Chapter 2

I think it's rather nice that Mom had them framed; it's still such a beautiful memory... While I'm still lost in my thoughts, I hear a voice calling me from the kitchen. I walk over and come face to face with my mother. She is wearing a white apron and holding a frying pan.

"Hello, my dear! Are you okay?"

She walks over and places a kiss on my cheek. Her long strawberry-blonde hair is pulled back in a ponytail, and her kind gray eyes gaze at me lovingly. I smile and nod.

"Yes, everything's fine."

"I made pancakes; go ahead and help yourself."

I smile and pick one from the pile of twenty or so she has stacked up. I take a bite and savor every flavor—my mother is truly a goddess in the kitchen!

"I'm going to run out for a few minutes for work, but I'll be right back," she informs me, removing her apron. "Can you watch your little brother while I'm gone? And if you can, try to give him his breakfast!"

I finish my last piece of pancake and nod. "Count on me!"

She hangs her apron on its hook, places a kiss on my little brother's head, and leaves the kitchen. My mother is an absolute sweetheart—kindness incarnate, and on top of that, stunningly beautiful! She works for a cosmetics agency as a marketing consultant, and she sometimes brings samples home to test before approving them for the market. All of the beauty products I own—and very rarely use—come from her.

My mother is blonde with gray eyes, while I have brown hair and hazel eyes. For a mother and daughter, we are as different as night and day. I don't think I inherited a single thing from her: neither her looks nor her personality, and certainly not her pronounced taste for makeup and wellness products. I know that "without differences, there would be no world," as she likes to say, but I often wish I looked more like her, had her gorgeous eyes, and could properly represent the pride I feel in being her daughter.

Anyway, let's put aside these useless reflections.

I squat down by my little brother and pick him up. I settle him into his high chair and set about the task my mother gave me, though after just five minutes, I realize it is far from easy.

"Come on, Benjamin," I say, using his full name. "You'll see, milk is just as good in a bowl as it is in a bottle!"

"No! I don't want to!" he declares, shaking his head.

"Go on," I prompt, handing him a spoonful of milk.

I know he will stubbornly refuse, but at four and a half, Benjamin is too old for such whims. It's better to instill good habits now than to regret it later.

"Come on, Benji, drink up! It won't hurt you, I promise."

He shakes his head again. "No. I want my bottle!"

"Bottles are for babies, and you're a big boy now."

He shakes his head stubbornly. I try to guide a spoonful of milk to his mouth, but he pushes it away. I let out a deep sigh—a refusal is a refusal!

That's when his face lights up with a bright smile. He hurries down from his high chair and runs straight into the arms of the person who just walked into the room.

"Noah!" he cries.

Noah scoops him up, making him jump in his arms, and hands him a red stuffed animal.

"Of course, if you distract him with toys, he'll never eat his breakfast," I sigh.

"What, are you going to blame Benji for preferring me over you?" Noah teases.

I stand up and cross my arms over my chest. "Right. You can always ask a little child to choose between a responsible person and an immature one. But stop putting yourself on a pedestal all the time; I swear you act like a know-it-all who thinks he's always right!"

"Maybe because I just tell the truth?" I retort, raising an eyebrow.

Noah shakes his head. "No, it's because you're so picky, so meticulous, so... you've gotten so boring! Borderline boring."

I shake my head and roll my eyes. To end the argument, I decide to focus on something else—anything to stop Noah from provoking me for no reason. The fridge seems like a good distraction, so I head over and grab a bottle of apple juice.

"See?" Noah continues. "You're not saying anything because you know I'm right."

"No, I'm choosing not to say anything because I've decided to be the bigger person—nuance..."

Realizing I won't bite, Noah finally sighs. "Anyway, you'll figure it out for yourself one day."

I turn and watch as he pulls a lollipop out of his pocket and hands it to Benjamin, who happily grabs it with his tiny fingers.

"A lollipop? You're giving him a lollipop?"

"Yes, and?" he asks, looking up at me. "Everyone loves sweets, plus he didn't eat anything else."

"Exactly!" I exclaim. "Sweets aren't going to replace breakfast, Noah! Besides, if you give him one, he'll just ask for another, and then... do you even know what hyperglycemia is?"

In response, my brother bursts out laughing. "Oh yeah? That much? You really overthink everything, Muza, it's unreal!"

I look up toward the ceiling. "Make fun of me all you want, but I know I'm more responsible and considerate than you, and you can't fault me for that."

I am about to leave the room when I hear him call out:

"Hold on!"

"Yes?"

"You're still planning to put me down, right?" He laughs, shaking his head. "I was actually planning to go out. Do you want to come?"

I immediately frown.