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 wasundetectable 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 boughtfor 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.
When we reached the hotel, I knew exactly why my aunt had picked it. The Nautilus was situated right on the water, with one enormous octagonal ballroom actually built on stilts over the waves. There were flickering candles illuminating the path to the front door, and the whole place was white and romantic and elegant and exactly like Aunt Helen. This was her, as a building. One foot in the sand and one in the water; completely approachable while at the same time being so, so cool.
The guests were already starting to arrive. The party was slated to go from eight to midnight, with a buffet dinner served until ten and desserts available after that. I recognized famous authors from their book jackets, slipping out of black cars and looking out of place in the way most authors do at fancy parties. I saw news reporters and even a few actors; I tried my best not to stare. I never quite got used to it, how famous Aunt Helen was.
“I should have worn a suit. Lottie, why didn’t you tell me to wear a suit?” Abe said as he pulled his car in line for the valet.
“You look handsome,” Amy said, putting her hand on his leg. He wore seersucker pants and a matching vest, but no coat.
“You look very New England prep,” I said. “But in a good way.”
