kkssh. The scene was so sweet it sent shooting pains through my sensitive gums.

Jessie’s mother stopped the volley of marshmallows, and Jessie caught the last of it in her mouth.

“Sorry, sorry! Did you eat one? Oh Jessica, I think we’ve been teasing him.”

Jessie, wearing the Stuffin’Puff bag like a sticky bonnet, was less concerned.

“Sorry, Jace, you don’t seem to be having any fun.”

At home, this was probably a scene I’d watch on TV. It’s so easy to fall into the habit of watching.

I picked up a marshmallow. I didn’t expect it to be so light.

Jessie was a pro. She jumped back in her chair for the catch. Her left hand was triumphant, but the chair unexpectedly creaked back under the pressure.

The three of us spent the rest of that Sunday afternoon in the hospital. I was the only one that cried.

When Jessie came out to the waiting room, clenched in her left fist was a marshmallow. It was sticky, and tasted of victory.

That afternoon Jessie got her first 4 stitches, and I ate my first marshmallow.