Chapter Ten
Chloe’s squeal is high-pitched and loud enough to snag the attention of at least half the people walking down the street as she exits her cab at the corner and sees me walking toward her.
While I don’t squeal, I’m just as excited to see her. It’s been too long. I spent much of early summer in my apartment in New York City, and Chloe was a counselor at a summer camp, so our schedules didn’t mesh. I haven’t seen her in nearly two months, which is unusual for us.
I only get close to her cab before she runs and jumps into my arms, wrapping her legs around me like a chimpanzee.
“Aunt Lily!”
“Hey, Thumper.” I hug her to me. She’s always hugged me like this: a full body hug. And she’s tiny—barely five foot one—so it’s not hard for me to hold her this way. I spin her in a full circle before setting her back down so she can help the cab driver who is unloading her stuff.
“How was the flight?” I ask as we walk toward the hotel. She’s got a large backpack slung over her shoulder, and I’m pulling her wheelie suitcase.
“Are you kidding me? It was incredible. I stretched out and slept for a few hours. And the food was really good.”
I treated her to a first class ticket, which made me happy. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
“It slapped. Seriously. Thanks, Aunt Lil.”
Chloe and I have always been close. I knew by the time I was forty that having kids was probably not happening for me, and I was okay with that.
I wasn’t somebody who never wanted kids, but I also wasn’t somebody who had to have them, like some of my friends are.
I figured if I ended up with a partner who really, really wanted them, I’d be happy to coparent.
But that didn’t end up being the case, so Chloe is about the closest thing I’ll ever have to my own kid.
In the Cavatassi, I introduce her to Marco, who she whispers to me is “hella hot,” and he takes us upstairs.
While my suite is considered the penthouse, there are still three other rooms on the floor, and Marco puts Chloe in the room right next to mine.
There’s no adjoining door, but I don’t worry about her.
She’s a responsible kid, and I don’t expect for a second that she’ll sneak out when I’m sleeping.
In addition to being responsible, she knows I’d kill her.
And then I’d send her home so her father could kill her again.
Serena is having that wine-tasting thing tomorrow night, and she’s invited both me and Chloe. I have no idea who else will be there, but Serena has yet to introduce me to somebody I don’t like, and when I tell Chloe about it—and that she can bring Reggie—she’s thrilled.
Tonight, though, since Chloe’s flight didn’t arrive until midafternoon and she’s tired from traveling, we’re going to have a leisurely dinner nearby, just the two of us. It’s been far too long since I’ve had my niece all to myself.
I take her to a little café that I’ve been to a couple times, so I know that the hostess speaks impeccable English, and if we sit outside, again we can bring Reggie.
Chloe is pretty much in love with my dog, so bringing him along becomes her thing, and she holds his leash.
When we’re seated, he sits at her feet, not mine, which makes me feign hurt, when inside, I’m actually grinning. I love that he loves her.
We order; Caprese salad for me and gnocchi for Chloe, who doesn’t understand why I’m in Rome and not having pasta, and I’m forever grateful she doesn’t have body image issues.
I hope she never gets them. I almost tell her to ask me that question when she’s over forty but decide I shouldn’t put that on her.
“Because the fresh mozzarella here is to die for,” I say.
I order a glass of Pinot Grigio, and the waitress turns to Chloe, whose eyes go wide.
“Can I get wine?” she asks in a whisper, like the waitress wouldn’t hear her.
“If you tell your father, I’ll kill you,” I say.
She gives a tiny giggle and asks me what kind she should have.
“Can you bring mine and I’ll let her taste it?” I ask the waitress, who smiles with a nod and is off.
“So?” I say. “What’s new at home? Ready for school?”
She lifts one shoulder. “Yeah. I think so. Mom got me some clothes. I have almost all my supplies.”
“What’s gonna be the hardest?” The waitress brings us warm bread and a saucer of olive oil for dipping.
“Ugh. Calculus, I think.” Chloe is not great at math. Like her aunt, she struggles with numbers. But unlike her aunt, she keeps trying until she gets it.
“Your dad any help there? He’s good with numbers.”
“He tries, and yeah, sometimes he does help.” She takes a bite of her bread and makes a humming sound of approval.
“Right?”
“So good.”
My wine arrives, I let Chloe sip, and she nods with enthusiasm, so we order her a glass. My brother would have my head. But Chloe is so happy, and I swear she sits up taller, like she’s acting older. It’s adorable.
Our dinners come and again, Chloe’s eyes go wide at her plate of gnocchi.
That lasts for an entire five seconds before she’s digging in.
We chat about regular life stuff—how her summer went, her parents, my parents, my work—before she gets what I call her “serious face.” Her eyebrows furrow just slightly.
She rolls her lips in a lot, as if she’s thinking about the best time to bring up whatever she’s about to bring up, and she avoids eye contact.
All those things start to happen as I order a second glass of wine, but I know from experience to wait her out.
If I push her to talk before she’s ready, she’ll clam up and say nothing.
So I sip my wine and watch the pedestrians that stroll along past us as the night begins to fall.
Reggie is watching, too, and not for the first time, I’m so glad he’s not a typical yippy Chihuahua mix.
He’s happy to people watch, just like his mommy.
“So, can I ask your advice on something?” Chloe finally says.
Here we go.
“Always. What’s up?”
“Well,” she says, then looks off into the distance and sighs. “There’s this guy…”
I manage to keep from saying “Excellent!” and instead shift in my seat so my elbows are on the table and I’m leaning toward her. “Mm-hmm.” I sip and watch her.
“Oh, stop it,” she says with a wave of her hand. “I know you’re thrilled. You don’t have to hide it.”
I laugh. I can’t help it. She knows me as well as I know her, clearly. “Sweetie, I have been waiting for the there’s this guy line for a good three years now. I can’t help if I’m elated.”
“What if I’d said there’s this girl ?”
“Just as elated. Duh.”
“Maybe more so?” Her eyes twinkle with mischief.
“Maybe,” I tease back. “But tell me about this guy.”
Listen, I know my niece well. Sometimes, I think I know her better than my brother does because I have a bit of distance in that I don’t live with her or see her every day.
This means I can see changes in her expression or her body language more clearly than if I saw her every day and she was trying to hide something.
So now, sitting across from her at a small, round table outside a little café in Rome, I can tell immediately that this is serious.
That she’s seriously into this guy . I am simultaneously thrilled and terrified.
Thrilled that she’s experiencing such exciting feelings.
Terrified this guy will break her heart.
“His name is Jordan and he’s just so cool.”
“Okay.”
“He plays football, and the team has been practicing the past few weeks at the same time we’ve had tennis practice and, well, we’ve been talking.”
I instantly don’t love that Jordan is a football player, but I catch myself for generalizing before I say it out loud. “Talking is good.”
“We have so much in common.” When she says this, her entire face lights up, and it warms my heart.
“He loves video games. We both love Animal Crossing —which some guys won’t admit.
We play Fortnite together. We both love scary movies.
He wants to go to law school.” She sighs the kind of sigh that can only come from a teenage girl with a crush.
“And he’s not just a snack, he’s the whole meal.
” She picks up her phone and scrolls for a few seconds before handing it over.
It’s a selfie of Chloe and this guy , and she’s not kidding.
He’s super cute. Tall, sandy blond hair, smiling blue eyes.
He’s got his arm around Chloe, who looks absolutely infatuated with him.
I have to admit, though, they’re adorable together.
Chloe is the all-American girl with honey blond hair, her eyes a stunning green.
The two of them together look like models in a professional photo shoot for tooth whitener or sunscreen. Or condoms.
“Wow,” I say. “He’s cute.”
“Right?” She does that sigh again, and I smile at her.
“What do you need advice about?” In my head, I’m shouting Don’t say sex, don’t say sex, don’t say sex …though if she did, I’d help her in any way I could. I would just cry afterward.
“How do I ask him out?” She frowns and wrinkles her nose at me.
I blink at her several times, then indicate the phone with my eyes. “You mean, you’re not already?” Those selfies sure make them look like they are.
“No. We’re just good friends right now, and I’ve kinda been waiting for him to ask me, but then I started thinking, hey, it’s 2025 and I’m a modern woman. Who says I can’t ask him out?”
“Nobody,” I say. “Nobody says that.”
“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.”