I cleared my throat. “You want me to write something?” I guessed.
“Yes, I want you to make a list for me. This is ten thingsIwant to do this summer to shake things up.”
I wrote the title on the top of the page and then looked up at her. “What do you want to do?”
She started listing things without hesitation. “I want to get my locs dyed a fun color, like blue or purple. I want a tattoo. I want to go to a festival—there’s a jazz festival coming up, and I missed it the last two times they’ve had it. I need a photoshoot and a spa day. I want to start a book club and have a picnic. I want to throw a party. I want to go to a Monarchs game, but I’ll settle for an outdoor movie. Oh! And do you remember what I told you back in April?”
Looking up from the paper, I frowned. “About how you wanted us to get yoni steams?”
“Yes!” Her eyes widened. “Rose and I found a spa that does them, and the three of us were supposed to do that this week!”
With a skeptical look, I cocked my head to the side. “We were?”
“Yes. I was going to surprise you.”
“I don’t think extra-hot steam on my vagina is the kind of surprise I want, Aunt Addy.”
She snickered. “You need to shake things up. That’s what I want as my tenth thing on the list: yoni steam.”
I wrote it down and then looked back up at her. “This isyoursummer list.”
“And now it’s time for you to make yours. Turn the page, and let’s make your list.”
I would’ve tried to deflect, but she’d told me to put a list together in May, and I honestly forgot. Even at the time, I didn’t know what I wanted to do. I’d spent the last couple of summers on my healing journey. It was hard for me to even think about planning a summer of fun. But I turned the page anyway.
“I’ll…” I lifted my shoulders and my eyes bounced around the room. “I don’t know.”
“Remember the first year I lived in California and you came to visit for a few weeks?” she asked.
How could I forget?
It was the summer before seventh grade, and it ended up being one of the best summers ever. “Of course I remember.”
“Do you remember putting together that list of things you wanted to do before we came back to Chance?”
“Oh yeah.” I smiled.
The last thing on my list was to record a music video to my favorite singer at the time, Vanessa Coffee.
“You wore one of those gem stickers on your belly like a belly ring, and you’d wear a pink wig,” my aunt reminded me. “You said when you got older, you were going to dye your hair and get your belly pierced like Vanessa Coffee.”
Vanessa Coffee had released a hit album that summer, and thenshe disappeared from the spotlight. She hadn’t crossed my mind in years, but her flashy outfits, bright pink hair, and body jewelry were essential parts of her lore.
My brows furrowed. “But what does that have to do with anything now?”
“Those should be on your list,” my aunt insisted. “Dye your hair. Get your belly pierced.”
“What?” I balked.
“It’s something you wanted to do—”
“When I was twelve!” I interrupted with a laugh.
“You also said you wanted to be a teacher when you were twelve, and look at you now.”
My lips snapped together because I didn’t have a retort.She got me there.
“Do you even knowwhyyou stopped wanting that?”
