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“Mom took me to a basketball game. A real one. I want to learn how to do a slam dunk. Do you know how, Uncle Way?”

“Yeah, jump.”

Emmett bent low and gave it his best effort with the hem of his Wizards sweatshirt grazing his knees. The ball hit the rim, which was actually a huge improvement. I’d bought a net for the old hoop in my parents’ driveway when I’d heard about Em’s new obsession. He was thrilled. We spent hours playing Horse and talking about basketball moves, the movie he saw with his mom, his new cowboy bedspread, and his friend Kyle’s goats.

“Did you know that goats make cheese?” He wrinkled his nose in disbelief.

I chuckled. “They make cheese from goat milk.”

“Goats make milk?”

“You sound like a city kid,” I chided.

Em ignored me. He had more to say about cheese. Swiss was better than American cheese, even if it had a lot of holes in it, and it didn’t taste good on grilled cheese sandwiches.

He made me smile and think of everyday objects in a new light.

“What did Rhys and Gretchen get for Christmas?”

“Uh…I think Rhys wanted some hockey equipment and some fancy sneakers. And Gretchen asked for books and clothes and…stuff.” I scratched my neck and cleared my throat. “What do you⁠—”

“Do you miss them?”

I answered honestly. “Yeah. I do.”

Gretchen had started a group text so we could wish each other a Merry Christmas, and over the past week, my phone had buzzed every few minutes with an incoming message.

Rhys: It snowed last night. A LOT of snow.

Gretchen: We had to help dig Dad’s truck out.

Reg: Eye-roll emoji

Rhys: I helped!

Gretchen: Me too.

Reg: Another eye roll. They helped polish off the cinnamon rolls Dex brought us.

Me: Yum

Rhys: Drool emoji

Gretchen: I’m making cookies today. Chocolate chip.

Me: I love chocolate chip. Save me some!

The threads were simple, everyday slices of life. Nothing exciting, but certainly entertaining. It made me smile, and yeah…my family noticed.

“He’s a police officer?” My mom asked, washing a plate and handing it to my sister to dry.

I reached into the fridge for a soda, freezing for a beat. “Who?”

Misty swatted me with a dish towel.

“You know who. Em, what’s the police officer’s name?” she called into the living room.

“Reg!”