She juggles her job as head of Pediatrics at Boston General with the precision of a surgeon and the grace of a dancer. She's at every one of Ollie's football games, channeling Dad's enthusiasm into her cheers. She still gets croissants with me on Sunday mornings at our favorite bakery, just like she and Dad used to. She's Wonder Woman, and I don't know how she does it.

People say I look like her, though I've got more of Dad's spirit. Our similarities paint an obvious picture—the same oval face, the same habit of tucking hair behind our ears when we're nervous. But the differences tell their own story. Mom's hair is lighter, with honey highlights that catch the light; mine is rich chocolate brown, like Dad's was. Her eyes are deep brown, while mine are Dad's straightforward green. Mom's petite frame carries a natural elegance, while I inherited Dad's athletic build—not that I've ever used it for anything remotely athletic. That's Ollie's department.

"Have you talked to the boys yet?" Mom asks, breaking the silence as she sets her glass down, leaving another perfect ring on the table.

Ollie doesn't look up from his phone, thumb scrolling mindlessly. "Texted Nate earlier. Told him we'd be there by three. Haven't heard back."

Of course, Nate hasn't responded.

His name pulls at something in my chest, a string I can't stop tugging even though I know it'll only unravel me more. It's stupid, really. I know nothing will ever happen between us, but there's a gravity I can't escape. In Nate's eyes, I'll always be "little Leni”, the nickname Dad gave me when I was small enough to ride on his shoulders.

I've spent years trying to prove I'm more than that, more than just the kid sister of the group. Whether it was climbing the highest tree or sneaking out past curfew, I was always trying to keep up, to be seen. Nate always had to save me. And he was always annoyed about it.

Even now, just the thought of him makes my pulse quicken, a betrayal of every promise I've made to myself. After what happened last year—the silence, the unanswered messages, the empty chair at Dad's funeral—I should be over him. I should be angry.

But I'm not.

And I hate that.

"Have you spoken to Jake, Nora?" Mom asks, studying me with that knowing look that makes me feel transparent.

"He messaged me this morning. Wished us a safe trip."

"I heard he's been offered a scholarship to Duke," Mom says, her lips curving into that proud smile she always saves for the Sullivan boys. "And made captain of the swim team, too."

"That kid was a fish in a past life," Ollie pipes up, rolling his eyes. "I mean he's got an ego the size of a whale, so it fits."

"Says the guy who refers to himself as the GOAT," I shoot back, smirking.