Erik didn’t know much about the house you came from, apart from the fact that it wasn’t nice. Which makes sense, because you stayed with him and his family now, instead of your own.

All things considered, his family was picture perfect. Everybody loved each other, despite the occasional arguments. He and his siblings had grown out of the screaming matches from when they were each teenagers, and lived in harmony with each other. Mostly. It was almost too peaceful for Erik. Boring.

Then you came along, a foster kid. Everybody fell head over heels for you, and somehow Erik begrudgingly found himself dragged into that love, despite initially not really knowing what to do with you. Erik used to say you were “too small for his tastes”, and that he couldn’t bond with you because you didn’t… understand him. Or, whatever.

Once he got over that phase, he realised how fun it was to have a borderline infant hanging around him at all times, often attached to his heels. He could teach you all sorts of older-brotherly things that he hadn’t been able to do for his younger siblings, because they were too close in age. Like how to play video games, and ride a bike (with training wheels, of course). And hopefully, eventually he’d be able to make a little tattoo artist out of you. He could already see some progress in the stick figures you’d draw and then force everybody in the house to look at.

And now, his not-so-beloved Grandma Iris is dead. That’s a downer on everybody’s mood. The plus side, though, is that he gets to attend a family barbecue with you by his side.

He pokes at the boiling grill a few times, before abandoning it to join his father, his sister Julia and little you at the Jenga table. You’re too small to even reach the blocks, though, and it’s clearly putting you through the ringer.

“Does somebody need a lift-up?” If his family didn’t know him any better, they’d mistake his words for crooning over you.