Page 22 of Five Summer Wishes

I crouched down and wrapped my arms around her, breathing her in—shampoo and lemon sugar and eight years of having no idea what I was doing but doing it anyway.

“You know you’re my favorite person, right?” I whispered.

She leaned back, gave me a skeptical look. “Even when I won’t eat broccoli?”

“Even then.”

She went back to her stickers. I sat beside her for a few minutes, grounding myself in the sound of paper peeling and soft humming and the knowledge that, right here, I was enough.

That didn’t happen often.

The peace didn’t last.

I heard it before I saw it; Harper’s voice, tight and clipped, bouncing against the walls like an alarm bell. Willa’s laughter, a little too sharp to be casual.

I stood slowly, brushing glitter off my jeans, and followed the noise to the kitchen.

“You can’t just repurpose Grandma’s antique linens for your candle altar,” Harper was saying.

Willa was sitting on the counter, peeling an orange with a paring knife and looking entirely unfazed. “It was one napkin. And I cleansed it after.”

“That’s not the point.”

I cleared my throat. “Is this a private performance or should I pop popcorn?”

They both turned.

“She’s mad because I’m resourceful,” Willa said.

“I’m mad because you keep treating this house like your personal Pinterest board,” Harper snapped. “Some of us actually respect what it meant to Iris.”

“Some of us are trying not to drown in grief soup every time we walk into a room.”

“Okay,” I said, louder this time. “Stop.”

They both froze.

I never did that. Not with them.

I took a breath. “I know we’re all dealing with this in our own way. But Lily’s ten feet away. She doesn’t need to hear you scream about ghosts and napkins.”

Harper opened her mouth. I raised a hand.

“I’m serious. I’m tired. And I can’t be the glue and the buffer and the mom and the emotional airbag. Not all the time.”

The silence that followed was immediate.

Willa slid off the counter.

Harper looked away.

I hadn’t planned to say any of that. It just… cracked out of me.

“I’m going to take a shower,” I said, my voice lower now. “And I’d really appreciate it if no one burned anything down while I’m gone.”

No one argued.

In the bathroom, I let the water run too hot. I stood under it until my skin prickled and my breathing finally slowed.

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