The sickeningly sweet smell of iodoform and disinfectant [incorrect word here] awed at my nose.

 This is nauseating. 

I paced around the lobby, restlessly soliloquizing. I should go. No, I shouldn’t. Yes, I should. The sound of the receptionist at the front desk viciously typing on her keyboard irritated my ears, interrupting my thoughts. I sauntered towards the elevator and rapidly pressed the button to go up. I anxiously tapped my foot. Once the doors opened, I rambled inside and selected the second floor. For a brief moment, the hum of the elevator silenced my burdening thoughts. 

A soft chime echoed once I reached my floor. The doors opened and I hurried my way towards cubical 56, attempting to conceal my jittery expression from the people who passed me in the halls. I quickly scanned the room numbers until I reached my destination. I tip-toed outside the door, hesitant to make an appearance. I can turn back now. It’s not too late. I shook my head.

 No. I need to do this.

 I hesitantly grasped the handle and turned it with ease until I heard a soft click. I was beginning to feel unsteady--sick to my stomach. I took one last deep breath and began to lean my weight in to the door, pushing it wide open.

As the youngest growing up, I was considered the baby of my family. I had just one older sister, Kylee, who was six years older than me. Despite our large age difference, we sustained a healthy sisterhood with one another. I thought of her as a goddess; beautiful, long blonde hair, captivating bright blue eyes, and a petite physique. She was striking; I didn’t doubt it. Like most siblings, we would occasionally have our bitter moments. To my relief, I typically wasn’t the one finding myself in any trouble. 

The two of us grew up in a suburban neighborhood that was just a block away from our school and a bearable walking distance from downtown. Mom worked long, exhausting days as a family doctor at a nearby Sparrow. She was a tall, but thin woman. She had vibrant red hair that reached a little past her shoulders at the time. She was always dressed business casual, wearing button-up shirts with dress pants. Most days, she would leave for work early in the morning and arrive home late at night, rarely ever to be seen. Dad stayed behind at home to keep the house in check while Mom was away. He maintained all of our laundries, kept the house organized and orderly, packed our lunches for school, and cooked us meals when we were home. Dad was about the same height as Mom, but shorter than the average man. He had a lean build and dark brown hair that was just beginning to lightly gray. Most of his hours were spent taking my sister and I to sports, piano lessons, or school-related extracurriculars. When he was spared just an ounce of free time, we could find him in his game room playing video games with his cousin. 

In the short time I spent with my family, just the four of us, was worth living. Despite some occasional bumps in the road, I had always assumed that we were nothing other than perfect.

With time, the days seemingly grew longer and darker. Some nights, I lay awake in my bed overhearing the muffled bickering of my parents through the air vents in my bedroom. I could occasionally make out some sentences, but the vents made more than half of their argument inaudible.

 My days grew overwhelmingly dreadful. Dad appeared annoyed and livid towards my sister and me while mom grew distant and cold. She was noticeably thinner and paler in the face. Her red hair was scruffy and unbrushed, almost always tied back into a messy ponytail. The house was beginning to crumble; clutters of dirty clothes traveled across the wooden panels, piles of used dishes were stacked along the kitchen counters, and house decor was scattered among the furniture. It was then when I realized how frequent my dad would disappear, making little of an appearance. I began to ask myself, what have I done for him to leave me so soon? My lack of ambition weighed me down, making me weak and apathetic. He will come back, I assured myself.

Days turned into weeks, and the weeks turned into months. On the night before my last day of sixth grade, Mom announced to my sister and me that she and Dad would soon be getting a divorce. She mentioned Dad had an affair with a woman who she previously worked with at Sparrow--a woman who was nearly 17 years younger than my father. Dad knew his actions were inexcusable, but he promised us an explanation. Dad insisted he felt trapped in his marriage. He cried out how terribly desperate he was to move forward with his life. He desired a job of his own, a committed partner, a clear conscious, and a new beginning. Dad considered this new woman as the “white light” of his life. Someone who brought him peace. 

He grinned at the thought of her.

 Kylee and I struggled with the idea of our parents splitting. To make matters worse, she was just beginning to finish up packing for college. Kylee was moving into a compact dorm with two other freshmen on the campus of Grand Valley State University.

 I was unaided, juggling both of my parents.

It was just 9 months after my parents' divorce when Mom got a new boyfriend, and a little under two years when they officially got engaged. Dad continued his relationship with the woman he had a love affair with. After roughly six months of processing my parents split, I agreed to meet Dad’s girlfriend. 

It was the middle of a harsh snowstorm at the beginning of December. The concrete was covered in a thick blanket of white. I sat in the back of Dad’s Jeep Wrangler as the biting cold chilled my fingers into numbness. I had underestimated the cold that night. The wind howled, piling up snow in drifts, blinding the night with ice-white dust. Dad and I waited patiently for his girlfriend to make an appearance. It was only a few brief minutes before I heard the door of the car click open. It was a young woman with long, curly brown hair. She had beady, hazel eyes and clear, caramel skin. Odd. She had a welcoming presence. I shouldn’t feel comforted by her. She turned herself around the passenger seat and looked back towards me. When she had a grasp on my attention, she smiled gently and introduced herself.

“Hello, you must be Lennon, right?”

“I am.[punctuation error] ” I responded nonchalantly. 

“Well, it’s great to finally meet you. I have heard several stories about you. My name's Julie.”

I nodded my head and acknowledged her with a genuine smile before she turned herself around the seat. She refocused her eyes on the growing snowfall outside the passenger window.

I kept repeatedly asking myself, why do I not hate her?

Spring washed in like the tide of an ocean's wave. The air smelled dewy like freshly cut grass after a stormy day. My nose grew stuffy from the pollen. Dad and Julie had just formally bought their first home together in Vicksburg, Kalamazoo. Shortly after meeting Julie in early January, I discovered she had a daughter of her own. Julie was involved in a prior marriage long before meeting my dad, which ultimately ended in a divorce. Through that marriage, her first and only child was born. Luckily for me, I had a great relationship with the two of them. I soon began to recognize her daughter as my youngest sister.

It was three years until the two of them got engaged. They had a beautiful ceremony and celebration on August 25th, 2017, on the shoreline of Lake Michigan. The pale, purple clouds that towered above complemented the cotton candy pink sky. The ocean breathed. [incorrect word here] It’s waves rising and falling with rhythmic ease. I vividly remember the look on both of their faces when they stated their vows. Pearl-shaped tears rolled down Julie’s cheeks with her lips stretched into a smile. Dad looked at her like every ounce of his breath was taken from his lungs. It was then when I noticed how devoted they were to one another.

It was the summer of freshman year when mom decided it was time for us and her fiance to search for a new home. She desired a clean slate--an escape from reality. It was only a few weeks until they found a two-story, 1970’s fashioned house in a rural area out in Pennfield, Battle Creek. Mom instantly fancied the structure and location of this home. Within the next few weeks, we could officially call it our own.

My freshman year began in early September. Leaves floated down gracefully on the soft breeze as if a friendly hand gently lowered them to the ground. I struggled with adjusting to my new school. I wasn’t entirely the most approachable person and no one seemed to care I was unfamiliar. I particularly kept to myself both at home and at school. I didn’t focus my attention on many of my classes and I had an erratic attendance. I hardly passed my 9th-grade year, just reaching the bare minimum. On most days, I spent my time locked away in my room, steering clear from socializing with my family. I avoided my homework and abstained from studying oncoming tests. My grades used to be strictly important to my family and me, but I soon began to lose interest. My GPA drastically dropped to 2.8, which particularly disappointed my mom. I don’t know why this is happening. What is wrong with me? Why am I such a failure? 

Still, my poor school habits continued further into the year.

It was a Tuesday in early March; the occasional day of the week where I could visit Dad. When I arrived at his house, I noticed that Julie was home exceptionally early from work. From the living room, I could overhear her retching in the bathroom. I turned to Dad, confused and troubled.

“Is she okay?” I asked him skeptically.

“Yes, she'll be fine.” dad replied.

“Does she have food poisoning?”

“No.” 

“The stomach flu?” I questioned again.

He briefly sat in silence before replying. 

“She doesn’t.” 

What? Does he think I’m that ignorant? 

I weakly walked myself up to my room and softly closed the door behind me. I gently began to sob, knowing what was to come. Julie was pregnant with my father’s baby. 

Why didn’t he just lie? If they so desperately wanted to keep it a secret, why didn’t he just say she was ill so he could draw me away from making any conclusions? 

I was distraught. Heartbroken. Out of place. I feared this baby would replace me. I feared this baby would draw all the attention away from me, abandoning me. I shuddered. I hate you, I thought to myself. 

Boy or girl. I hate you.

It was 5 weeks later when Julie and Dad officially confirmed the pregnancy. The two of them justified how they yearned to tell us but they wanted to wait roughly 8 weeks to ensure it wasn’t a false alarm. Behind the masked smile I wore on my face, there was sadness. I kept my true feelings hidden, fearing I would displease my dad. It was never my place to decide whether or not they had a baby, nor should it have been. 

When Julie was 20 weeks pregnant, we discovered she was having a baby girl. At week 24, she felt the baby kick her stomach for the first time. Julie politely asked me if I wanted to feel the baby kick. I accepted her offer and shyly placed my hand over her abdomen. After a few short seconds, I felt a small thump against my hand. It’s her, I thought to myself. A real, living thing with a beating heart. I neglected the thought of her.

It was December 11th, precisely one month away from my step-moms' due date. Dad and Julie had just settled on the name “Nora", for their soon to-be-daughter. In honor of Julie’s aunt, they selected “Simone”, as her middle name. 

After weeks of contemplation, I finally confronted Dad about my buried feelings. With the baby’s birth date so soon, I became increasingly livid. 

“I can’t accept this baby into my life.[punctuation error] ” I said, wilting under his stare.

 Oh no. 

My gut felt like it had collapsed onto the floor. No, no, no. Why did I say it like that?

His voice trembled, “What? What do you mean?” 

“I haven’t mentally accepted that you and mom are no longer together. I still haven’t processed that you are now both remarried. On top of that, a baby is on the way. I can’t accept her as my sister. Everything has been taken from me, Dad. My home, my family, and now you.”

  His combed, silver hair draped over his eyes. He had a dejected look on his face. I avoided his gaze.

“She is your sister, Lennon,” he smiled faintly,[punctuation error]  “[capitalization error] if you think Nora will in any way replace you or Kylee, you are mistaken. Each and every one of you has a place in my heart. Being your father is one of my greatest privileges. My love for you and your sisters is irreplaceable. Remember that.”

My eyes were glazed with a glossy layer of tears. 

“Okay.[punctuation error] ” I muttered under my breath.

“Okay,” Dad said weakly, “know that I love you.”

With a single blink, a tear dripped from my eyelids and rolled down my cheek.

 “I love you, too.” I returned to my room and delicately closed the door behind me.

His words rocked my mind, leaving me to think in foreign ways. It was a quiet voice that echoed in my head. I contemplated everything. My way of thinking. My choice of words. My inexcusable actions. Dad was right. As much as I loathed accepting it, he was right. 

Nora is my sister.

On Thursday, January 25th, I sat in my assigned seat at school in my first-hour class. I was disturbed when I felt my phone rapidly vibrate in my back pocket. I stealthily pulled out my phone, curious to see who was texting me so urgently. I unlocked the front screen and opened my messages. I froze in my seat, realizing what the emergency was.

That morning, Julie was in labor for 6 consecutive hours and had a successful delivery. Nora Simone Williams was finally born. I hesitantly arrived at the Kalamazoo Bronson Hospital, still contemplating whether I should make an appearance or not. The hospital corridor was stuffy and the air had an undertone of bleach. The hallways were plastered in cheap prints of uplifting scenes and cheesy pictures. I rolled my eyes. 

I approached cubicle 56 on the second floor. I approached the door but I stopped, cemented in my footsteps. I could feel my heartbeat--every single pound in my chest. For a minute, I considered turning around. I choked on my nervous gasps of air. 

No.

I steadied my breathing and hovered my hand over the cold, silver handle of the door. I pulled my hair behind my ears and took one last deep inhale and softly turned the knob.

I slowly entered the room, hoping to keep my presence unnoticed. Julie was sitting up straight in her hospital bed with a grin stretching across her face from ear to ear. In the corner of the room, I noticed Kylee lingering over Dad who was sitting on a cushioned stool. Nora, wrapped up in a small blanket, rested in Dad’s folded arms with her head slightly propped up. I silently approached them, reluctant to see her. 

A sweet, innocent face she had. Her large doe-like eyes gazed into mine. She had soft, auburn hair that draped over her forehead and round cheeks that dimpled when she smiled. Her fingers curled around my pinky, grasping on tight.

 In that moment, without a word said inwardly or from my lips, I loved her.

She is nearly 10 months old today, and my undying love for her continues. Nora has brought me to the understanding of how valuable family is. I’ve learned it is right that we care in an open way, always giving unconditionally. Humanity was born to love, no matter the roughness, no matter the hardship.  

I hadn’t known what love was until that cold, eventide of January.