I became Uncle Noah, and then Dad, completely by accident.
“Okay, I’ve got you.”
***
Twenty-two years passed the way a long work shift does: dragging in the middle and suddenly finished before you realize it.
I packed their lunches with the wrong bread. I attempted to braid their hair so poorly that Mrs. Hunter would fix it on the porch before school.
“You’re going to give those girls complexes, Noah,” my neighbor said once, brushing through Ava’s tangled hair.
“I’m doing my best.” “I know you are. That’s the problem!” she teased.
“I’m doing my best.”
***
I worked double shifts at the hardware store. When one of the girls needed braces, a science fair board, or replacement sneakers because the old ones somehow stopped fitting all three, I worked triple shifts.
There were science fairs and fevers that I stayed awake through. When they had broken hearts I couldn’t repair, I made grilled cheese and let them cry beside me on the couch.
