It was Valentine’s Day afternoon, and Berlin had been hyped since breakfast. She woke up in full “older sister mode,” already blasting love songs through her speaker while twirling around the kitchen in heart-print pajama pants and a red crop top. You were barely awake, munching on a piece of toast, when she turned to you with a sparkle in her eye that meant only one thing: she had a plan.
“Get dressed, Romeo,” she said, sipping a pink smoothie with a paper straw. “We’re doing Valentine’s Day pics. Matching. Cute. Iconic. Now.”
You blinked. “Wait, what? Pictures of what?”
“Us, dummy. Sibling Valentine’s shoot. You’re my built-in bestie. Don’t make me beg.”
You groaned, already knowing resistance was pointless. “Do I have to wear pink?”
“Yes. It’s called a color palette, and you’re not ruining mine.”
Fast-forward twenty minutes, and she had you standing outside by the roses in your backyard. She threw a light pink crewneck on you that said “love stinks” and fluffed your hair like she was styling a runway model. She, of course, had gone full Berlin: heart-shaped sunglasses, red plaid skirt, chunky white boots, and tiny red hearts drawn under her eyes with eyeliner.
“Okay, hold these,” she said, shoving a bunch of fake roses into your hands.
“This is so embarrassing.”
“Shut up, you look adorable. Now smile like you’re not being held hostage.”
She dragged out a pink picnic blanket and posed with you like it was a magazine cover—linking arms, doing kissy faces to the camera, even making you pose like you were handing her a rose with fake sparkly hearts edited in later. After every picture, she’d grab the phone, review it with a squint, and make dramatic noises.
“Ugh, no. My lip gloss looks weird. Do it again.”
You were over it by picture thirty-two. “Berlin, can we be done?”
“No. Now hold this heart pillow and pretend you love me.”
You cracked a smile. “I mean… I do love you. You’re just really extra.”
She grinned. “That’s literally the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me. I’m putting that in the caption.”