Page 84 of Merritt and Her Childhood Crush
“Ionlyuse the real stuff.” I lift an eyebrow. “Tomato sandwich?”
“Please.”
She grins, and I can see where one of her top teeth is growing in a little crooked, overlapping with another. It only makes her smile cuter.
I wouldn’t expect a kid to like tomato sandwiches, but then, I did. I’ve always been a tomato girl.
I’ve got bread and plates on the counter when Isabelle joins me in the kitchen. “How do you feel about being a big sister?” I ask as I slice through the biggest tomato. It’s juicy and crisp, and my mouth is watering as I sprinkle salt over the slices.
Isabelle doesn’t answer right away. It’s the first time she’s really been quiet all morning.
“Okay, I guess,” she says finally.
“You’ve been flying solo for a while. It will be an adjustment. Would Hunter—would your dad like a sandwich?”
She smiles again as she sits down at the small table, facing me. “Yes. But maybetwosandwiches. Do you have brothers or sisters?”
“Sisters. Two of them. I’m the oldest. But we’re a little closer in age so I can’t remember a time being an only child.”
“Do you get along?”
It’s my turn to consider how to answer, and I do so while laying out slices of white bread on the counter. I turn and pull the mayonnaise out of the fridge.
“We didn’t always. I mean, we always had each other’s backs when it came down to it. But we fought a lot.”
“How about now? Mama says even if I don’t like my baby sister, we’ll be glad when we’re older. But I think that’s because Mama and Aunt Cici are so close even though Cici lives in Atlanta. They’re always on the phone.”
I try to remember Cassidy’s sister. Cassidy and Cici—hearing those names together is familiar, but I can’t remember details about her or even a face.
“My sister Sadie just came to visit. And I talked to my youngest sister, Eloise, this morning.”
I’m not sure why I feel the need to prove my sisterly worth to Isabelle. I’d rather be honest, even if it’s not the prettiest picture. Even if I’m talking to a child. I’m sort of over having the kind of life that appears picture-perfect.
“But we’re not very close. I wish we were closer,” I confess, not realizing how true it is until the words leave my mouth.
I wish, when I called Eloise this morning, I’d been honest about Hunter. That she’d been honest with me about Jake. My sisters and I feel a little like a string of islands whose connecting bridges have washed out. I wonder what it might take to rebuild them.
I sit down across from Isabelle and slide her plate over. Her eyes light up. “Can we eat now?”
“Yup. I didn’t finish making your dad’s yet. Didn’t want it to get soggy while we ate. We can walk it over in a few minutes if that’s okay.”
Isabelle has already taken a bite, tomato juice running down her chin. She uses her tongue to get it rather than a napkin. I approve.
She sets her sandwich down suddenly. “What if I don’t like her?” The words are muffled because her mouth is still full.
“Your sister?”
She nods, and I consider while licking tomato juice from my wrist. Do I go with honesty? Or a pat answer that’s what I should say? I vote honesty.
“You might not like her. Especially at first. Babies cry and poop”—Isabelle giggles at this—“and they need a lot of attention. Your mom’s attention, especially. It will change things,” I tell her, hoping beingthishonest is okay.
“Mama says I have to be her helper.”
Her nose scrunches up in an adorable way. I don’t smile because I know she’s being serious. I remember how I hated it when I was serious as a kid and adults laughed. Like once, in a mock trial for school we did in a real courtroom, I asked the very best question cross-examining a witness. I remember thinking that if my life were a movie, this would be that dramatic moment where the heroine solved the case.
Instead, all the adults laughed. Even the judge. I still don’t know why, mostly because I forgot my questions and Mom forgot to record the mock trial. But I still remember the feeling of hot anger swirled with shame.
No way will I be the kind of adult who makes a serious kid feel stupid.
