“I need you home tonight,” Mom cried over the phone. “Please, Emily. It’s an emergency.”
Ten hours later, after a red-eye flight from Seattle to Atlanta, I stood on her porch with my suitcase in one hand and my chest tight with fear.
Mom opened the door.
No hug.
No “thank God you’re here.”
She just looked me up and down and said, “Good. The kids are in the living room.”
I blinked. “What kids?”
My sister Brooke appeared behind her wearing sunglasses on top of her head and holding a Disney World folder.
“My kids,” she said, laughing. “Mom told you, right? You’re babysitting while we go on our family trip.”
I stared at them. “You said there was an emergency.”
“There is,” Mom snapped. “We already paid for the resort.”
Brooke’s three kids ran past me screaming, one of them wiping his nose on my coat sleeve. Brooke laughed harder.
“Don’t wipe your snot on her, kids. She flew all this way to help.”
Everyone laughed.
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