In the back of my mind, I always thought that Arthur would come to hate me. I knew that with Avery and Bradley as his parents, he would never lack for anything, and that I would be there for him if he ever needed me—but I thought for sure that at some point or another, he would hate me, at least for a little while. Maybe because I gave him to Avery. Maybe because I still wouldn’t tell him who his biological father was. Whatever the reason, I prepared myself for something major to come my way.
It never did. I was the cool Aunt. I was the attempted trump vote when Avery and Bradley wouldn’t let him do something. Once, I was the absolute worst wen watching him for the week and I wouldn’t let him sleep over at a friend’s house on a Thursday night. And I was told in no uncertain terms that I had no right to tell him to wait until marriage to have sex. (I did however buy him a shit ton of condoms, and although he’ll never admit it, I think he appreciated the gesture. I’m not so sure that Avery did, though.)
I was his Aunt Marta, but he always called me A.M., which he joked stood for Another Mother, but we all knew that Avery was really his mother. From the moment he was born. Really, from the moment it crossed her mind to adopt the boy in the first place, she took to the roll with gusto. But I was still family, and he always loved me as much as I love him. Thanks to my sister, he was so much better than I could have ever hoped.