DAHLIA 

Denise and I clung to our big brother even after the wedding.

We sat by the beach. It was night and too breezy. The kids had been fed, bathed and put to sleep. Even little Derek and the twin girls. 

There was a fire in our midst. We roasted s’mores for the sake of it. No one was really hungry. We had many slices of cake. 

But there was a cooler filled with drinks and ice.

“Derek, I cannot believe you’re Torta d’Amore. God!” Denise was still shocked by the revelation.

He laughed. God, I missed his laugh. “I missed you so much, Derek.” 

“Me too. Your nephew is...