“How was Halloween with your niece?” she asks.
“Great.” He gives his cape a flick to keep it from bunching up behind his back. “I think I told you she’s into cooking, so she went as Alfredo Linguini, from—”
“Ratatouille!” Ramona exclaims. “I love that movie.”
Nick grins. “She had me go as Remy.” And he promises to show her some photos when they get their phones back. He has a feeling she’d love the forced-perspective shots Lexi took, where it looks like Audrey’s holding him in the palm of her hand.
“That’s too cute. I was wondering what this was. Whisker?” she asks, and before he can tell her yes, she licks her thumb and leans closer.
Rubs the wet pad of it against his cheek.
“Thought I washed it all off,” he says, skin flaring red-hot beneath her touch. She’s so close, he can see every one of her lashes.
With utmost concentration, she gives his face a final swipe. “Just a little smudge. You’re good.”
He’s certain he’s never felt further from it.
Clearing his throat, he returns to a safer subject. “She’s had some friend problems at school lately, so it was a relief to see her having fun.”
Ramona’s brow furrows. “What’s been going on?”
He’s almost surprised by her concern. So he explains what happened during the sleepover where Audrey befriended the host’s parents, and how some of the girls still giggle behind her back at school.
“Feeling too old for your skin is a gift and a curse. I had to grow up so fast. Too fast,” Ramona says, a sudden wistfulness in her voice. “I wish I could have slowed down and enjoyed it. I know she probably doesn’t feel like that now, but…”
“I wish she could, too. It goes by too quickly, doesn’t it?” Nick feels a twinge of heartache as she nods, and now he’s thinking not just of Audrey but of his own childhood, and how distant it is now. Ramona’s childhood, and how she probably never had a chance to be a real kid.
“You seem like you’d be a cool uncle. She’s lucky to have you.”
“I hope so. My sister’s a single parent by choice, and she’s been pretty wrapped up in work lately, so I’ve had the chance to help out a bit more. It feels like I’m the lucky one, actually.”
If he didn’t know any better, he’d think there’s something like yearning on Ramona’s face as she gives him a somber nod, presses her lips together.
He can still feel her thumb on his cheek.
“By the way, you don’t have to stay sober on my account,” she says, tapping his fancy plastic glass with hers. “Really. If you usually drink at parties, feel free. Unless you’re the kind of drunkwho takes off their clothes and dances on tables.” Then she reconsiders. “Actually, I might enjoy that.”
Nick doesn’t tell her that he’s not about to get shit-faced at a party full of people he doesn’t know, even if none of them have their phones with them. “It’s not a big deal. Sometimes I drink socially, sometimes I don’t. Do other people mind it?”
She shrugs, and he gets the feeling the answer is yes.
“Ramona?” A girl dressed as a 1920s flapper is approaching the couch with a sheepish wave. “We met at Betty’s party last year. I’m Allegra.”
“Right. Hey.”
“One of my friends is dying to meet you, if you don’t mind?”
So Ramona flashes what Nick knows isn’t her real smile as she lifts up from the couch, and for a split second, he’s not sure if he should follow her. She didn’t explicitly ask, and it’s not like he’s here as her date. Surely she’d bring him along for this introduction if that were the case.
Instead of sitting alone on the couch, he wanders into the kitchen, almost smacking right into Betty.
“Oh—sorry,” he says. “I was just looking for a napkin.”
Betty passes him a black one dotted with tiny skulls. “So you’re Ramona’s psychology professor.”
He nods, feeling a bit like there’s a too-bright spotlight on him. “Right. And we’re—we’re friends too.”
“Friends,” Betty echoes with an odd emphasis, and in that moment he’s certain Ramona’s told her everything. His cheeks flush with heat. “I hope this doesn’t sound too forward—this is just me being protective,” she continues. “But Ramona doesn’t let a lot of people get close.”
