Frankie
“Grampa,” My year-old son babbles as I am getting ready. Eli points at a picture of my father on the wall.
“Yes, Eli, that’s Grandpa,” I ruffle his brown hair. “Clayton,” I shout into the closet. “Are you ready? We don’t want to be late for Carter’s ceremony.”
“I’m almost ready, Frankie,” Clayton shouts.
It has been a year since Eli was born. We had a lovely party last week; this week, it's time for my brother Carter to become the Alpha of Jefferson Forest. Carter has fully recovered and is back to being the same sarcastic brother I remember.
Eli is toddling around our room while Clayton and I are getting dressed. I have a turquoise blue evening dress with sparkling embellishments and spaghetti straps. There is a slit that goes up to my thigh. I admire myself in the mirror by
