tapping his fork, eager as always to get dinner started.
I move to Amy next who attempts to stand despite her unbalanced center of gravity. "Oh, sit," I say. "Happy birthday." I hand her the bag with the book and set the bottle of useless wine on the table.
"It's good, I've read it. Two words—pumpkin muffin."
"Umm, yes," she says, fanning herself. She reaches up and squeezes my arm. "Thanks, Brooke."
I smile, then continue moving to Blake, who is already standing, waiting for my embrace. "Hey, big brother."
Blake pulls me into a hug and squeezes hard. "For the record, I purposely took the L and said you'd be here at six on the dot."
Pulling back, I look him up and down and keep him at arm's length. "Your loyalty is unmatched there, Blakey," I laugh.
