Jared hates playing with dolls.

Not that he was doing it willingly, no way. But dolls are almost always five-year-old Julia's toys of choice, and she almost always forces her older brother to play with her. She never fails to want to create some kind of domestic or otherwise real life-reflective setting, like within her dollhouse or toy shopping mall. Which, of course, is far too boring for Jared.

Julia often got upset when he tried to make one of his action figures attack her make-believe suburbia for a more exciting story, though, so he'd long given up on trying to sway her from her norms. Her doll family norm was rather traditional and always included two males and two females: father, mother, brother, sister. That's what's familiar to her.

That's what's familiar to him, too, except different. His real life family consists of himself, a father, a mother, and a younger sister. That's what his other family looks like, too. Two sets. Near mirror images.

Naturally put in charge of controlling the boy dolls, Jared tries to follow whatever Julia asks of him. "It's cold outside today," she says, and so they have to change every doll's clothes to fit the chilly weather.

"Now they're going to the mall," she says, and they stick the dolls into a hot pink toy convertible and roll off.

"Now they have to cook dinner," she says, and they're back at the dollhouse concocting plastic miniature meals.

"Who's your favorite sister?" she asks, and that's different and out of the blue and unrelated, aside from the fact that she's serving a plate to the sister doll. Still, Jared doesn't miss a beat.

"You and Melanie," he replies. Even though he hates playing dolls, Julia's still (one of) his favorite(s). Part of him expects her to be pleased with that answer, maybe even give him a hug for it, but she just looks disappointed.

"No!" Julia counters. She makes a big show of folding her fingers to make the number one with a hand and waves it in front of his face. "You can only pick one."

He swats her hand away, and the corners of his mouth curl into a confused frown. "But I can't pick one. It's not that easy. You're both my favorite."

And it's true. They are both his favorite. He's close to Julia because, well, she's physically close. He sees her not every single day, but most days of the year. They go to school at the same time, they go to the park after school together, he reads her stories because she can't yet, she pesters him like only a five-year-old sister can. But Melanie is seven years old, closer to his age. They see each other significantly less, they always miss each other's birthdays and they communicate through letters and phone calls most of the year, but they bond over stuff in a way that he and Julia can't. Melanie likes, for example, the same cartoons and movies and things he does, the ones that Julia doesn't care for as much because she prefers programs for preschoolers.

They're different, but they're both his favorite. That's unacceptable to Julia, though. She's too young to get it.

"I'm telling Mom you're being mean!" she declares and scurries off, toys forgotten. He doesn't protest because he knows their mother will understand his tough decision.

He does, however, give the doll family another glance and wonders if being in a traditional family actually is any easier.