"Emman!" A familiar voice, one that seemed like a distant memory to me but was a harsh reality right now, called out my brother's name. "Can you help me unpeel this orange for Evangeline here?"
The air wafted with the pungent aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the sizzle of bacon on the stove. The cabinets were embedded against the walls, their doors adorned with wooden handles. Utensils hung neatly on hooks, while spices lined the shelves like colorful soldiers. The kitchen appliances made gentle hums, and the cooking utensils clinked as they collided on pots and pans.
I was in the kitchen.
Our childhood kitchen.
I gurgled again, grabbing the orange on the high chair's flat surface and attempting to squish it with my small hands. Before I could squish it, someone grabbed the fruit from my hand and shout-whispered a disapproving, "No!"
