Page 9 of Our Little Moments

I’ve known for a long time that I don’t have the same accomplishments as my sisters, since I haven’t built something for myself from the ground up like they have. Today, though, it’s a fact that’s a lot harder to accept.

I don’t have a wildly successful coffee shop.

I’m not an established author.

I don’t have my own flower shop everyone raves about.

But I do have an impact on people’s lives. Everyone knows they can rely on me, and I’m always stepping up to help, always lending a hand.

But, what about you?

That question haunts me more than I’d like to admit because I know I grew up working hard to build a life and a career I’d be proud of, but I let that fall to the side the second my sisters needed me. And I’d do it all over again.

I open the front door with a smirk.

Geez. My best friend’s cockiness is rubbing on me.

As always, I have the best grade in class. I can’t wait to show Mom and Dad—they’ve always been my biggest supporters. When I get home, I quickly notice that our parents are still out, taking care of everyone else, like they always seem to. I hope I’ll be like them when I grow up. That people will smile in relief when I enter a room. That I’ll have an impact on people’s lives. That they’ll know they can rely on me.

I can’t do the work my parents do, yet, but I can help my two little sisters out now. I join Layla at the living room table as she gets settled in, continuing her drawing, sitting next to her with a smile. “Need a little help?” I ask gently. She’s still learning.

Layla smiles and groans. “I don’t understand how you managed to do it perfectly on your first try.”

I laugh. “I guess I’m just the best.”

She shoves my shoulder playfully. “Yes, the best at annoying me.”

Holding back another laugh, I bring her pencils closer to us, settling in to help with her technique. “Come on, my little dreamer. It’s all about practice.”

Layla snorts and I know her older sister has way too much influence on her. She’s certainly not getting that attitude from me.

At just four, she’s pretty good at drawing. It’s only a little messy around the edges and she’s still learning to add details, but it makes my heart ache when I see how artistic Layla is. Isabella and I are much more logical and rational, but our little sister is so creative that it’s a breath of fresh air every time I hang out with her. Plus, she’s a fast learner and it’s fun to watch her grow.

We spend the next fifteen minutes drawing until I notice she’s having a harder time focusing. Isabella groans in annoyance outside and I know Layla has other ideas for how to spend the rest of her night as her eyes spark with a new idea.

Layla rushes to her room, and I walk out the door to find a frustrated Isabella, which is a common sight. Especially since my best friend started coming over. Everything about Jay annoys my sister.

When I see her bike in the driveway, I know why she’s upset. Isa’s been scared of riding a bike without her training wheels. She feels behind compared to everyone her age, which is a feeling that I relate to more than she knows.

Growing up too slowly is often mocked by other kids at school. I hate those people. But I hate seeing my sister sad even more.

“Come on, I’ll help you.”

She snorts. “I don’t need your help, idiot.”

I laugh. While Isabella sounds honest when she insults everyone else, her tone has way too much affection in it when referring to me for me to take it as anything other than an “I love you.”

I grab a hold of the back of her bike, like my dad used to when I learned how to ride one. “Come on, sis. A competition is no fun when it’s too easy.”

The competitive spark in her eyes comes to life, and I know my mission is accomplished. She’s the most competitive of us, after all.

“I’m going to kick your ass at everything when we’re older.”

I chuckle. I’m only two years older than her, but she has a lot more ambitions than I do. She chases after the things she wants. I know it won’t take her long to surpass me.

For the next few hours, until the sun is setting, I help Isabella learn to ride her bike without her training wheels. It isn’t until she squeals in joy that the pride finally hits. She throws her bike to the ground as soon as she’s back in the driveway to jump in my arms. It feels like fireworks are exploding in my chest—that’s how good it feels to hug my sister when she’s happy.

I quickly push all those feelings away when a familiar pair of ocean-blue eyes meet mine.

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