Dibs on the Flannel Jacket

we're splitting up the house this week, going room by room like it's a garage sale and not what's left of him. everyone keeps saying let's not make this weird.

my brother texted at 1:58 this morning. dibs on dad's flannel, the green one, the one from the porch. lol just so we're not weird about it later. three laughing dots after, like it was nothing, like he didn't just call the good one before anyone else was even awake.

i wrote back sure, no worries, plenty of his stuff to go around. i meant it. i think i meant it.

i'm sitting on the back step now because i can't make myself go back inside and pick something else, not yet. there's a whole house of things that were his and i can't think of one i actually want. i keep circling back to the jacket. not the fabric. the being first.

i tell myself i'll grab whatever's left in the morning. i don't go back in. i just sit here doing the math on what it would have cost me to text dibs before he did, and why i never once do.