Crayvin
"Yahtzee!" My mother chimes for the fourth time tonight.
My dad and I groan simultaneously at our constant defeat. I rise from the dining table, picking up the dishes, and put them in the sink.
I owe my dashing good looks to my mother, as she has the matching dimple in her left cheek, blue eyes, and ash brown hair. As for my personality, that similarity goes solely to my Dad. Among other things, we both hate losing.
"Oh, don't you two be sore losers now," my mother says, a hint of amusement in her voice.
"You win every time, Chloe. I think it's time to play another game." My father shakes his head with a grin, expanding the crow's feet when he does, revealing those deep frown lines that surround his lips. "Every time," he adds.
My mother laughs, leans over in her chair toward
