Page 17 of The Love You Fight For
“And here I thought you’d be happy that I was early.”
Tiff glances at the clock above the couch and laughs.
“Three minutes early is nothing to brag about.”
I take a couch pillow and whack Luke over the head with it, setting him and Lucy off with the giggles again.
“Better than three minutes late.”
My sister rolls her eyes, and I scramble out from under the twins so I can stand up from the couch.
“Where’s the punk?”
“She’s in her bedroom. Michael is outside at the grill. I’m finishing up in the kitchen, so if you want to help, you can set the table. Dad should be here soon.”
I nod, then close the distance between us and plant a kiss on the top of her head.
“You should sit down,” I call over my shoulder as I make my way to the stairs. “You look like you’re about to pop. You sure it’s not twins again?”
I hear her groan, then something hits my back before I disappear behind the stair railing.
A dishtowel.
My big sister threw a dishtowel at me.
I deserved it. She’s not very far along, and she looks nothing like she did with the twins.
I laugh, then walk down the hall to Chy’s room. I stop at the closed door and grin at the STAY OUT sign taped to it. I’m sure having five-year-old siblings has been taking a toll on her. Those kids are a handful, the exact opposite of Cheyenne. She’s quiet and observant. The twins are chaos.
I knock three times, then wait.
“Who is it?” Cheyenne calls from inside.
“Your favorite uncle.”
“Come in,” she says, so I open the door and step into her room.
It looks exactly how you’d expect an eight-year-old’s room to look. Kind of on the precipice of “big kid” interests, but still holding on tightly to those “little kid” favorites.
The books on her bookshelf are getting thicker, no longer showcasing the thin spines of picture books and short stories. She’s reading chapter books and comic books now. Her favorite stuffed animals still line her bed, but they’re slowly being replaced with things like Barbies and superhero action figures. She used to have posters of unicorns all over the walls, but they’re gone now, and in their place are several large posters of a popular band, the silver-haired lead singer smirking front and center in every single one.
I’m not ready for Cheyenne to be a big kid. The thought actually makes me sad.
“You’re my only uncle,” she says without looking at me.
She’s kneeling in front of a cage, watching her hamster run on its wheel, so I step toward her and sit down on the floor beside her.
“Whatchya doin’, Punk?”
“Watching Puma exercise.” She finally tears her eyes from the rodent and turns her smile on me. “He’s getting faster.”
“He is.” I sit in silence with her for a moment, watching Puma run. His little legs are just a blur. I think she’s right. Heisgetting faster. “Your mom is putting me to work, but I thought I’d see if you wanted to help me.”
Cheyenne thinks it over for a moment, then shakes her head.
“Mom says I can’t bring Puma downstairs, and I don’t want him to be lonely.”
“I get it.” I nod. “Will you sit by me at dinner?”
