I woke up early the next morning, Alvin Hatter and the Everlife Society still open on my chest.
The first thing I thought of was my aunt’s letters. I could open the second one now. She had told me to be okay, I had mostly succeeded, and now I could open her second letter.
I pulled myself up to a sitting position and found it, still on the bed. I opened it carefully, blinking sleep away from my eyes, and began to read.
Dear Lottie,
I told you this letter would be more fun than the first one.
Forgive me for not checking with you (I have the convenient excuse of not actually being around to check with you), but I have taken the liberty of throwing a party. Everything is taken care of. Harry is a good lawyer and an even better friend; he had his instructions, upon my passing, to send out a stack of invitations, to reserve the space, to contact the caterers and florist, to essentially plan my wake. See, I was never one for formal sadness. It’s depressing to everyone who’s alive, and the one it’s for, the dead one (I’m sorry to be blunt; it’s the mood I’m in), can’t even appreciate it. So I want you to have some FUN, Lottie, and that’s why I want you to have a freaking party! And the invitations have been sent, yes, but really anyone can come. The more the merrier!
The party will be held the first Saturday after I’m gone, at a hotel called the Nautilus. I’ve given Harry instructions to book all the rooms: first come, first served. I want you guys to have an absolute blast, and I want you to send me off in style. Sneak some champagne and keep your father away from the red wine. I would have traded my Guinness Book for the chance to be there with you, but I guess that would have defeated the purpose just a little.
Who knows—maybe you’ll even meet somebody interesting. (I have a lot of interesting friends.)
Love, H.
The first Saturday after she was gone was . . .
Today. That was today. I took the letter and practically ran downstairs, finding Mom at the kitchen table, her head resting on her folded arms. After an overnight she sometimes fell asleep in weird places.
“Mom,” I said, almost shouting, trying not to scare her.
She stirred awake, raising her head and rubbing at her eyes just like a cartoon of a sleepy person.
“Hi, honey. I made coffee.”
“Mom, I have something crazy to tell you.”
She shook herself awake. “Are you okay?”
“Here, just read this.”
I wasn’t planning on letting anyone read the letters, but this one was different. I knew my mom wouldn’t believe it until she actually read it in Aunt Helen’s handwriting.
As she read, she straightened, visibly becoming more confused, more alert, then smiling widely. “Wow,” she said after a minute, lowering the page, “this is exactly like your aunt.”
“Saturday is today,” I said.
“When we called Harry to set up the will reading, he seemed very insistent we meet before Saturday. I guess this was why,” she said.
“So we’re going?”
“Going? Of course we’re going, silly. Gosh, I have to figure out what to wear.” Then, smiling, taking my hand, she said, “This will be fun, Lottie. This is so her.”
When my mom was tired, her accent was stronger. She was 100 percent Peruvian; she’d moved to America when she was thirteen. Most of the time, her accent was undetectable unless you knew what to listen for. She said she’d spent a lot of time practicing how to speak “New Englander.” Otherwise, the kids at school made fun of her.
She went to hug me and then decided against it. “I’m filthy. A shower and a nap. I’ll see you for the party, my love.”
The rest of the day passed in a blur. I texted Em, my best friend, to invite her to the party. She’d been there the night Aunt Helen had died; I had texted her a series of frantic messages about the fragility and pointlessness of life, and she’d gotten to the hospital twenty minutes later. When she hugged me she smelled like the cigarettes her mom smoked and her bobbed blue hair brushed against my cheek in a way so familiar that it set me crying again.
Em was short for Emmylou because her mom had a thing for country music.
When I told her about the party, she wrote:
Holy crap that’s awesome!! Can I bring Jackie?
Of course you can bring Jackie, dummy. I’ll see you tonight.
Are you doing OK?
Yes. ILY.
Em’s response was a yellow face with hearts for eyes.
I decided to wear a dress to the party, nothing too fancy, just a light-blue vintage thing that Aunt Helen had bought for me. She loved vintage shopping and often dragged me along, the plus side being that although I hated shopping, she’d buy me whatever I liked (actually, she’d buy me whatever I liked that she also liked, which was the beauty of Aunt Helen, never compromising her preferred aesthetic).
Em and her girlfriend, Jackie, showed up at my house at six, Em wearing vintage tuxedo pants with a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows and a bow tie hanging untied around her neck.
“Do you know how to do this?” she asked my dad, who brought her to a mirror and gave her a lesson.
Jackie had her blond hair in curls and wore a legitimate pink party dress, petticoat and all.
She gave me a hug and said, “Are you doing okay, Lottie?”
“Better,” I said. “Every day is better.”
Amy, Abe’s girlfriend, showed up a few minutes later, wearing a pale-yellow maxi dress. She wore bright-pink eye shadow, which would look insane on me but was practically glowing against her dark skin.
We took two separate cars: Mom, Dad, Em, and Jackie in one and Abe, Amy, and me in the other. Em wasn’t super close with her mom, who didn’t really approve of her choice in partners and thought tuxedo pants on a girl were an abomination of the most sincere kind. My parents had adopted Em as their own. My mom was the one who helped her pick out what shade of blue to dye her hair.
“Don’t tell anyone I did this,” she’d said, handing Em a ten-dollar bill. “I don’t need any drama from your mama.”
Even though my aunt had rented every room in the hotel for the party, none of us were staying overnight. We’d decided to let the other guests have first dibs, and it wasn’t that far of a ride—about an hour long, but it went by quickly. Amy put on some new songs her band had recorded (she played lead guitar, and she was basically the coolest person I knew), and we all sang along loudly, glad for the distraction.