Page 7 of 21 Years of Jane

“I wasn’t asking you!” she shot back.

“Don’t yell at me!” he shrieked, throwing a piece of bread at her.

I sighed and put my face in my hands. World War 3 had just broken out with these two; again.

“Kids, either you settle down, or you go to your rooms. No dessert and straight to bed,” my mother warned, raising a finger.

They immediately quieted down after sticking their tongues out at each other, of course.

The phone started to ring and Mom stepped out of the room to answer it.

My father chuckled and shook his head. He glanced at me and threw a piece of bread. I raised an eyebrow and chucked it back. It missed him and landed on the floor behind him. With a mischievous smile, he broke another piece of bread and threw it at me.

I looked down at the bread in my lap and looked up at him slowly. I gave him the look that told him that his challenge had been accepted.

Instead of breaking a piece off of the roll I had, I threw the entire thing at him and caught him square in the face.

I threw my arms up—victorious—as the kids and Nolan laughed. My father picked up the roll and pulled his arm back, ready to let it fly back in my direction, when my mother walked in and took the roll from his hand.

“Honestly,” she said, shaking her head.

I wasn’t sure what exactly had gotten into me at that moment, but I grabbed a roll out of the basket and threw it at my mom.

“Lighten up,” I said as it hit her.

For a moment she looked shocked, then outraged, then calm. Then her shoulders began to shake and she started to laugh. I raised my eyebrows as I met my father’s eyes, and we both shrugged.

Mom had been a lot of fun when I was younger, but ever since I wound up in this wheelchair, she took extra precautions when it came to me.

Coming into the dining room and seeing my father wielding a piece of bread must’ve looked like an assault waiting to happen, to her.

“May I have my roll back, dear?” Dad asked, holding out his hand. She handed it back to him while still giggling.

Stella took that opportunity to bring up my impending birthday again. I watched her put her elbows on the table and insert her chin accordingly. She batted her eyelashes a few times and I had to stifle a giggle.

“So, would you? Come to her birthday party?” she asked, giving Nolan her best, I’m-too-cute-for-you-to-say-no face.

“If you have a party, yes, I will be here,” he replied with a grin.

“What if we don’t have a party because she doesn’t let us?” she wailed dramatically.

“Then I’ll still be here,” he reassured her.

Stella gave him a big smile and jumped up from her seat. She ran around the table and put her tiny arms around him, giving him the tightest hug she could muster.

“Thanks Nolan!” she said into his arm.

“You’re welcome,” he said, laughing and returning her hug.

She pulled away from him and made her way over to me, then climbed onto my lap. She carefully balanced herself so as to not hurt me, and pushed my hair away from my ear. Leaning close she whispered, “I think he loves you.”

I pulled back wide-eyed and stole a glance at Nolan to make sure he hadn’t heard Stella’s comment. If he had, he was careful not to let it show on his face. She gave me a kiss on the cheek, climbed off, and skipped back to her seat.

“Help me bring out dessert, Stella,” Mom said as she grabbed the dirty plates.

“Can I help too?” Liam asked.

“Yes you can,” she said to him. He got up excitedly and ran into the kitchen.