“Yeah.”
“Uncle Hunter, we made spaghetti for dinner!” Lucy says as she wriggles against me, a sure sign that she wants down.
I put her on her feet, then l
augh as she grabs my hand and drags me toward the kitchen. “Spaghetti, huh?” I take an exaggerated sniff. “It smells delicious. Did you make it?”
“No, silly! Marta did. But I made the garlic bread and it’s the bestest garlic bread in the whole world.”
“Well, let me at it, then. Who needs spaghetti when I can have the bestest garlic bread in the whole wide world?”
“I helped make the meatballs,” Brent tells me. “Marta let me squish everything together in the bowl. It felt like brains.”
“And how exactly do you know what brains feel like?”
He gives a long sigh, like he can’t believe he has to explain something so obvious. “It felt like brains look. All lumpy and slimy.”
“Oh, right. And where exactly are these brain meatballs?” I ask as we finally make it into the kitchen. “I’ve got to try one.”
“They’re not really brains,” Lucy tells me.
I pretend surprise. “They’re not?”
“No! That’d be disgusting.”
“Disgusting? Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure! Brains are gross.” Her missing front teeth make her r’s sound like w’s. It’s pretty much the cutest thing I’ve ever heard.
“I don’t know, Lucy,” I tell her. “I bet your brain would be delicious.”
“Eeeeeew. No, it wouldn’t.”
“Well, come here,” I say, reaching for her. “Let me check.”
“No!” she squeals and starts to run away.
“What do you think, Brent?” I ask as I pick her up and stretch her out in my arms. “Don’t you think we should test out this hypothesis? See if little girl brains are actually disgusting?”
“Yeah!” Brent says with typical brotherly enthusiasm.
I bury my face in Lucy’s neck and blow bubbles against her skin. She shrieks with laughter, so I do it again and again, holding her squirming body tight in my arms so she doesn’t fall and hurt herself. She smells like baby shampoo and bubble gum, and the scent soothes me even as it makes the ache inside of me grow bigger. She’s so little, only six years old, and she’s already had to face so much.
Will have so much more to face far too soon.
The thought only makes me tickle her more as I revel in the sound of her little girl laughter. At least until her brother sticks his arms out in front of him and does his best zombie impression as he growls, “Braaaaaaains. Must. Have. Braaaaaaaains.”
“No!” Lucy squeals. “Stop him, Uncle Hunter. Stop him, pleeeeeeease!”
“Must. Have. Braaaaaaaains.” Brent reaches for her ponytail and tugs, his mouth wide open as he leans toward Lucy’s face. And that’s when she screams loud enough to wake the dead.
“What’s going on out there?” My sister’s voice drifts into the kitchen from the back of the house.
We all freeze, and I know the guilt is as evident on my face as it is on my niece’s and nephew’s. “Why’d you have to go and scream like that, stupid?” Brent demands, pulling his sister’s ponytail.
“Ouch!” she cries out, her little hand flying to her ponytail. “What was that for?”
“That’s for upsetting Mom!” he says, reaching out as if to pull her hair again.