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They Picked Me

She makes breakfast with one hand on her hip and a song playing on the stereo. She hums to the music and smiles when he walks in the kitchen. He greets her with an unapologetic kiss, his hand grazing over her back in the most familiar way. She smiles every time, and always, always he comes back for one more kiss before he gets the dishes out and sets the table.

He sets three places, one for him, one for her, one for someone they never thought they'd know. Me. I'm the intruder in their lives, and I watch them. I barely know them, but they've taken me in, and she treats me like I'm hers. He never played ball. I taught him like my brother taught me. Sometimes he takes me hunting, and that's fun, but she wants me to stay inside, stay safe, and she always gives me the biggest hug before he takes me anywhere, even if it's just across town. She looks sad when we leave, and all I know is she had a kid once.

He sits down at the table and passes me a plate, and she comes across with a steaming skillet. Scrambled eggs. Bacon. Like Mom used to make. She starts to serve it when she loses her grip and burns her hand, screaming out a swear as the skillet clatters to the floor in a mess of yellow fluff. He jumps up from his chair, metal screeching across linoleum, and I jump, pressing myself into the corner, squeezing my eyes shut tight.

"Christ!" he bellows, and I feel like I can't breathe, and she's crying, and I remember those nights, hiding in the closet like Mom asked me to, hearing her crying, hearing dishes breaking, hearing Dad screaming at her like she's done something wrong. Only I can't remember her ever doing anything wrong.

I wait, gasping for breath, until I feel a hand on my shoulder. I open my eyes to see him, Daryl, looking down at me, mouth open, eyes questioning, hand squeezing my shoulder. He tells me it's ok. He tells me she's not hurt. And then he turns to her, and he holds her in his arms, and he starts to tend to her hand. He asks me to grab the first aid kit, and I do it numbly. I remember Mom spilling hot coffee and Dad smashing the pot against the stove.

I don't understand my new family most of the time, and they aren't what I'm used to. Carol reads me stories at night, like Mom used to do. But there are no closets with a bolt, and sometimes when I wake up at night, it really is just the house settling, and not the sound of breaking bones. It's just the wind, and not a pained cry for help.

I hand Daryl the kit, and he says 'thanks, buddy,' and I just stare at them, as he puts some medicine on her hand and wraps it up tight, warning her not to do that again, because it scared the hell out of him. And she just smiles, wiping at her tears, and she tells him she'll have to be more careful. I remember Mom apologizing for spilling the coffee, and I remember her screaming at me to go to my room. I remember hearing her crying as more dishes broke. But that doesn't happen here. He's breathing fast, like he's scared, and she reaches out to brush his hair back. And he kisses her hand and helps her up.

He starts to clean up the mess, and I move forward suddenly, reaching out to help him scoop breakfast back in the skillet. Carol ruffles my hair, and I smile at her, and together, we get the kitchen back in order.

Later, I see him kissing her, and she's laughing, and she doesn't have to be scared, because she knows he won't hurt her. And I still don't understand, but I'm trying to. Life with Carol and Daryl is different, but I'm glad they're my new folks. I miss my mom and my brother. But if a kid had to pick new parents, they'd definitely be Carol and Daryl. And boy am I glad that they picked me.