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Stephen peered over the top of the cradle to look at the baby. It looked… squishy, with a bunched up face and a tiny body. Stephen was three—almost four, except his mom always laughed when he said that—and the baby was ‘his responsibilly’ now. Mom and dad said so—he was an older brother and older brothers protected their younger sisters.
Because that was what the baby was. His younger sister. Donna. He wrinkled his nose. He wasn’t sure he liked having a younger sister. Mom and dad didn’t spend as much time with him anymore, and they were always tired. He didn’t know why they’d needed a baby anyways. Stephen had been here first.
The baby let out a little gurgling noise and waved her pudgy hand at him.
He supposed the baby was kind of cute, even if the baby did look super squishy. He glanced behind him to make sure mom wasn’t coming before going up on his tippy-toes. Poke.
The baby let out another gurgle. It was sort of like a giggle, Stephen thought. He poked the baby again, another gurgle.
He moved to poke the baby a third time when he heard the sound of feet. He pulled his hand back super fast so his mom couldn’t see. He didn’t think ‘poking’ was what older brothers were supposed to do to younger sisters.
But the baby had liked it, so maybe it was okay.
His mom entered the room, moving immediately to the baby. “Why hello sweetheart,” she murmured as she picked up the baby. “Are you having fun with your big brother?”
Stephen frowned. He was supposed to be sweetheart! Not the baby!
His mom’s smile turned on him. “Stephen, sweetheart—” Stephen frowned harder, there weren’t supposed to be two sweethearts, just one, ”—can you run and tell your dad that I’ve got to feed Donna? Dinner will be late tonight.”
But Stephen was hungry. Everything was the baby’s fault! He let out his heaviest sigh, just so his mom knew he was not happy, and stomped out of the room. He heard his mom laughing behind him; it wasn’t funny!
Still, he obediently went and told his dad. His dad didn’t seem unhappy, just smiled and said, “Well, that’s what happens when you have a baby,” like it was a good thing! His dad ruffled Stephen’s hair. “But that’s why Donna and your mom have us. We’re gonna make things easy on them, okay?”
Stephen scowled. Nothing had been the same since the baby had come; Stephen hated it.
He left the barn, sitting on the porch. He swung his legs, hitting the flowers his mom had planted there with his toes.
He heard the baby; she was screaming now, just like she screamed every night. It was annoying.
An idea came. He could stop the crying. He jumped off the porch and picked a few of his mom’s flowers, the pretty red ones that he liked best. Mom always said that flowers made her happy, especially when dad gave them to her.
Well, flowers might make the baby happy, too.
He made sure to be super careful with the flowers as he went inside. Mom looked tired, rocking the baby back and forth. Stephen marched right up to them and held up the flowers. “Here baby,” he said. “You need to be happy, now.”
His mom laughed. “Stephen, Donna’s too young—”
The baby stopped crying, blinking at him, eyes wide. His mom stopped talking, looking surprised. She let out a little sigh. “Oh, I see Donna already has a favorite.” She smiled at Stephen. “She’s going to love you, you know.”
Stephen wrinkled his nose, then decided that was okay.
“Why don’t you go find a vase and we’ll put those flowers somewhere safe. We don’t want Donna to eat them.”
Stephen gaped. Why would the baby eat the flowers? That was just stupid.
Well, fine, Stephen would have to teach the baby to be smart.
That was an older brother’s responsibilly, after all.
“—a light in our lives,” his dad was saying his voice cracking a little. The wind was sharp and cold, cutting through Stephen’s winter coat to piece his heart. “Donna was brilliant and beautiful. No one could make me smile, her mom laugh, and her brother sing, the way she did.”
Stephen swallowed hard, as though the songs he’d sung for Donna had trapped themselves in his throat. He tightened his hold on the poppies in his hand, feeling the stems rip and crush as he twisted at them.
Everyone else had roses, each flower held tightly in shaking hands as they all waited to drop the flowers on the casket, but not Stephen.
Donna wouldn’t have wanted roses anyways. She’d always liked poppies. Mom had always said that it was because of Stephen’s first gift to Donna—the first flowers Donna had ever been given—were poppies from the garden.
These poppies weren’t from the garden. It was too cold for that, too cold to go to the field by the lake where the poppies Donna liked best had grown. She said they were wild, that way, which made everything better.
These poppies were from the flower shop. Stephen had walked there himself, using the money from his allowance to buy them.
His mom had cried when Stephen had gotten them. But his mom cried all the time, now.
His dad finished talking as the casket slowly lowered into the ground. Stephen wanted to scream and scream and scream. Because everything was wrong.
There wasn’t supposed to be a casket. Donna wasn’t supposed to be dead. And Stephen wasn’t supposed to be giving her poppies she would never get to smile at.
His mom guided him to the hole in the ground. “Say goodbye, Stephen,” she whispered.
Stephen couldn’t. The words trapped in his throat. “I love you.”
The poppies were bright and vibrant in his hands. Just like Donna had been.
Stephen let go.