Leaning over, I give him a light noogie on his tousled blond head. "You don't even know what's in the box, brat."
"Doesn't matter," he says seriously, looking to me, then to Mom, then to Jim-Dad. "It's still the best birthday ever."
Mom's eyes immediately fill with tears. Jim-Dad's face suffuses with pride in his son and I stare at the wonder that is my brother and marvel that my parents raised such a good and kind boy.
Then Glenn dives at the box, ripping and shredding the paper I painstakingly wrapped so that not even a seam would be noticed. When he pulls back a large chunk of paper and sees what's inside, he squeals-yes, squeals. He sounds like a pig being murdered with a butter knife and I grimace. Pulling back the last shred of wrapping, he stares with love in his eyes at the Xbox in front of him.
Glenn has never had an electronic gaming device before. Oh, he's played on plenty when he stays over with his friends, so he knows all about them. But here's the thing that makes this kid so fabulous. He's never once asked for one. Glenn is considerate of our family's boundaries when it comes to what we can afford, and he's always been grateful for anything he's ever been given.
Now, watching him with the look of adoration and disbelief on his face, I wish desperately that my parents and I had it within our means to give this kid everything his heart ever desired. He deserves it, mainly because he doesn't expect it.
Reaching under the kitchen cabinet, I pull out two smaller items that I had wrapped. Glenn's eyes widen even farther as his hand reaches out to take the gifts from me.
"Can't have an Xbox without games to play, right?" I tell him.
Glenn doesn't even bother unwrapping the gifts to see what I've gotten him; rather, he flies out of his chair and throws his arms around my waist, pressing his head onto my shoulder … because yeah, he's gotten that tall.
"Thanks, Sutton. You're the best sister ever."
"Damn straight I am," I tell him while laughing, and then squeeze him even tighter.
***
I watch my family all hop into Jim-Dad's big work truck, then wave at them as they pull out of my driveway. They have at least a thirty-minute drive ahead of them to make it to their little abode across town, and I have a kitchen to clean up.
Walking back into my house, I realize I'm still riding high on watching Glenn fly over the moon, proclaiming this to be his best birthday ever. Amped up on his joy, I tackle the dishes and wipe down the counters, reminiscing over the evening with a soft smile on my face. I give a quick swipe with my broom to the old linoleum floor -which is my next upgrade project-and finish my duties by taking the garbage out.
Finally, I'm able to pour myself a glass of cabernet sauvignon and pad into the living room-my sanctuary. After taking a small sip of my wine, I set it on the coffee table and flop down onto the big, fluffy cushions of my couch. Sinking into its comfort, I take a moment to appreciate the pale blue walls I painted myself and admire how they complement the dark hardwood floors with a calming serenity. My eyes roam the room, briefly touching on the various framed photographs-some rest on the side tables, others are hanging on the walls, and still more swamp the mantel of the fireplace. These are pictures of all the people who are most important in my life, and they truly make this not just a "living room" but a "family room."
Kicking my feet up onto the couch, I study my toenails, which I just painted a steel blue color the other day. In fact, I notice with lazy interest, they sort of match my couch, which is done in a floral pattern of blues and yellows. While I have to wear professional clothes during the day, I like getting by with touches of crazy that can't be seen while I'm in counselor mode. So that means unconventionally colored nail polish and naughty lingerie, neither of which is seen by anyone but me at the current time. Not that I mind.
I mentally giggle to myself, wondering what Brandon would think of my blue nail polish. I'm quite positive he'd wrinkle his nose up at it, proclaiming that it's not professional.
Sighing, I lean my head back against the couch pillow and close my eyes. My date with Brandon is tomorrow night. At least, I think it's a date. I meant to clarify that with him when he first called me earlier in the week, but then forgot because I had gotten sidetracked during the conversation by his natural charm.
"Sutton?" I had heard Brandon's voice when I answered my phone, a tad tentative but clear as a bell.
"Brandon? Is that you?" I asked in disbelief, because in a million years I had not expected his call.
"Yes," he said exuberantly. "I was watching our movie last night before I went to bed, and it made me all nostalgic, so I told myself when I woke up today I was going to give you a call and check in on you."