When I think of my family I think of marshmallows, a squeaky mispronunciation of our last name. I think of invisible cords connecting me to the people I love. No matter where they are, they are a part of me. I think of warm chili and games in the winter, a glow just barely visible through the shutters. I think of Uno Flip games full of zero-leaf clovers and house rules. I think of spontaneous lunches together after church. I think of walks in every weather — walks on scorching days and in the snow, in rain and wind. They are not all of my blood. I have enumerable sisters, not a single brother. All sizes, shapes, and colors. We all have each other. I have my people.