“Good. The homecoming dance is at the end of September. I want to ask him to go with me.”
“Great. You should.”
“Great. How do I do that?”
I stare at her. She stares back. Minutes tick by until we both burst out laughing. I sip my wine and ask, “What part of my life makes you think I’m the person to ask?” I’m joking a little. And I’m not joking a little.
She groans like she’s annoyed at having to explain herself. “Aunt Lil. Please. You’re practically famous!”
“Practically being the operative word.”
“You hang out with celebrities.”
“I’vemetcelebrities. Big difference.”
“You’re worldly.”
“I don’t even know what that means.”
“Aunt Lil.” This time, she says my name through clenched teeth. “Help me. Please.” She glances down at her hands and adds softly, “I really like him.”
My heart squeezes in my chest, and I shift my attitude. My favorite person on the planet is asking for my help. “Okay, first things first: Do you think he feels the same way as you? Meaning, does he want to be more than friends?”
Chloe looks relieved at my questions, like this is what she’s here for. “I think so? I mean, I haven’t asked.” She looks like the thought of asking makes her ill.
I take a deep breath. “Well. Okay. Here’s the thing: I think you’re gonna have to risk it. You know? You’re gonna have to just ask him to the dance.”
She grimaces and I hear her swallow. “Yeah.”
“If you wanted to ask him to go just as friends, you could do that, too.”
Her face flinches. “I think he’ll get asked by one of the cheerleaders if I don’t make a move that’s more than friends. You know what I mean?”
I want to saydamn cheerleaders, but I was one, so I nod instead.
“Can you help me word how to ask? I mean, you’re a writer and you write romance. Can you help me write up a script to ask him out?”
“Now,thatI can do.”
“Do I look okay?” Chloe makes a face just this side of a grimace, as if my gorgeous niece is ever anything other than gorgeous in my eyes. But I do my duty and scrutinize her—or pretend to—carefully. Her blond hair is in a messy bun, and I can just see the faded blue streak in it that she got on the last day of school in June. She’s not really somebody who enjoys dressing up as much as her friends do—she’d rather be in comfy things like joggers or shorts and flip-flops. But she’s making an effort today, with no prodding at all from me. I think she wants to make a good impression on Serena. She’s wearing a cute sundress that has a subtle paisley print on it in light greens andgolds. Her sandals are brown. “I should’ve done my toes,” she says, gazing down at the chipped black polish.
“Sweetie, you look great.” And she does. I think it’s so cute that she’s nervous because normally,I’dbe askingherfor advice on my outfit.
“I don’t want your friends to think I’m a loser.”
“Listen, I don’t even know who else will be there. It’s possible Serena is the only person I’ll know besides you.”
“And Reggie,” she reminds me, reaching toward the couch to give my dog some love.
“And Reggie. We can all be losers together.”
“Well,” she says, nuzzling Reggie with her face, “you and me can be losers. Not Reggie. He’s the king.” Reggie looks at me over her head like he knows exactly what she just said and is very satisfied by it.
With a roll of my eyes, I go back into my bedroom to check out my own outfit. I wasn’t kidding about not knowing who will be there. Serena’s cache of friends is nothing if not eclectic, so I’ve kept it simple. Some lightweight, wide-leg pants in a pale yellow and an ivory sleeveless button-down shirt. Seeing Chloe’s cute messy bun makes me consider growing my hair back out, but for now, I tuck it behind my ears, put on some simple gold hoops, and I’m ready to go.
“Shall we?” I ask her, my standard question whenever we’re off somewhere together.
“We shall,” she says, her standard response. She clips Reggie’s leash on, and we head downstairs, where we wave to Marco before heading outside. “God, he’s so hot,” she mutters, and I wonder if I was even meant to hear it. Then she and Reggie are off to sniff stuff on the other side of the street.
