Kiley Rourke, dad’s favorite

growing up in the shadow of the daughter that came first, i found myself constantly running to catch up to your giant shadow.

seven years of memories fill your head. thoughts and experiences of all your extra time with dad before i ever came along.

you’re his twin. with his olive skin and dark brown hair, and bright, blue eyes.

your beauty, well it’s beyond compare. you’re his duplicate and i’m just the third wheel.

you would come to visit off your metal carriage, surrounded by strangers in the sky alone you would fly, but it was worth it.

you came and we did everything you wanted to do we did escape rooms i missed birthday parties and sleepovers and ate nasty italian food.

because you were dad’s favorite.

i fought every minute you were gone to win his favor. straight a’s and good test grades, winning soccer games wasn’t enough to take your place.

i wanted to be the favorite more than anything i dreamed of being the daughter he loved the most until the minute it happened and suddenly i wished i had wanted anything else.

the shock of the phone call took a few days to set in. dad was acting weird and quiet and mean.

he stayed by the phone and he and mom whispered your name. but dad looked at me differently more cautious, more careful.

i tiptoed around him for weeks, confused on what was going on. wanting to be told but too afraid to ask.

you didn’t visit for years. but to make up for it, pleading for forgiveness you or maybe it was mom who

decided to surprise me on my birthday. we did everything you wanted to do i mean of course we did, after all it was you.

after years of no contact, and almost no mention of your name, the constant guessing game of what you did wrong didn’t matter because you were still the favorite.

three strikes and you’re out and suddenly you had one. but you came to visit for the first time in years like nothing had ever happened.

we pretended to be a happy family. a picture perfect, smiling on the outside, facebook family.

but the second you left again a weight was lifted, a sigh was heaved, and suddenly i could breathe.

but you were still the favorite.

but strike two came along quickly resulting in the truth of what you had done to us.

you didn’t come back again not for a while. we needed time to process and lick our wounds.

but it hit dad the hardest you were a direct copy of him a piece of him constantly missing. so he took everything you did to heart.

eventually you came back, begging for redemption, your want for acceptance brought you home.

an attempt to rope you in, set you straight, realign you with us failed.

three strikes. and you’re out.

and suddenly i’m in.

but i didn’t want to be. the pressure of being the favorite was now on me but not earned or deserved just merely given.

a replacement of you. a constant reminder of who was there before, a spot never meant to be refilled.

but finally i was dad’s favorite.