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I don’t want them to hate me.

I don’t want them to cry or be sad. If anyone should be sad, it should be me.

Tell a story, Rex. When you feel sad or angry, cook or tell a story.

“If heaven had moms, they’d better be ready. Mom is going to fix up their kitchen and cook yummy food for all the kids without mommies,” I blurt out.

The sniffles stop. The twins stare at me.

“She’ll have penguins as helpers.” I can’t stop the words from spilling out.Tell a story. Make it bigger. Make it fun.

“Penguins can’t cook.” Ryland snorts as he wipes his runny nose with his sleeve.

It’s working! They aren’t crying anymore.A fire burns inside my belly, and I thump my chest.

“They can in heaven! And Mom will teach reading and art to those kids too. We can’t be too selfish and keep Mom all to ourselves. That’s what Mom used to say. We can’t be selfish.”

“Mom is good at art. I miss her painting with me.” Maxwell’s lips wobble.

No. No. No. Don’t cry.

It’s all your fault, Rex. You did this. You need to fix it.

“I’ll paint with you,” I offer.

Nothing will ever fix it.

My arm itches again, and I rub it with my free hand, and the pebble cuts my skin.

Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.

“Your painting sucks.”

“Does not!”

“Does too.”

“I can cook. Mom taught me. Better than you, Maxwell.” I stick out my tongue.

My oldest brother’s eyes widen and he straightens, puffing out his chest. He’s really good at that—telling me he’s older by one whole year without saying anything.

“No one is better than me.”

“Who said?” Ryland jabs Maxwell in the ribs. The twins glare at each other.

“Ew…Ryland, you didn’t wash your hands. Mom wouldn’t let you into her kitchen. Her penguin army will chase you away when you go to sleep.” I scrunch my nose.

A snort tumbles out of Maxwell’s lips. Then Ryland snickers. And suddenly, all three of us are laughing, tears sliding down our cheeks as we imagine an army of cute little penguins chasing us.

“I don’t want your extra flavor in the stew,” I quip. We laugh even harder until our noses are runny again.

“You’re so gross, Rex.” That could be either of them. I’m not sure who.

“Disgusting.”

“You mean awesome. Because Rex is awesome.” I grin and bat my lashes, and they cackle even harder.

My vision blurs, and I stare at my brothers, who are bowled over, half laughing, half sobbing, twin smiles on their faces.