"Let’s go. Mom’s out back filling up the baby pool so the kids can splash around." She loops her arm through mine and uses her free hand to grab the handle on one of my suitcases. "Are you going to tell me why you’re here?"
"It’s compli—"
A loud buzzing sound blares in Mal’s pocket, and she holds a hand up to me while thrusting it toward her ear. Instead of eavesdropping on what is probably her husband, Sebastian, calling to check in, I shuffle forward in silence and lean on my mother’s picket fence. From this side of it, I can see the jumbo periwinkle blue hydrangeas bounding over it, and a hummingbird flitting around in search of nectar. The sweet floral scent tickles my nose, and I can’t stop myself from leaning into the petals to inhale deeper. There’s comfort in these flowers, memories of days spent cutting stems for Mom to display in the kitchen. Or the time we ran out and our neighbor Helen didn’t appreciate that I snipped hers instead.
"Sorry, Bash just wanted to tell me he’s going out on a call and not to wait for him to eat." Mal hip checks me before continuing, "I can tell by the look on your face that you don’t want to answer my question. But you will… after the kids are in bed and you’ve had a few glasses of red."
I smile softly at my sister. She has it all: four rowdy kids, a husband she can’t seem to keep her hands off of, and a dream job. I don’t know how she always keeps it together, but I send a silent wish toward the sky that maybe one day I’ll be able to juggle more than one ball at a time too.
Following Mal up the steps and into the house, the scent of warm honey and peaches wraps around me like a familiar hug. My sister rolls my bags into my old bedroom, not waiting for me to toe off my shoes.
"Aunt Sadie? Why are you here?" Lily, my eldest niece, skips into the entryway, nearly knocking me over. The eight-year-old never minces words, but I can’t fault her for the question. She’s got a toothy grin, missing a couple in the front, making her awkwardly adorable.
I lean down so that I’m at her height. "I just wanted to make sure your mom was being a good girl and not breaking any of Grannie’s rules."
That makes her laugh and run right back the way she came, toward the backyard. Her voice rings out, not-so-faintly yelling to anyone that’ll listen that I’m here. I finish slipping my shoes off, lay my purse that doubles as a laptop bag on the first chair I see, and follow my niece, wishing I had her ability to celebrate arbitrary moments like this one.
Walking the long hallway that serves as the center of our rectangle-shaped home, it’s clear that not much has changed in the way of decor. Mom still has a collection of our childhood photos on the wall nearest the kitchen, except now there are photos of my nieces added in. The pine floors are scuffed in that comforting way that can only come with years of memories being beaten into them. And the screen door that leads to the fenced backyard is still propped with the same coffee-can lantern that Dee Dee, my mom, filled with cement after Mal got her second and third fingers smashed when we were kids.
Peeking my head out the door, my eyes immediately connect with Mom’s. She’s sitting in a wicker rocking chair, holding my youngest niece, Marigold.
"Sadie girl? What are you doing here?" She smiles her brightest smile at me, but there’s a question set in her brows when she looks to her right, connecting eyes with our close family friend, Beth. She looks fantastic. I swear Beth hasn’t aged beyond fifty in the entire time I’ve known her.
"That’s three in a row. Can’t a girl just come home to see her family?" I shrug, stepping out onto the porch and sliding into the loveseat beside her. There’s a charcuterie board sitting on the glass-top table between us, and I help myself to a cracker with cream cheese and pepper jelly.
"A girl could, ye—"
"Aunt Adie, come dance me." Poppy, the three-year-old, tugs my hand, pulling me to follow her.
"Sorry, Mom. Looks like I’m needed elsewhere."
She shakes her head at me and then shoos me off with a wave of her hand as my sister chuckles from the edge of the screen door. It’s nice that I can slip back into my family as if I never left. You’d think the kids would barely know me, or at the very least be tentative. But Mal made a point when I moved away to make sure we did a video chat every week, and despite my hectic schedule, it’s the one thing I never allow myself to miss.
"I get a turn next, Pop. You can’t hog her." Magnolia stomps her feet in the baby pool, splashing water over the edge.
"Hi Mags, how’s the water?" I shift my attention to the five-year-old, who’s ready to throw down her little sister for a moment of my time.
"Socold. Come try it." Her lips are almost as blue as the royal bathing suit she has on. Despite the warm summer temperatures, water from the hose in New England is never above a chilly sixty-five degrees. Letting the sun warm it isn’tsomething my niece was willing to wait for, apparently, but kids are funny that way—never afraid to jump into fun headfirst.
I walk over, slipping one bare foot into the icy-water, while balancing on the other and holding Poppy’s hand.
"You weren’t kidding. Thatiscold. Why don’t you get out and come sit on the hammock with us? I’ll tell you a story while we wait for dinner." At that, she jumps out of the eight-inch pool, grabs a towel from her mom, and still beats me to the canvas that’s stretched between two trees.
I settle in, pulling the two girls tight to my side before leaning back. "Okay, what kind of story would you like to hear?"
"A printhess stowy," Poppy exclaims.
"No, a story about a butterfly," Magnolia shouts.
"Hmm. How about a story about a butterfly that was actually a princess?"
"Yes!" they shout in unison.
"Once upon a time, a princess got summoned for a meeting with her boss…"
I slump into a cushioned patio chair, shifting to get comfortable before pulling my feet up underneath me. "I feel like I probably need to sleep for three days after that, and Ineverrun out of energy."
My sister laughs at my statement, turning to grab two bottles of red from her husband’s outstretched hands.
