People often say the perfect family is made up of four: a father, a mother, a son, and a daughter. But that wasn't the case in my family. There was no son to "complete" us. Instead, it was just the four of us: my father, my mother, my older sister, and me—and to me, that was perfect. That was whole.
I walked under the staircase in our house, still in my pajamas. Since college was off today and I had no plans until later, there was no point in getting dressed just yet. The cozy hum of my family's chatter echoed from the kitchen, carrying down the hall as I approached. As soon as I pushed open the door, my sister spotted me.
"Good morning, sleepyhead. No fashion show today?" she teased, giving my pajamas a look.
"Not yet, at least. I don't have anything to do until the afternoon, so I figured I'd stay comfortable until then."
"Good for you, sis. You're finally starting to act like us normal people," she said, sipping from her mug.
"One—rude. And two—normal is so boring," I said, plopping down across from her.
"Whatever you say," she replied, grinning. By early afternoon, the calm had completely vanished. I was running around my room like a lunatic. Hairbrush in one hand, phone in the other, half my wardrobe scattered across the bed. I was supposed to be at the park for our picnic twenty minutes ago, and of course, I had no idea what to wear.
It didn't help that I'd tried on three outfits already, hated them all, and somehow managed to knock over a cup of iced coffee onto the fourth. I let out a dramatic groan and flopped face-first into my pillow before forcing myself to get back up.
After two mini panic attacks, one detour to fix my eyeliner, and a sprint to catch the next bus, I finally made it to the park.
The sun was out, the breeze was gentle, and the smell of food—homemade, obviously—lingered in the air around our picnic spot. I spotted my friends almost immediately. A wave of relief hit me.
Summer was the first to notice me.
"Finally! The princess has arrived. What took you so long?"
"Yeah, you're always on time," Andrea added, walking over with a plastic cup filled with what looked like punch.
"Honestly? I don't even know," I said, slightly breathless as I reached them. "But I'm here now."
"Breathe, then talk, Ella," Stephanie said, offering me a bottle of cold water as I sat down next to her.
"Thanks, Steph," I said, taking it and downing half in one go.
"Anytime," she replied with that calm, collected smile she always wore—soft, but steady, like nothing could shake her.
Around us, the others were already lounging on blankets, chatting, munching on snacks, and basking in the sunlight. Rudy was lying on the grass, her hand petting a small, scruffy dog that had wandered over to join our picnic. She was giggling as the dog rolled onto its back, trying to coax it into doing tricks. Her laugh was infectious, a bright sound that seemed to bring everything together.
Summer was in a heated debate with Andrea about whether strawberry or watermelon was the superior fruit, while Astrid, camera in hand, had been capturing moments all afternoon, clicking away at everything from food to candid shots of all of us. She'd paused to snap a picture of Rudy and the dog, the light reflecting off their faces in a way that made everything feel effortless.
I took a deep breath and glanced around at all of them. These girls—my best friends—were the ones who saw me through everything: late-night breakdowns, early morning coffee runs, silent car rides that still felt like home, and laughter that echoed louder than my fears.
I wasn't always the best at saying how much they meant to me. I usually relied on sarcasm or snacks. But sitting there, hair still a mess and sneakers untied, I felt it—the comfort of being surrounded by people who didn't just accept me but understood me.
I looked over at Stephanie, who was now mid-conversation with Rudy, and smiled to myself.
"I think this counts as perfect," I whispered under my breath.
Not the kind of perfect people talk about in books or movies. But real. Ours.
And that was enough for me.