Remi opened her arms, and Hadley, after the briefest of hesitations, walked into them. “Hey,” she whispered to her niece, who no longer smelled like markers and Play-Doh but of dryer sheets and hairspray.

Hadley ended the hug first and took an awkward step back. On a sigh, Remi let her escape. She’d hoped there were a few more years before little kid enthusiasm gave way to teenage apathy. But time stood still for no aunt.

She waited until Kimber had finished precisely arranging gloves in pockets before demanding a proper greeting.

“Hi,” her sister said, leaning in for a hug almost as an afterthought. “It’s nice to see you.”

Remi hugged her back firmly. “I missed you. How are you? What’s new?” she asked.

Kimber extracted herself from the hug with a perfunctory smile, and Remi felt an unexpected distance between them open up into a yawning chasm. “Everything’s fine. Just busy with the kids.”

Kimber looked exhausted as she retrieved the two casserole dishes she’d parked on Gilbert’s desk. Remi could empathize.

“Where’s Kyle?” she asked, glancing over her sister’s shoulder to the door, wondering if her brother-in-law had been left on the porch.

“He’s not coming. He worked late and didn’t feel up to being good company.” Kimber gave the explanation as though it were a speech memorized long ago.

“Where are my grandmonsters?” Darlene bellowed from the top of the stairs.

Hadley flashed a ghost of a smile toward her grandmother while Ian shrieked in mock terror and sprinted for the kitchen.

“Thanks, Mom,” Kimber said with an eye-roll. “No running in the house,” she shouted after her son.

They convened in and around the kitchen, the grandkids catching up the grandparents on school and social activities. She found it telling that neither of her parents asked Kimber where Kyle was. She also noted that her father didn’t feel the need to tell her nephew that the stove was hot.

“Here are the sweet potatoes and the broccoli casserole,” Kimber announced, placing the dishes next to the oven.

“You guys could have told me to bring a pie or something,” Remi said, feeling a little guilty that she hadn’t contributed anything other than her wobbly presence to the meal.

“Don’t be silly,” Gilbert said. “You’re the guest of honor.”

“Yeah. Besides, we want food that’s editable.” Ian smirked.

“Edible, you little jerk,” Remi said, screwing up her face at the boy. “I’ll have you know I’m an excellent baker.” At least she was when she paid attention to the recipe and the oven timer.

Removed. It was how she’d always felt within the ranks of family. Her parents and sister had things in common. No one had much in common with the asthmatic synesthete who was always getting into trouble. Though thanks to the aforementioned reasons, she’d been at the center of the circle. Not part of the ring, but the gravitational force they’d all had to orbit around. Doctor’s appointments. Schemes. Parent-teacher conferences. Trips to the emergency room.