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The tension melts as my siblings laugh at the pair of chunky thighs bumbling across the Persian carpet. Levi trips and falls flat on his face, but instead of crying, he gets back up, giggles, and continues toward his dad.
Maxwell squats and opens his arms wide, his lips curving into a rare, bright smile that still shocks me whenever I see it. Growing up, he barely smiled and always walked around with the weight of the world on his shoulders. But since marrying Belle, he’s thawed and is so much happier.
“Sorry for interrupting.” Belle beams at us. “Levi’s into the whole I’m a triceratops phase and Maxwell’s been assigned as the T-Rex. Kids and their imaginations.”
A rock lodges in my throat at the image she painted. “It’s all good. We’re done anyway.”
I’m reminded of how Mom had comforted me when I was five, after Maxwell and Ryland had run off to the two-story treehouse in the backyard and refused to come down. Back then, they called me the scaredy cat—afraid of heights, loud noises, unfamiliar strangers, among other things.
I was too scared to climb up the tall ladder, and the twins said even if I could, they wouldn’t let me in because I wasn’t a twin. It didn’t matter I was only a year younger.
I was excluded.
Upset, I ran back inside the kitchen, my muddy shoes making a mess on the white-tiled floors. Mora, our chef, looked angry, probably because I left my toys in the kitchen again, but Mom, wearing her favorite penguin apron, shooed her away and squatted to my level, a wooden spatula in her hand.
“Rex, do you know cooking is like pretending? You use your imagination. You see, when I make thisRagu Toscano, I think about the love I put in it. They’re little fairies dancing on the tomatoes, sprinkling magical dust into the pot. I imagine how when you eat it, you’ll feel all of my love.”
“Pretend? Like making up stories?”
She nodded. “Exactly. When I’m sad, angry, or scared, I play pretend. I create stories when I cook. Or I’d imagine my stuffed bunny, Alice, was alive. She’d cook with me and I wouldn’t be afraid anymore.”
I clutched my new T-Rex stuffed animal in my hands and stared up at her. Her brown hair was twisted in the back, the ceiling lights creating a halo behind her. She looked like an angel. I wondered how anyone could be so beautiful.
Wiping my tears on my sleeve, I looked down at my T-Rex. He was brave. He wasn’t afraid of climbing trees and wasn’t sad about his brothers not wanting to play with him. He ruled the world andeveryonewas afraid of him.
“Why are Maxwell and Ryland so brave? Why am I scared of everything?”
Mom laughed. “Silly. They used to be scared too, but sometimes, you have to face your fears in order to get over them. And in the meantime, I’m here and so is your friend.”
She motioned to my T-Rex, and I hugged him, gave him a name.
Mom had smiled then. “Go on. Pick up your toys on the table and put them away. We always clean up after ourselves. I’ll grab us some chocolate chip cookies and we can have a Mommy and Rex adventure, okay?”
Levi fake roars, drawing my attention back to the present.
Moments like this, having HSAM is bittersweet. I get to relive all the beautiful moments—every precious nugget embedded deep in my psyche. I remember the softness of her voice, how she smelled of freshly baked apple pies that day, the warmth of her body. Not a day goes by that I don’t miss Mom, and in some ways, it’s a relentless grief.
How can you truly let go of the past when you remember it all?
Levi giggles. He’s the cutest triceratops in the world. Maxwell and Belle blow raspberries on his cheeks.
My heart twists at the image of outpouring love from the trio. Then I glance around the room, finding the same sticky, sweet emotion everywhere.
Grace holding hands with Steven, who’s looking at her like she’s his sole reason for existence.
Ryland grinning—the bastard smiles more now that he has Millie, his fiancée who used to be his student.
Even our resident goth, Taylor, has hearts in her eyes, her face flushing when Charles whispers something in her ear.
Lana laughs at Levi’s happy shrieking because Maxwell is tickling him.
They don’t need you to make them happy anymore.
That’s been my role since Mom died. Give them joy because I took it away. But I think back to my earlier jokes—how they don’t land anymore. How I can’t make my family laugh anymore.
They don’t need me now.
The hole widens inside my heart.
