In Waves | ✔️

03 | promise

I'm tying the ribbon on my last homemade cookie packet when Mom walks into the kitchen, dressed in a pencil skirt and summery teal blouse.

"The cookies again?" she says, eyeing the handful of packets on the kitchen island. "What time did you have to wake up to bake these and be ready for school, farfallina?"

Farfallina - little butterfly. Mom's been calling me that for as long as I can remember. It stems from my favorite storybook she read to me as a kid, Farfallina and Marcel. The story of caterpillar and gosling best friends who separately change into a butterfly and goose, eventually finding their way back to each other.

My nonna also used to sing the children's song Farfallina to me when she visited from Italy, but I remember the storybook more. I guess it all contributed to my soft spot for butterflies, though.

"My alarm went off at five," I say, popping the packet on the stack. "Don't want to get off on the wrong foot with any new teachers."

A smile plays over her lips as she pours her coffee. "You never do, anyway."

"And that's because of the cookies." I slide over the extra chocolate chip one to her. "Seriously, once they find out I'm related to Rob, they need something sweet to erase any preconceptions."

She gives me a look like 'okay now I get it' as she sits on a stool. "So, I need you two in the restaurant after school."

"Really? On our first day back?"

She breaks the cookie in half and puts aside the other piece. She always splits her snacks with Derek. "The health inspector's coming tomorrow so it's all hands on deck making sure everything's in order. I need you two working the tables while some of the staff help prep."

"The restaurant's clean, though."

"We can never be too prepared for health inspectors. They're like vultures, circling and waiting for something to go wrong so they can swoop down and pick apart our flesh."

"Ew. Fine, I'll be there."

"I know you will, but make sure your brother is, too."

She takes a sip of coffee while she checks a text on her phone, and the bangs she's in the process of growing out slip from behind her ear. It doesn't take her long to tuck them back.

As a kid, whenever I tagged along with Mom on errands, strangers would stop us to tell her how much I looked like her little doppelgänger. It was a compliment that never quite sank in. One that I didn't fully believe. See, my mom is one of those people who emanates beauty from the inside out.

Even now, when I look back at old photos of her at my age, I can't help but feel like I don't measure up. My nonna likes to joke that my mom had to carry around a stick to swat away the boys, which is hardly my experience.

But despite our differing levels of romantic success, we do share a lot of the same features: the olive skin, the thick straight brows, the fuller bottom lip, and the dark chocolate hair. And now, it seems we even have a similar figure. I wonder if she went through a swift summer change like I have, or if her changes were more gradual.

We have some key differences, though. Her hair is straight and shoulder-length, while mine falls to my waist in waves. She has a few faint crow's feet around her eyes, while I have a small mole sitting on my cheek. But the most noticeable difference is our eye color. Hers are a warm hazel brown, while mine are a bright, clear blue. The brilliant blue I inherited from my father. The only thing I got from him, really.

But Rob? I think he must have gobbled up Dad's genetics before I even had a chance.

It's eerie how much he looks like him as he ages, except for the fact that he'd be a few shades lighter if he didn't spend so much time soaking up the sun. But he has that same tall, lean build that somehow manages to be both naturally athletic and unnervingly lazy at the same time. Like he could jump up from a month-long couch potato binge and knock out a ten-mile jog without breaking a sweat.