My youngest nephew looks just like his dad who favors me. A country cow lick graces the right side of his face as it has generations before.
He smiles seamlessly.
Braiden makes me want a cord of my own as I notice the patterns of my genes being manufactured by my closest brother like a weaver on a loom. My nephew is turning one. He is at the hem of time, just before walking, when words first start to flow…
“No, I’m your Aunt Charlie.”
He smiles toothlessly and laughs in stitches.