This is My Message to You

Green

GREEN

Everyone always tells me I look exactly like my sister Charlotte. I don't agree – she's the effortlessly gorgeous type that I'll never be – but especially as a kid I thought it was the biggest compliment in the world. Thirteen years older than me and my only sibling, Charlotte was around for just enough of my childhood to imprint that hero status on my memory. She'd taught me to tie my shoes and read Nancy Drew and throw a softball like a pro.

In September of fifth grade, she came home unexpectedly and told us she had big news. As she said this, her smile shone even brighter than the ring glistening on her finger.

Her wedding the following summer couldn't have been more perfect. We all loved her fiancé, with his deep voice and square glasses, and she looked radiant in her white dress. Half the neighborhood showed up to the reception, which lasted well into the evening. Connor came, of course, though he could barely sit still through the ceremony and ate too much cake at the reception. I got to be a bridesmaid and tried champagne for the first time and danced with my dad, but as the sun began to set behind the trees at the reception, I started thinking.

Thinking has never been a good idea for me. Now, I try too hard not to think. Then, I thought too much.

I took a break from dancing and sat at some of the round tables on the side, munching on a cupcake and watching my sister dazzle the dance floor.

"My, Charlotte's all grown up," said my grandma tearfully to another guest. "First baby out of the nest, you know. I remember how hard it was to let my daughter go for the first time – oh, college is one thing, but when they leave and you know this won't be their home anymore..."

At certain points in your life, your whole world stands still. This was one of those moments. Lights twinkled overhead from the tiny lanterns strung between tent posts. The guests' chatter dulled to a soft roar. Charlotte's white dress spun in a swirling circle in the center of the floor, seeming to draw further and further away from me.

I didn't want to look at her anymore, so I got up and walked away from the big white tent into the fields behind the reception. My dress spread out in a bubble around me as I plopped myself down on the grass, and I admired the contrast of the pale pink against the green.

And I thought.

Connor had some kind of radar on me, I swear. No one else noticed that I had left the reception, but half an hour later, he came wandering through the grassy field, looking like a miniature adult in his dark suit and gelled hair. He found me sitting in a cloud of pink on green with tears soaking the front of my dress and plenty more still streaming down my face.

"Do you want a cookie?" he asked, his go-to question, and I shook my head. So he sat down right next to me, legs sprawling out in front of him, and chomped away at his cookie. Usually I would've told him to get lost, but I didn't then.

I remember sitting there with him for a pretty long time. He knew what to say to distract me, so soon we were arguing about irrelevant details from our favorite movies and laughing over stupid stuff he got in trouble for at school. The sun crept steadily lower in the sky, turning the grass dark green beneath our feet.

"Charlotte's not gonna be home anymore," I said at one point. That thought had been hovering in my mind, and it sprung out in the middle of a conversation.

"You'll still see her sometimes," said Connor without blinking. "It's not like she's moving to China, Riley."

"No, but –" I pulled up grass blades with my fingers, clenching them into fists. "But she's got a new home now. It won't be with us anymore."

He reached over and plunged his hands into the grassy patch, too. "She'll still think your house is home, though. Why can't you have two homes?"

I thought about that one, and then I said, "But she has a new family now. It's not ours."

"She's still in your family, silly."

"I mean –" I lay back in the grass, my dress poofing around me. "It's not just us."

Connor tugged up a couple blades of grass, twirling them between his fingers. "Yeah, I guess she's got her husband's side now, too. But you get them, too. He's your brother now, basically. Brothers are the best."

He pointed to himself as he said this, looking ridiculously proud, which made me laugh because he was an only child.

"And then you'll have nieces and nephews too, prob'ly." Connor held one hand over my face with a thoughtful expression. "You're lucky, Ri. I've always wanted little brothers or sisters, and now you'll have them, sort of."

I sniffed a little, wiping at my eyes. "I guess you're right."

"Of course I'm right."

"Don't be stupid, you're not –"

He opened his hand, and grass rained down on my face, getting caught in my nostrils and eyelashes. Sputtering, I shoved him away from me, yelling, "I'm gonna kill you!" as he laughed uproariously and continued to pelt me with ripped-up grass. We pushed each other back and forth and tore up half the earth around us in our war until we couldn't breathe from laughing.

As the sun disappeared behind the reception tent, we heard my mom calling for me.

"I better go back," I said, pushing myself to my feet tiredly. "Did you tell your parents where you went?"

"Nah." He shrugged, leaping up. "They won't be worried. She just told me to keep my suit clean because she doesn't want to dry clean it."

The same thought struck us at once, and we both slowly looked down at our fancy outfits. My pink dress now sported ragged tears along the hem and green grass stains ran in streaks all over the skirt. His shirt had come untucked and his bow tie undone and his pants looked like they'd been through a jungle.

"Well," he said, grinning at me, "I think she's gonna have to dry clean."

"This is your fault," I informed him, running my fingers along the edge of my dress mournfully. "You're so dumb –"

"Say that again, I double-dog dare you!"

He leaned down as if to snatch up more grass, and I shrieked and spun around to sprint back toward the reception tent, Connor chasing me every step of the way.