and I celebrated our sixteenth birthday.
Our mother, Annette, had spent months knitting matching sweaters for us.
Mine had daisies.
Laura’s had a huge sunflower.
While knitting it, Mom had accidentally made one petal brown instead of yellow.
She offered to redo it.
Laura laughed.
“Leave it. Now Emelia can’t steal mine.”
I threw a baby carrot at her.
That evening, relatives packed our house. Dad grilled hamburgers outside while Laura kept sneaking frosting from the birthday cake.
Around nine o’clock, she kissed Mom on the cheek and headed for
