By the time Tara was seventeen, she was pregnant. Piled on top of that was her boyfriend’s prison time, for dealing drugs, their crazy dreams of rap stardom, and her refusal to get married. Now, four and a half years later, Aaron, Levy, and Sissy are part of our family. Mom and Sissy are friends. And in an ironic twist of fate, my wayward sister is on the road to being famous.

“YOUR T-SHIRT SEAM may be irritating that pimple. The Band-Aid should help.”

“Hey. You want to play doctor with me?” Troy jokes, his cowlick stuck down for now.

“Mooooommmyyyyyyy,” Rachel yells. “All gone!”

“Tonight.” I wink and then take off down the stairs, to find Rachel’s cereal bowl tipped over on the tray and the milk dribbling to the floor.

“Okay. Help me mop this up.” I pull her from the high chair and hand her a paper towel. She squeezes milk and bits of granola on the floor and tries to make finger paintings in the glop. I quickly wipe away the mess, and hand her some spray cleaner, which she spritzes joyfully. Everything is fun to her.

Troy comes down soon after. “There’s some granola,” I offer.

“No time.” He pours coffee and milk in a commuter cup and smears peanut butter and jelly on bread. “Gotta hit the traffic.” He checks his watch, grabs his laptop, and kisses Rachel and me. At the door he turns, points a finger at me, and says, “Tonight.” Turns to Rachel, “I’ll see both of my beautiful ladies tonight.”

The door kisses the jamb as it swings shut.

The sun slants in through a window and throws a rectangle on Rachel’s hair, turning it into blazing spun gold.

I pick her up and swing her around. “The floor is clean and it’s a beautiful day made just for us.”

I can get through each day. It’s the nights and early mornings that are hard. Maybe I’ve turned a corner. Maybe I’ve figured something out, but I don’t know exactly what. The answers I look for each morning at 3:42 flicker in my head as if I know it, but can’t recognize them.

“Hey. You wanna go to the potty?” I carry Rachel to her potty, and watch while she pulls down her pants and sits down.

I hand her a book and turn on the faucet. Don’t know why, but Mom always did that and it seemed to encourage me to go.

Rachel’s eyes get big. “I did it. I pee-peed in the potty!”

She laughs, her little white teeth shining like pearls.

She stands up and points, her pull-ups sliding to her ankles. “I did it.”

“You sure did,” I say with disbelief. I take out the container to pour the urine down the toilet.