The rain stopped. A bearded jogger in shorts and a long-sleeve shirt ran past me with a nod of his head. Everything seemed extra quiet and still. Why did I agree to meet her? Why couldn't she realize that I don't want her in my life? I passed a house with a lawn swept clear of debris, with a group of boys playing football in the backyard. My stomach growled. I felt hungry. Maybe at the depot I could grab a bite to eat if Erin's train arrived late. I doubted it. Erin wouldn't miss an opportunity to inconvenience me.
She bothered me from the beginning. My parents brought her back that Saturday night and with her came a carload of burdens to carry inside. Box after box of "oh, what a pretty dress," and "wow, I love these stuffed animals!" I helped with a couple of boxes so I wouldn't get yelled at before retreating to my "bedroom." They let her fall asleep in front of the television as my mother rubbed her back. I came upstairs and we all sat there, suddenly a happy family, watching the latest Disney movie. Of course Mom asked me to be present in the room. I was a big brother to her now. I wandered up to my real room after everyone was asleep. The little five-year-old slept in my bed with stuffed animals surrounding her and a poster of Michael Jordan looking down on her. My dresser was hers. My CD player was hers. My room was for her to play in. She would use my bathroom. She could pee in my bed.
When Erin arrived at our house, family dinners became expected. About a week into the life sharing "experiment" I found out how expected they were. Mom was in the kitchen making cookies and humming to herself, which was unusual, so I figured she was in a good mood. I didn't have basketball after school that day, so I marched straight to her with high hopes once I got home.
"Mom, I don't think I'm going to be here Friday night for dinner." The humming ceased.
"Take your shoes off," she said without looking up. I pressed the toe of my right foot to the heel of my left and slid the shoe off. In an instant both shoes sat at haphazard angles closer to the front door, resting where I had lobbed them with my feet.
"Jim's having the guys over to play football."
"Is that so?"
"Yeah. His mom's buying pizza."
"I don't know." She hadn't looked at me yet. Her eyes went from the mixing bowl to the recipe beside her, and then back to the mixing bowl. Her hand never stopped stirring the dough. I waited for a moment to see if she would continue - she didn't.
"You don't know...?"
"You know how I feel about these things."
"No, Mom, I don't. Dinner wasn't important a week ago."
"A week ago we weren't raising a five-year-old."
"I'm not raising a five-year-old."
She stopped stirring and looked at me. My voice had risen more than I intended.
"You're part of this family, aren't you?" I knew the answer.
"Whatever." I stomped off.
