Page 145 of Hometown Halftime
“I will throw this garlic bread at your head.”
Emma climbs onto one of the kitchen stools and points at me proudly. “Riley’s in loooove.”
“Emma, don’t join them. I told you that you’re my favorite.”
“She’s right,” Lucy says.
“Why is everyone attacking me?” My voice is higher pitched than necessary.
My mom laughs while shaking her head, but when she looks back at me again, her expression turns gentle.
“Hey.” She waits until I finally meet her eyes again. “You don’t have to have everything figured out right now.”
I nod. “I know.”
“But don’t be scared to tell her how you feel. You only have a few weeks left and maybe if you start getting things out in the open, you two could figure out how to make it work.”
I nod, looking down at the bread in my hand, before Mom reaches over and squeezes my hand once.
“If a woman makes you feel loved, peaceful, excited, and terrified all at the same time…” She smiles softly. “That’s usually the real thing, sweetheart.”
Her words hit home because I’m starting to realize I don’t know how I’m going to let Kinsey go.
Poppy arrives the next evening, ushering in her usual commotion.
Her car barely makes it into the driveway before Emma is already opening the front door, screaming her name loud enough to wake the dead.
“POPPY’S HERE!”
Emma stops at the top of the steps as Poppy climbs out of the driver’s seat wearing leggings, boots, and an oversized sherpa jacket with her hair piled into a messy knot on top of her head.
“There’s my favorite girl!”
Emma launches herself into her arms, and Poppy catches her while laughing, spinning her around before Jackson and Lucy make it outside too. My mom follows behind them, grinning while I hang back near the porch watching the entire disaster unfold.
I missed my sister.
Poppy’s always been larger than life somehow. Not just because she’s my big sister, but she's loud, emotional, and completely incapable of having a normal reaction to anything. She has the same dark blonde hair I do, but her eyes are hazel to my brown, and they usually hold the kind of expression that says she’s about five seconds away from either starting an argument or planning something reckless.
“Riley!” She sprints over and hugs me hard enough to crack ribs.
“Missed you.”
“Missed you, too. Now let me go, I’m hungry.” She pushes me off as she walks to the door.
The house is filled with noise within minutes of her arrival. Bags get abandoned in the hallway. Emma refuses to stop hanging off Poppy’s arm. Jackson tries unsuccessfully to act too cool to care that she’s home. Lucy gossips with her in the kitchen while my mom laughs through all of it.
After dinner ends, Poppy and I end up stretched across the couch while everyone else filters toward showers and homework upstairs.
“So,” she says, slapping my arm, “what’s been going on with you? Tell me everything.”
“You’re so aggressive.” I pretend to rub my arm in pain.
“Oh, come on, you haven’t seen your favorite sibling in months.”
I laugh while leaning my head back against the couch cushion.
For a while, we talk about normal things. Her apartment in Roanoke, the new job that she loves, and how Mom has been doing. I fill her in on the rugby team and Cedar Falls gossip. Then eventually Poppy glances toward me again, her expression shifting to something more serious.
