Just Kidding

Emma

"Happy birthday, Emma." My mom hugged me tightly. I hugged her back, but our moment was cut short when my father cleared his throat.

"I believe it is my turn to hug my little girl," Dad said with a grin. He held his arms out and I gladly wrapped my arms around his waist. "Happy birthday, Sweet-pea," Dad mumbled into my hair.

I mumbled a thank you into his chest. "I have to finish cooking," Mom said, dismissing herself.

"My little girl is growing up," Dad said while hugging me tighter. "You have become a very beautiful, smart, and kind young woman. I am so proud of you. You will be an amazing Queen."

I pulled away from him and looked in his eyes. I saw nothing but honesty and pride. Pride in me. I shed a few tears of joy, happiness, and relief. Relief that my father believes in me. "Mommy! Daddy made Emacry!" Two little arms wrapped around my legs. "You shouldn't cry on your birthday. You have to be happy." Matthew, my younger brother, frowned at me.

I scooped him up and planted him on my hip. "I am happy. I have happy tears," I told him. He stared at me with a look of disbelief on his face.

"I know what will make you happy!" he motioned for me to move closer. I put my ear towards his face and he cupped my ear with his small hand. "Mommy said not to tell you, but she making chocolate waffles for breakfast. And she got whipped cream," Matthew whispered.

I put him back on the ground a ruffled his hair. "I am very happy now!" I exclaimed with a smile on my face. Matthew cheered and hugged my legs.

"Matthew. Why don't you help Mommy set the table," Dad suggested. Matthew nodded and ran away to the kitchen. When Matthew was out of the room, my father turned to me. "You and Ryan are leaving at dawn tomorrow," he informed me. I nodded in response and walked to the kitchen as he trailed behind me.

"Ema! I got you a special plate!" Matthew exclaimed. He took my hand into both of his and pulled me to the dining table. He stopped in front of a chair and started pointing at the table. "Mommy said that you made that plate when you were little."

I looked at the plate and smiled at the memory. In sixth grade, my teacher told us to design our plate with something that defines who we are. No one understood what she meant, so the class ended up coloring their plate however they wanted to. But I drew a crown. The crown that would be my future. My mother's crown. The Queen crown. Its always been my dream to be just like my mother. A strong Queen.

"I remember that. You said that you couldn't wait to be a big girl, so you could wear your mother's crown," Dad said, peaking over my shoulder.