“Aren’t you a little young to be giving relationship advice?” I ask as I struggle to wrap my head around the truth this little girl just piled at my feet.
Aubrey huffs, her little arms crossing over her chest as she stares at me defiantly. “I’m almost ten, Silas. Plenty old enough to know these things.”
I sigh as I settle onto one knee and rest my hand on her shoulder. This kid is either going to be the death of me or the reason I live to be one hundred. At this point, I don’t know which.
“You’re right that Kate is special, Aubs. And I do love her, but it isn’t that simple.”
“Well, it should be,” she huffs.
I study the kid before me, battling with myself on whether it’s the baby sister or the wise-beyond-her-years kid who is standing here. If everyone could see the world with kid logic, we might actually be happy.
“Maybe so, but life doesn’t work that way.” I push back to my feet and make sure all the ingredients are within reach before placing two taco shells in Aubrey’s purple dinosaur taco holder. “How do you even remember us being together, kiddo? You were tiny back then.”
Aubrey looks past me, and I hate the pain that sits there. As her lower lip trembles, she stomps her foot against the carpet. “She’s a better mom than mine is,” she says quietly.
I scrub a hand over my face as I fight back the curses that surface at the mere mention of Aubrey’s mother.
We share a biological father, but that’s all he was for either of us. He left my mom when I was five. He left Aubrey’s mom before she was born.
Aubrey’s mom? She had no business raising a child.
I bite my tongue at the awful things I’d like to say, refusing to tarnish the woman to her daughter, and pull Aubrey close. “Your mom has some issues, but she loves you. In her own way.” At least, I think she does. Her mom never planned to have kids. Never wanted them. Then she got pregnant with Aubrey, and our dad bailed on her just like he did on my mom.
Oakley Kate and I did our best to keep her when I was home, but collegiate hockey consumed most of my life.
She’s right, though. Oakley was the one who kept her when I couldn’t. They would have “sleepy parties.” I would come back to our apartment to find them inside a makeshift fort, snuggled in blankets with snacks everywhere and a princess movie on the television.
God, I miss those days. Heartbreak was right around the corner, and I never saw it coming.
Aubrey grunts and grumbles under her breath about annoying big brothers and crummy moms but keeps her thoughts mostly to herself as she starts to spoon chicken into the shells.
“Do you want white cheese or orange cheese tonight?” she asks as she busies herself with building the tacos.
“Orange, please. Can you shred the block, or do you want me to do it?”
“I got it.” She sets about pulling the food processor from under the counter, flipping the disc blade to shred, and letting themachine do all the heavy lifting. “It’s so fluffy when we shred it like this.”
“It’s because there are no anti-clumping agents in the block like there are in the pre-shredded bags at the store. Tastes better, too.”
She shrugs as she pinches a wad of shredded cheese from the container and drops it into her mouth. “What? It’s cheese.”
I chuckle at her cuteness, and we take our plates to the back porch. I turn the fan on as she grabs drinks from the outside fridge.
She tells me about her afternoon with Mrs. Slater and how Oakley bought the bracelet kits just for her.
“Did you see what mine says? It says ‘little bit’ just like you call me.” She holds her wrist close to my face, so much so that I have to lean back to actually read the tiny white-and-black beads. The letters are woven into red, black, and white threads tied securely around her wrist. There is barely room for extra thread, because her wrist is so tiny.
“I love it, Aubs. You did a great job on it.”
“I can make you one, too.” She suddenly turns bashful, almost timid, as she adds, “If you want one, I mean. It could match your team colors like mine, maybe.”
It’s times like this that the struggle of transitioning into our new normal still shines through. When we first started on this journey, it was constant shyness, unwilling to tell me what she wanted or what she thought and just agreeing with everything. Over the last several months, our communication has vastly improved. But sometimes she’ll ask for something then try to backtrack to avoid being shut down or belittled.
Covering her hand with mine where it rests on the patio table, I try to send all my encouragement into her. “I’d be honored if you made me a bracelet. I can even tuck it into my gear during practices.”
Her eyes light up, and some of her earlier enthusiasm returns to her baby blues, almost the same shade as Kate’s. “I can do it without the beads so they don’t hurt your arm. Kate showed me how to braid the threads into a cool color pattern.”
“I will love whatever you make for me.”
