“We were as close as sisters,” Quinn says.
Lily nods. “My grams is in the hospital, so I live with Quinn now. Did you know I have my own room at her house?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Well, I do. We’re gonna dec’rate it to make it more kid-like. But it’s already my room, because it’s got lots of pitchers of lilies an’ roses on the wall, an’ my name is Lily Rose.”
“That’s a beautiful name.”
“Yes.” She takes a mouthful of ice cream, managing to get some on her chin. “Rose is Auntie Quinn’s middle name, too.”
“I didn’t know that.” I look at her.
“My mommy an’ she were best-est friends an’ I got middle-named after her.”
“That’s really special, being named after someone,” I say. “It’s a good thing Quinn’s middle name wasn’t Stinky.”
Lily bursts out in a loud laugh, resulting in ice cream spillage. Quinn laughs, too, then takes a napkin and wipes Lily’s jaw as naturally as if she were wiping her own.
“That would be a terr’ble middle name!” Lily says.
“Yeah, it would,” Quinn agrees.
“I’d be Lily Stinky, an’ you’d be Quinnlyn Stinky!”
Grinning, Quinn nods. “I like Rose so much better, don’t you?”
“Yes. Roses smell nice.” Lily looks at me. “You’re funny!”
I grin. “I try.”
We eat our ice cream in silence for a moment. I realize I don’t have a lot of experience initiating conversation with kids. “So, Lily—what kind of things do you like to do?” I ask.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, do you like to paint, or swim, or play board games or computer games, or play on swing sets or what?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, which ones?”
“All of them! I love to do all kinds of things.” She points out the window. “Oh, look! That dog’s wearin’ a little dress! She looks like Ruffles with all-white fur!”
Quinn gazes out the plate glass and smiles. “Yes, a bit.”
I turn and see a woman on the sidewalk, walking a small dog ina yellow froufrou outfit past the ice cream shop. “Is Ruffles your dog?” I ask Lily.
“She’s Auntie Quinn’s, but she loves me, too.”
“Are dogs your favorite animal?”
“Yes! Although I love koalas and giraffes and all kinds of baby animals. Especially the baby ’rangi-tangs at the zoo.”
“You like to go to the zoo?”
She nods vigorously, her curls bobbing.
“I do, too,” I say. “Maybe we can all go to the zoo some afternoon this week. Maybe tomorrow.” I look at Quinn. “Your store is closed on Mondays, right?”
