She places her hands around my cheeks and kisses me on the forehead. “Look at you. Prettier than we were at your age. You didn’t get those eyelashes from our side of the family.” She taps me on the jaw. “Or that disappearing chin.”
She motors off, and the backlog of questions waterfall off my tongue. “So when—how did you get my message?”
“Bryony Suzuki got your message and she passed it to me. News travels fast when you live on an island and your name is Bryony. I couldn’t reach you yesterday so I decided to come find out what the heck is going on. Thank the lilies for the private jet.”
“You have a Cloud Air card, too?”
“Naturally. Where next?”
“Um, make a left at the top.”
She steers the car up the hill. “Tell me she’s okay.”
“Mother? She’s fine, I think. She’s in Oman, and won’t be back until Monday.”
“Oh, that’s good.” She blows out her breath. “Now tell me who we’re PUF’ing.”
“Mrs. Alice Sawyer. I accidentally fixed her a week ago.”
“A week? You got her written permission to PUF her, I assume?”
“There’s a good chance she hasn’t kissed him yet.”
“What are the signs?”
In a few sentences, I explain about the cake and the seating arrangement at the homecoming game.
I don’t notice we passed the cul-de-sac until we’re halfway down the hill. “Oh, turn back!”
My aunt executes a five-point turn. Driving isn’t Mother’s forte either. “Mimsy, why do you think we have a Rule Eighteen?”
She still remembers the rule numbers. “To give us an out in case we screw up?”
“No, it’s to give us a fair out in case we screw up. If you PUF before a party falls in love, no harm is done, no one is the wiser. But once a party falls in love, PUF’ing would take away one of life’s greatest treasures. You must disclose.”
My heart sinks to my feet. Somehow, I knew that, I just didn’t want to admit it.
I point to the Sawyer residence and my aunt parks in the driveway. The sight of the familiar Jeep parked out front makes my adrenaline spike.
Aunt Bryony squeezes my arm. “Let’s do this.”
Moments later, I’m shuffling up the driveway after my aunt, cooler and hyacinth in hand.
As I muster the nerve to ring the doorbell, a motor roars behind us. A sporty yellow two-seater pulls into the driveway next to the rental car, rumbling loudly. Trees reflect off the glossy windows, obscuring my view of the occupants, but as the car inches closer, then stops, I make out the driver and her corkscrew red hair. It’s Cassandra, and next to her is Court.
The engine fades to a purr. Court’s aviators hide his expression. He says something to Cassandra that makes her smile.
So he wasn’t sleeping. Boy, I got it wrong. My insides churn with emotion—resignation, regret, and even a little outrage. Court hops out of the car. He’s wearing a rumpled shirt, dark jeans, and a military-style jacket, the kind of outfit for a Friday night, not a Saturday morning.
To my surprise, Cassandra’s window slides down. A series of white bangles adorn her tan arm. “Hey, Mim. What’d you think of the performance?”
“You were great,” I say with more enthusiasm than I feel.
“Thanks. Kali rocked that house, too. She’s awesome!”
“Yeah, she is.”
“See you!” She backs out and roars off.
Court treads up, his mouth tight. He pulls off his sunglasses and squints at my cooler, like the sunlight hurts his eyes. “What are you doing here?”
His words are so curt, they rob me of my reply. My aunt’s nose wiggles like Mother’s when she’s trying to read the situation. She bends her gaze toward me, then chirps, “Good morning. We’re here to talk to your mother. We want to make things right for her.”
Court sweeps aside a purple blossom with his foot. Then, with a dark look at me, he pulls out his keys. “Fine.”
The house is bright, but quiet, and smells faintly of lemons.
Court heads down a hallway. “Mom!”
Aunt Bryony and I remain in the entryway with Melanie’s vases. Closing her eyes, my aunt points her nose to the ceiling and inhales.
Court returns down the hall, followed by his mom. Even in yoga pants and sandals, Alice walks carefully, with poise, just like one would expect from a Miss California. She rolled the sleeves of her Go Panthers! T-shirt past her freckled shoulders, and her smiling face is clean of makeup. “What a delightful surprise.”
“I’m sorry to disturb you, Alice. This is my aunt Bryony.”
“How lovely.” Alice squeezes Aunt Bryony’s hand. “I see the family resemblance.”
I hand the woman my stalk of hyacinth. “This is for you.”
“Thank you.” Her eyes squeeze shut as she buries her nose in the periwinkle blossoms. “How I do love your visits.”
I have to keep myself from making tracks out the door, down the hill, and maybe to Alaska.
She places the stalk into one of Melanie’s vases, this time, one of the earlier, clunkier pieces, then sweeps her hand toward her prairie chic living room. “Come, sit down.”