MB Short Story: Sibling Rivalry (Featuring Sally)

                “Mother?”

                Shit. Leo only called her ‘Mother’ when he was about to ask one of his infamously awkward questions. At least they weren’t in public this time: Leo’s last precocious bout of four-year-old curiosity had left Sally trying to explain her menstrual cycle in the personal care section of Whole Foods.

                “What is it, sweetheart?” Sally asked.

                Thankfully, Leo remained oblivious to the trepidation in his mother’s voice. She and Ellery had always encouraged their son to be curious, and the last thing Sally wanted to do was quash Leo’s willingness to ask them anything and everything. It wasn’t Leo’s fault that some of his questions (for example, “Mother, is Uncle Nicky’s baby going to be adopted like me?”) were better asked at in the privacy of home (instead of, for example, in the middle of said Uncle’s wedding ceremony while Leo was acting as ring bearer, and his question left half the guests wondering if the bride was pregnant).

                “Why don’t I have a baby sister?”

                After hearing “Mother” come from Leo’s mouth (which admittedly sounded more like “Murder” due to his lisp), Sally had wisely refrained from taking another sip of her iced coffee. Thanks to this wise foresight, she avoided choking to death in her own living room.

                “I’m sorry?” Sally said, just in case she’d heard wrong. God, she hoped that she’d heard wrong.

                “Why don’t I have a baby sister?” Leo repeated, confirming that, no, Sally wasn’t lucky enough to be experiencing auditory hallucinations.

                “Why are you asking about a baby sister?”

                “Rian has a baby sister,” Leo explained as if it should be obvious.

                “Your friend from soccer?”

                Leo nodded solemnly. “Rian got a baby sister for his fifth birthday.”

                . . . And Leo turned five next week. Sally was beginning to understand the impetus for her son’s question. Unfortunately for Leo, she and Ellery couldn’t summon a second child quite that quickly. Heck, it had taken Ellery over three weeks to hire a clown that didn’t look like they’d crawled of a horror movie sewer for Leo’s upcoming party.

                “Rian and his new sister were born in the same month,” Sally said, trying to stall for time. “That doesn’t mean that she was his birthday gift.”

                Leo’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “But they brought her home for Rian’s birthday!”

                “Parents don’t always choose what day they bring babies home,” Sally said.

                “Why?”

                “Well, most babies spend nine months inside their mommy’s tummy,” Sally settled on. “But some babies spend less time and some babies spend a little more. Rian’s sister must’ve decided to come out early because she didn’t want to miss her big brother’s birthday.”

                “I have a tummy mommy, too,” Leo stated.

                “You do,” Sally confirmed. “She kept you safe while you grew from a little bean into a healthy baby. Then we got to take you home!”

                Leo sucked in his pudgy cheeks—he made the exact same expression when thinking deeply about something as he did when sucking on a lemon wedge. Sally held her breath. She and El had always been open with Leo about the fact he was adopted, but they’d never delved too deeply into his biological parents as it was a closed adoption. Even if Leo asked about his own ‘tummy mommy,’ Sally couldn’t provide him with any details because she simply didn’t know. Leo should already know this, but there was no way of telling if he recalled their past conversations. Four-year-olds either had the memory of a lockbox or a sieve depending on their interest in a topic; Leo could remember verbatim the words to a song that he’d heard once about a baby squid bob-bob-bobbing in the ocean, but he’d also broken into tears yesterday because he’d forgotten how to put on his raincoat. Sleeves, according to Leo, were “turkey” (tricky).

                “How do babies get in their mommy’s tummy?” Leo asked, the question coming as a relief while simultaneously opening an entirely new can of worms.

                Was age four too young for the birds and bees talk? Probably, especially for a kid as uninhibitedly loquacious as Leo. Sally had only recently convinced her son to stop asking strangers whether they had a vagina or a “normal peepee.” (Convincing Leo that penises were not, in fact, the only valid form of genitalia had been a separate conversation. But, hey, at least her son was now better educated than most U.S. senators.)

                Prior to Leo’s adoption, Sally had inhaled copious guides on how to become that mythological cryptid known as the “perfect parent” (post Leo’s adoption, she barely had time to paint let alone read). The standard answer suggested by such books (“some people have eggs, and other people have sperm, and that together makes a baby”) would only lead to more “whys” and “whats” and “hows” in Leo’s case. She really didn’t feel up to giving an entire biology lesson fifteen minutes before bedtime.

                She’d leave the ‘where babies come from’ conversation to Ellery. Maybe they’d make a family date of going to the library for some age-appropriate picture books, and maybe her and El would make out in the nonfiction section while Leo was at story time. No one ever visited the nonfiction section. Sally smiled as the perfect day began to unfold in her mind, only for her visualized make-out sesh with her spouse to be interrupted by Leo impatiently tugging on her paint-stained sleeve to remind her of his very pressing question.

                Leo had asked two questions, however. Silently apologizing to her spouse, Sally decided to tackle the one which she currently found less intimidating: the subject of why he didn’t have a baby sister.

                “Do you want a baby sister?” she asked, turning the question back on her son.

                Leo’s brow furrowed as if he’d never considered that aspect of the scenario. “Rian says his sister cries a lot.”

                “Most babies do,” Sally said.

                “That sounds annoying.”

                “It can be,” Sally agreed.

                Leo nodded, and Sally suppressed a smirk at his inability to tie her comment to his own infanthood.

                “Also, Rian said that—” Leo lowered his voice to a scandalized whisper “—his sister still wears diapers.” He scrunched up his face with disgust, and it was all Sally could do to keep from laughing out loud.

                “Most babies do,” she repeated, unable to stop the snicker that escaped.

                “But Rian still said that he was okay keeping her.” Confusion scrunched up her son’s face like he was attempting to piece together a particularly tricky (or “turkey”) puzzle. “Rian said that he liked being a big brother.”

                “Is that what you want?” Sally asked, genuinely curious. “To be a big brother?” She and Ellery hadn’t decided whether they wanted more than one child, but Leo’s opinion on the subject certainly mattered.

                Leo bit the side of his thumb, chewing the cuticle until Sally clasped his small hands in her own. “You can tell me,” she encouraged, kneeling so that they were eye level. “I always want to hear about your feelings, sweetheart.”

                Leo’s tense shoulders visibly relaxed at her words. He threw his arms around her neck in a fierce hug that left his feet dangling off the floor. “I don’t want to share you yet,” he declared, the words muffled by her shoulder. “I might want a little sister someday . . . but not for my birthday.”

                Sally stroked her son’s hair and kissed the top of his sweaty head. Had the thought of a new sibling been a source of anxiety for him this entire conversation? Sally vaguely recalled feeling the same way once upon a time, when she’d begun to fully understand what it meant to be “adopted.” She’d been around Leo’s age, come to think of it. She’d worried that maybe, despite her dads’ constant love and affirmation that she was their entire world, she was ultimately replaceable because she wasn’t . . .

                No, Sally was their real daughter. In all the ways that mattered.

                Just like Leo was her real son.

                Of all the things Leo had taught his mother, perhaps the most significant was that her own parents had never once lied. Which Sally had known, of course, but it still felt nice to have it confirmed. Because just like her dads, Sally couldn’t even begin to imagine adoring a child more deeply than she loved this too-serious, loose-lipped munchkin currently strangling her in his hug. With one last reassuring back pat, she pried Leo’s arms off her neck so that she could breathe again.

                “We don’t plan on bringing home a little sibling for you any time soon,” she said. “You don’t need to worry about sharing me just yet.”

                “I might change my mind, though,” Leo said, ever pragmatic.

                “That’s fine.” Sally pressed another kiss on the top of her son’s head. How was it even possible to be this content with life? “For what it’s worth, though, I think you’d make a great big brother.”

                “I’d be the best,” Leo replied. “Even better than Rian!”