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At ten, Lilly was a firecracker. Duncan was not so old that he doesn't remember what the original Lilly was like at ten (she'd like that, he thought, 'original Lilly'). A constant blur of motion, always jumping up and down or running or twirling, and so full of sass.
Lilly was like that too, in a way. She wasn't afraid of her classmates, the trio of giggling girls who spread out on their couch, cast curious glances at Duncan and Bridge, and asked where Lilly's mom was. Lilly was patently blunt, and when one girl commented, "My daddy says homosexuality is a sin," they never saw that girl again.
It was odd, her acting so much like her aunt, when she looked so much like her mother. She had Meg's eyes, but that was all of Meg Duncan really saw in her. It was an argument for nature versus nurture. She resembled Bridge considerably, as far as personality went. When she was younger, she would fall over laughing at Bridge's easy attempts to crack her up. She possessed the things Duncan loved most about Bridge: his curiosity, his boundless cheer. Duncan didn't regret that she shared no traits with her biological father. Bridge had saved Duncan from himself, once upon a time. When Duncan had first found out about Lilly, there was no question that he wanted her, that he wanted for her all the things he'd never had. Never had before Bridge, at least.
The apartment was not entirely large enough for two grown men, a young girl, and a snapping turtle. It was nothing like the mansion of Duncan's youth, its residents ghosting through and never really living. The original Lilly had had to make her own entertainment. But this Lilly was never lacking for love and affection, and Duncan at last felt like he was doing something right.