“As if, Bug. You should have to pay me for every injury I obtain from your cars and LEGO pieces,” I toss back, placing my hand on my hip.
“Those little bricks are the actual worst. But I’m afraid it’s a hazard of the job, sis,” Gemma calls out.
Hazard of the job? More like just another day in the life of Scarlett Carlisle.
“Well, it’s not a hazard we have time for this morning. We’ve got Gunner’s kindergarten open house followed by your new student orientation at St. Christopher Academy.”
“Is it too late to plead my case for me to attend public school? I don’t want to be another private school snob,” Gemma whines.
“Gems, we’ve talked about this too many times to count. I went to St. Christopher and so did Dad. This isn’t up for negotiation,” I say with finality.
Gemma scoffs before moving off her stool at the kitchen island, stomping up the steps, and slamming her bedroom door.Ugh, teenagers.
“What are we gonna do with her?” I ask mostly to myself, though Gunner is quick to reply.
“Dunno. Please don’t take her computer again. She gets meaner when it’s gone.”
Biting back a groan, I tell him, “You’re right. But I can’t take her phone away or I won’t have any way of getting ahold of her after school, and she won’t be able to check her sugar levels. Life is about to get busy for the three of us.”
That’s the understatement of the century.
“Let’s get you upstairs and ready to meet your new teacher.”
“But I like you as my teacher,” he whines.
“Me too, Bug. But I promise you, this will be so much fun! You’ll have new friends to play with, tons and tons of art supplies, and your teacher even said they have magnet tiles.”
“Alright,” Gunner agrees begrudgingly.
After I get him dressed and leave him to play in his room, I go across the hall to mine and settle into my favorite part of the day—my morning shower, where I get ten minutes of gloriously uninterrupted time to myself.
As I lather the shampoo in my hair, I can’t help but reflect on what led me here.
My life was steered completely off the rails five years ago when my father’s private jet crashed, killing him and my stepmother, Angela, therefore leaving me the sole guardian to my younger siblings, Gemma and Gunner.
Loss swallowed me and my sister whole those first few months, though I had already experienced the loss of losing one parent. Gemma and Gunner are my half siblings; my dad married Angela when I was eight and they tried for a few years to get pregnant before having success with IVF and having Gemma. Angela was told she wouldn’t be able to have any more children, so they were content with it just being the four of us. That is, until the little miracle named Gunner came along. When my father and Angela told us they were expecting, we were shocked. Hell, I was twenty-one at the time, but I was happy for them nonetheless. It looks like I wasn’t the only one who had a good night at the Turner wedding that summer . . .
A few months after Gunner was born, my dad surprised Angela with a trip to Banff for a weekend getaway. I was thrilled to spend some time with Gemma and soak in all the snuggles I could with my new baby brother before my internship with Nike began that fall.
Our lives changed in the blink of an eye that weekend. I went from being a newly graduated MBA student about to start her career, to a stay-at-home guardian to an infant and ten-year-old.
Over the past five years, we’ve been granted the luxury of staying at my family’s cabin estate in northern Minnesota. I homeschooled Gemma while learning to raise an infant on my own. My grandfather became the interim owner of my father’s professional hockey team after his untimely death, with the hopes that when life settled down for the three of us, I’d take over for him.
The problem was that life didn’t seem to slow down or settle for us.Instead, we’ve been met with wave after wave of complications and unforeseen circumstances. I discovered Gunner had a tongue tie, so he wasn’t properly taking a bottle after having nursed for most of his first few months. Gemma was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes last year at the age of fourteen. We went from homeschooling as a temporary transition to it being a necessity until we could figure out how to regulate her blood sugars.
It felt like the second we got our heads above water, the tide came and pulled us right back under.
I was drowning.
And now? A tsunami was brewing in the wake of the news my grandfather gave me last month. He was diagnosed with early-stage dementia, which meant our time for living in our little bubble was over.
Instead of pursuing my dreams in fashion merchandising, I would be thrown headfirst into the world of sports ownership and management. I’d be spending this next year under the wing of my grandfather learning the ropes before taking over at the start of the next hockey season.
I didn’t have the first clue about owning a professional hockey team—it was never the path I’d planned to take. My dad had always supported my dreams to pursue a career in the fashion industry. He’d been the one to buy me sketchbooks and my first sewing machine. He’d sat on my bedroom floor with me and helped as I made mood boards from hundreds of magazine clippings. He was truly my hero and my best friend, and the sinking feeling that comes whenever I remember I’ll never get to call him for advice or receive another one of his priceless hugs again is all-consuming.
Shaking myself out of my grief spiral, I turn off the shower and towel dry before walking over to my vanity to moisturize my skin and comb my hair.
Next, I walk across my bathroom to my happy place, my walk-in closet that is the size of most people’s primary bedroom. I’m not ashamed to say this is my favorite space in our new home—fashion has always made me feel more connected to my mother who was a renowned model until she died from complications following my birth.
