Chapter 2 - Getting Back on Her Feet
Drew and I had not always been enemies.
That is important.
Cruelty hurts more when it wears the face of someone who used to sleep beside you during thunderstorms.
When we were little, Drew followed me everywhere.
She was the wild one.
I was the careful one.
She climbed trees.
I checked if the branches were safe.
She lost lunch money.
I shared mine.
She forgot school forms.
I forged Mom’s signature badly enough that teachers knew but accepted it anyway because at least someone was trying.
Our parents called me “responsible” so often it stopped sounding like praise.
Drew was “spirited.”
“Sensitive.”
“Creative.”
“Going through a phase.”
Every time Drew broke something, I became the broom.
Every time she cried, I became the apology.
Every time she wanted what I had, our mother said, “Maggie, you know your sister has a harder time with disappointment.”
I learned early that Drew’s disappointment was a weather event.
Everyone boarded windows.
I became one of the windows.
By adulthood, the pattern had a bank account.
Drew married young.
Divorced younger.
Had Cody at twenty-seven.
Lost jobs because managers “didn’t understand her energy.”
Started businesses that became Instagram pages and then abandoned storage units.
Every crisis ended with her calling me.
“Mags, I hate asking.”
She never hated asking enough to stop.
At first, I helped because Cody was small.
He had asthma then.
He needed daycare.
Drew needed rent.
Then preschool.
Then a car.
Then “just one private school semester because public school will crush his confidence.”
Then travel baseball because “Cody needs structure.”
Then therapy she never scheduled.
Then a new phone because “all the other kids have one.”
Then tuition again.
Then late fees.
Then groceries.
Then an apartment closer to his school.
Then a summer program.
Then “something special for his birthday because he feels less than Theo.”
That phrase always worked on me.
Less than Theo.
As if my son’s happiness was an accusation.
As if giving Theo a stable life meant I had stolen from Cody.
Theo was not spoiled.
He was gentle.
Quiet.
The kind of child who lined up baseball cards by team and cried when a pigeon hit our window.
He adored Cody.
That was the saddest part.
Even after Cody teased him.
Even after Drew laughed when Cody called him “baby pitcher.”
Even after Cody took his baseball glove and threw it into a pool during a family cookout.
Theo kept trying.
“He’s my cousin,” he would say.
Like that explained loyalty.
Maybe it did.
Maybe children understand family as hope before adults teach them disappointment.
The birthday party was supposed to be small.
Theo wanted baseball decorations, pizza, cake, and a game where everyone guessed old team mascots.
No clowns.
No magician.
No fancy entertainment.
Just his friends, cousins, and a cake shaped like a baseball diamond.
Drew almost did not get invited.
I debated it for a week.
My friend Allison said, “Maggie, you are allowed to make one day about your son.”
I said, “Cody will be hurt if he isn’t invited.”
She looked at me.
May you like
“Or Drew will be angry if she isn’t included?”
That hit too close.
