TALES OF BIG SISTERs

Chapter One: The Weight of a Name Naomi heard the front door slam before she saw him. The sound echoed through the cramped apartment, rattling the loose windowpanes and sending a shiver up her spine. She sighed, placing the knife down on the wooden cutting board. The half-chopped vegetables in front of her were already starting to brown at the edges. "Elliot!" she called out, wiping her hands on a dish towel. No answer. She found him in the living room, slumped on the worn-out couch, his hoodie pulled low over his face. His backpack was on the floor, half-zipped, with crumpled papers and an unopened envelope sticking out. A school notice. Naomi exhaled sharply. "You skipped again, didn’t you?" Elliot didn’t look at her. Instead, he dug into his pocket and pulled out his phone, pretending to scroll through something important. "Elliot," she pressed, stepping closer. "You promised." "Yeah? And?" His voice was cold, indifferent. But she knew him well enough to hear the tension behind it—the tightness in his jaw, the way his fingers clenched around the device. Naomi ran a hand through her messy bun, feeling the weight of another long day press against her shoulders. Between school, work, and taking care of Maya, she barely had time to breathe, let alone chase after her sixteen-year-old brother who was determined to self-destruct. "You can't keep doing this," she said quietly. "Mom's going to—" "Mom's not going to do anything," Elliot interrupted, finally looking up. His dark eyes were tired, edged with something bitter. "She barely even notices when we're here or not." Naomi didn’t have an argument for that. Because he was right. Their mother had been working double shifts for months now. Ever since their father left, she had become a ghost in their own home—there but not present, speaking but never really saying anything. That left Naomi. She was the one who packed Maya’s lunch in the mornings. She was the one who reminded Elliot to eat, even when he scowled at her for it. She was the one who did the laundry, the groceries, the bills. She was the glue holding everything together, and some days—like today—she felt like she was coming undone. Naomi sighed, pushing away the sting in her chest. "You’re going to school tomorrow." Elliot scoffed, turning his attention back to his phone. "Yeah, whatever." She wanted to scream. Instead, she walked back to the kitchen, gripping the edge of the counter. The knife still sat there, the vegetables half-chopped, dinner still unfinished. Maya’s small voice broke the silence. "Naomi?" She turned to see her little sister standing in the doorway, her stuffed rabbit clutched to her chest. Her big brown eyes were wide, filled with the kind of worry a seven-year-old shouldn’t have to carry. "Are you and Eli mad at each other?" Naomi forced a smile she didn’t feel. "No, sweetie," she said, kneeling down and brushing a curl from Maya’s forehead. "Just tired." Maya nodded, still watching her closely. "Are you going to eat dinner with us tonight?" Naomi swallowed the lump in her throat. "Of course." Because that’s what big sisters do. Even when they’re tired. Even when they’re breaking. They keep going. For everyone else. Chapter Two: The Things We Don’t Say Naomi placed the last plate on the table, stepping back to survey the dinner she had somehow managed to finish. It wasn’t much—just rice and stir-fried vegetables with the last of the chicken they had left—but it was warm, and it was something. Maya climbed onto her usual chair, her stuffed rabbit still clutched under one arm. She beamed up at Naomi. "It looks yummy!" Naomi smiled tiredly, ruffling Maya’s curls. "Eat up, munchkin." Elliot slid into his seat across from them, but he didn’t touch his plate. He just poked at the rice with his fork, his eyes distant. "Eat," Naomi said. He didn’t move. She sighed, sitting down herself. "Elliot." "I’m not hungry," he muttered. "Don’t start," she warned, leveling him with a look. Elliot clenched his jaw but didn’t argue. He picked up his fork and forced a few bites into his mouth, chewing mechanically. Maya kicked her feet under the table, oblivious to the tension. "Did you know that baby rabbits can’t open their eyes for the first ten days?" she chirped. Naomi smiled. "Really?" "Yeah! And they need their moms to take care of them a lot." Elliot let out a short, dry laugh. "Guess we’re not rabbits then." Naomi shot him a sharp look, but Maya was already frowning, her little brows furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean?" "Nothing," Naomi said quickly, reaching over to squeeze Maya’s tiny hand. "Elliot’s just being grumpy again." Elliot scoffed but didn’t argue. He went back to pushing his food around his plate. Dinner passed in uneasy silence after that. Maya finished first, running off to the couch to watch her favorite cartoon. Naomi stood, collecting the plates, but before she could carry them to the sink, Elliot spoke. "You know this can’t last forever, right?" She froze, turning to face him. "What are you talking about?" "This. You playing house, pretending everything’s fine." Her hands tightened around the plates. "I’m not pretending." Elliot’s lips pressed into a thin line. "You kind of are." Naomi exhaled sharply, setting the dishes down. "What do you want me to do, Elliot? Let everything fall apart?" "Maybe it already has." The words stung more than they should have. Naomi gritted her teeth, lowering her voice so Maya wouldn’t hear. "I’m doing my best." Elliot finally looked at her, his eyes heavy with something she couldn’t quite place. "I know." It was the first time he had admitted it. And somehow, that made it worse. Because knowing wasn’t enough. Naomi turned away before he could see the way her expression faltered. She gathered the plates and carried them to the sink, the sound of rushing water filling the silence between them. She wished their mother were here. She wished their father had stayed. She wished, just for once, that she didn’t have to be the one holding everything together. But she was. And she didn’t have a choice. Chapter Three: The Oldest Always Knows Naomi stood in the small bedroom, folding laundry in neat, methodical motions. The clothes were old, hand-me-downs that had been worn by one sibling before being passed to the next. The cycle had started with her, then Xandra, then Chelsea. Now, Maya was wearing dresses Naomi had outgrown years ago. She didn’t mind. Not really. "Naomi." She turned to see Xandra leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. Her expression was guarded, but Naomi could see the question in her eyes before she even spoke. "Did Mom call?" Naomi didn’t answer right away. She folded the last shirt, placing it on the growing pile before sitting down on the bed. "No." Xandra sighed, rubbing a hand over her face. "I figured." Their mother worked late shifts, sometimes doubling back-to-back, leaving them to fend for themselves most nights. Naomi had stopped waiting up for her years ago. Xandra, though—Xandra still checked the phone, still looked out the window when a car passed by too late at night. "She’ll come back when she comes back," Naomi said, standing up. "We have to deal with what’s in front of us." Xandra scowled. "That’s your answer for everything." "Because it’s true." "You always act like it’s your job to fix everything," Xandra muttered. Naomi turned to her, arms crossed. "And if I don’t, who will?" That shut Xandra up. Because they both knew the answer. Naomi had been taking care of them since before she understood what it meant to be the eldest. Before their father walked out. Before their mother stopped seeing them as kids and more like responsibilities. She had raised Xandra as much as their mother had. And Chelsea. And now Maya. It was just what big sisters did. A small knock sounded at the door before Chelsea poked her head in. She was only thirteen, but her eyes held the same weariness Naomi had felt at her age. "Maya wants a bedtime story." Naomi sighed. "Tell her to wait a few minutes." Chelsea hesitated. "She wants you." Xandra let out a low laugh. "Of course she does. Naomi’s the favorite." Naomi ignored the teasing, brushing past her sisters and making her way down the hall to Maya’s room. The youngest of them was already snuggled under a thin blanket, her stuffed rabbit tucked against her chest. She brightened when she saw Naomi. "You came!" "Of course I did," Naomi said, kneeling by the bed. "What story do you want tonight?" Maya thought for a moment before whispering, "The one about the princess who didn’t need saving." Naomi smiled. She told Maya the story, her voice soft, her hands brushing the little girl’s curls until her breathing evened out and she drifted into sleep. When Naomi stood to leave, Chelsea was in the doorway. "You should let Xandra help more," she said quietly. Naomi frowned. "I don’t—" "You do everything," Chelsea cut in. "And we let you. But it’s not fair, Naomi. Not to you." Naomi’s chest tightened, but she didn’t let it show. Instead, she smiled, brushing past Chelsea as she whispered, "Big sisters don’t get fair." And that was the truth she had always known.