Give Me Butterflies (Oaks Sisters #1)

Chapter 7

Finn

The sound of laughter from the front of the museum draws me toward my office window, and I peer through the glass to find

the camp kids crawling around in the flower beds. Eloise is smiling from ear to ear while she digs a hole in the soil. Even

Avery is grinning as her hands move through the dirt.

Millie’s on her knees between them, placing a small potted seedling in Avery’s hands, and they work together to free the sprout.

I glance at Eloise, and she must have her hole the way she wants it because she sits back on her heels and brushes her hair

off her face. When she pulls her hands away, she has smears of dirt along her cheeks and forehead.

I huff out a quiet laugh.

The temptation to go spy on the girls has been eating at me all morning. But they look happy—so much more content than I was

expecting them to be in a new place, surrounded by strangers.

Millie and Avery have their plant free of its container, and they lower it to the hole together. They loosen the roots, carefully pull soil back around the seedling, then high-five each other when the job is complete. Turning to Eloise, they burst out laughing at the sight of the dirt all over her face. Millie laughs with her whole body, her head thrown back and shoulders shaking, and I can hear her even from thirty feet away and through a building.

My rib cage constricts as I watch Millie rub her hands on her jean-covered thighs before brushing the dirt from El’s face.

Ave and El have been through so much for their age that occasionally I forget they’re only five years old. Eloise is so lighthearted

and carefree that sometimes she seems unaffected, but Avery’s tender heart is more somber than her sister’s. So seeing her

face light up right now makes my own smile dance across my lips.

***

A herd of loud children walks into the main astronomy room, laughing and talking the whole way. Avery and Eloise have their

arms looped together, and Millie tries to corral a wandering little boy back into the group.

“Uncle Finn,” Eloise calls, pulling Avery along with her as she runs to me. Two little bodies crash into my legs, and I crouch

to hug them tightly, inhaling their summer-sun smell and feeling their warm cheeks against mine.

“Did you girls have a good morning?”

“It was the best,” Eloise squeals in my ear.

“That’s good. Now you get to build some rockets with me,” I say, getting one last squeeze of my girls before I encourage them

to walk to where Rachel is waiting to greet everyone.

The other kids rush past me before Millie reaches where I’m standing, hands in the back pockets of her jeans and little strands

of hair framing her flushed face.

She tilts her head. “I’ve been trying to figure out all day how I missed that you had kids. But it’s Uncle Finn, huh?”

“Yeah, I tried to come up with an epic uncle name, but it turned out ‘Finn’ is way easier for babies to say.” I run a hand through my hair. I’ve learned that it’s best to clear up any possible confusion, even if it makes things awkward. So I explain, “I guess I do have kids, though. They are my sister’s girls, but she passed away a few months ago.”

With a deep sigh, Millie pulls her hand from her back pocket and sets it on my forearm. I’m sure it’s supposed to be a comforting

gesture, but it has the opposite effect. It makes my heart stutter, and my lungs feel twice their weight. “I’m so sorry.”

She drops her hand and slips it back into her pocket.

Silence threads between us, as it usually does after this news.

Then Millie does me the biggest favor she could. She changes the subject. “I want a completely random name when my sisters

start having kids. Not that they’re popping out babies anytime soon, but it’s fun to think about.” She shrugs with a grin.

“Like ‘Cookie’ or ‘Sparkles’ or ‘Bubbles.’”

I try and fail to stifle the loud, hearty laugh that barks out of me, and the whole room goes quiet. Probably everyone in

the entire museum is frozen, mouths wide-open and hands midair, like they’re so shocked by the sound that they have no idea

how to handle it.

But as I release my laugh into the air, it feels like I’m shedding a layer of weight that’s been clinging to me. The lightened

load is refreshing and unfamiliar.

As my laughter settles, I meet Millie’s wide eyes, her lips parted in surprise like she doesn’t even recognize me.

“I’ve never heard you laugh,” she whispers.

Before I can respond, Rachel and the kids start talking again. Hopefully, the whole museum gets back to its regularly scheduled

programming. Millie beams at me like she’s broken the code to get inside my heart’s vault, and I can never admit that it’s

because her aunt names sound like stripper names.

***

“Did you both brush your teeth?” I ask Ave while I run a brush down her hair. She turns her head and opens her mouth for me

to see her sparkly clean teeth.

The girls deserved an ice cream date after their first day of camp. Nonno Lorenzo used to take Clara and me out for ice cream

after our first day of school every year. Even when we started college, we were never too cool for an ice cream trip.

Eloise holds my phone up with the video poised to play. “Do I start it?”

I nod, laying down the brush and separating a section of Avery’s hair at the top of her head. Eloise hits play, holding the

phone to her chest as a woman’s voice explains how to start the French braid.

Avery has been requesting them for a while now, and I’ve been trying my best to master them. The basic braid with the ends

of her hair is simple enough, but French braids are proving much more challenging. My big fingers have trouble holding on

to her smooth hair. The braid usually ends up too loose or crooked, with a few chunks missing, but Avery is a good sport and

always tells me she loves it.

Eloise, on the other hand, hides from having her hair brushed, and I only force her into it about once a week. She’s a great

hairstylist’s assistant, though.

As I get to the end of the braid, Eloise pauses the video and hands me the hair tie from her wrist. The braid is lopsided

again, but she nods like it’s the best one she’s ever seen.

“Did you get your teeth brushed?” I ask Eloise as I finish wrapping the end of the braid.

“Mm-hmm.” She drops my phone and jumps into bed.

I narrow my eyes. “El, did you really? Let’s see ’em.”

She opens her mouth, and I’m hit with the smell of ketchup. Gross.

I toss the covers off her. “Young lady, get your booty to that bathroom and brush your teeth.”

She sulks away, and I slide into the middle of the bed so the girls can sit on either side of me. They had matching twin beds

when we moved their furniture in, but they never wanted to sleep in them and would always end up in mine. So I switched out

their twin beds for a bigger one where they could sleep together.

After a few minutes, Eloise bounces back in with minty breath, chattering about Despereaux and Princess Pea from our bedtime

story. The girls cuddle in close, their heads on my shoulders while I read the last few chapters, Avery’s tiny hand gripping

my arm the whole time. Soft, deep breaths echo from each side of me as I finish the book.

Bedtime is the hardest part of the day. Ave and El are tired, and they miss their mama the most in the evenings. I haven’t

skipped bedtime once since they started living with me, but that’s as much for me as it is for them.

My heart aches every night as I’m tucking the covers around them, brushing kisses across their cheeks and telling them I love

them.

The first night they stayed here, Clara’s cancer had taken a turn for the worse, and she had just been admitted to the hospital.

Ave and El slept in my bed, purring like little kittens with their warm bodies curled into my sides. I lay awake all night,

tears dripping out of my eyes, thinking about everything my big sister might miss.

There was a mourning period for months before she was gone. She and I had time to talk about what she wanted for the girls

so that I could be the best possible parent to them. But the adjustment from fun Uncle Finn to full-time Uncle Finn has been

harder than I expected.

With my grandparents gone and no support from my parents, it’s just me trying to dig out of this hole of grief, while also trying to help Avery and Eloise out of theirs.

Sometimes it feels like my heart has been shattered into a million little pieces. They’re lying on the floor, the sharp, jagged

edges cutting anyone who attempts to help me pick them up. And I try as hard as I can to put them back together, but every

time I think I’ve got a piece settled into the place it belongs, everything crumbles again when I reach for another fragment.

Therapy for all three of us has been helping, and Dr. Kline reminds me constantly that everything we’re feeling is normal.

But I get to see their smiles and hear their laughter, and it destroys me that Clara is missing it. I’m living her life, trying

to do the best I can. Trying to make her proud. Trying to make Ave’s and El’s lives everything she wanted.

She deserved this more than anyone I know. I would have given up anything to trade places with her.

Holding my breath, I slide out from between the girls, trying to scoot as carefully as possible. Once I’m free of their clutches,

they roll toward each other, Eloise’s head landing right beside Avery’s. I pull my phone out of my pocket and take a picture

of them.

When I make it downstairs, I’m greeted by a mess of chicken nuggets, macaroni and cheese, and green beans on the counter.

The green beans weren’t a hit tonight. Apparently, I cooked them too long, and in Eloise’s words, “They tasted like the sandbox

at the playground.”

I made a mental note to keep an eye on her the next time we’re at the park because I had no idea she was tasting the sand.

Before the girls came to live with me, I was getting takeout almost every night. So teaching myself to cook has been a big adjustment. I’d love to be able to cook with more variety, but I’m still trying to get the hang of some simple things. Last week I managed to burn every single grilled cheese, so my track record isn’t the best.

Gabriella, the girls’ nanny, knows it’s not my forte, so she helps during the day as much as she can. She leaves homemade

lasagna and chicken Parmesan in the fridge sometimes, and I could kiss her for it.

Once I get the dishwasher going and the food put away, I grab a beer and step out the back door. The chilly evening breeze

brings goose bumps to my arms, prompting me to start the gas fire. The flames dance into the dark, and I drop onto the outdoor

couch.

As I tilt my head back, letting my eyes search out the few stars I can see, a lone howl resounds through the night from a

neighborhood dog.

The heartbroken cry for a friend rings through my ears, and something about it echoes into my soul. My heart seems to perk

up and call back, Me too, buddy .

And for the first time, I realize that buried under the feelings of grief and loss might be a staggering loneliness that I’ve

spent way too long ignoring.