Her minions are all dressed like sexy cats.
And Allie? She’s wearing a gown that looksidenticalto mine.
“I didn’t expect you to come,” I say.
Allie raises a brow. “Please. I’m the one who’s going tomakethis party. You should be honored.”
I amnotgoing to let Allie spoil this night. “Well, clearly you have good taste in costumes,” I say amiably, gesturing at our matching dresses and trying to make a lame joke. “Two princesses in a pod . . .”
Allie looks horrified. “I am not just some stupid Disney princess,” she says. “I’m—”
“Princess Peach!” Chris finishes, grabbing her hand and bowing over it, in his blue overalls.
Allie beams. “Thank you for rescuing me, Mario!” she twitters.
Chris laughs. “I didn’t peg you as a Super Mario fan.”
“Are you kidding me?” Allie says, animated, in a way I’ve never seen her before. “It’s the best game ever. What else would I do while waiting for my toes to dry?”
I stifle a laugh, wishing Jules were here to see this. The cats standing behind Allie look at each other, completely confused. I guess that makes sense. It’s not every day you learn that your Queen Bee is a gamer.
Allie turns on them. “Oh, please. Brittany, we all know you still watchMy Little Pony.And, Chloe, your hairdresser’s not the only one who knows you’re not a natural blonde.”
She sounds like Allie—mean, that is—but there’s something different about it. She seems annoyed, as if she’s sick of having to live up to an audience 24/7.
It’s almost as if she’s . . . well, human.
“Thank GodSuper Mario 3D Worldupgraded Peach,” Allie adds. “I mean, how lame was it that whenNew Super Mario Brotherscame out for the Wii, Nintendo couldn’t afford the extra programming for her dress, so she wasn’t a playable character?”
Chris’s jaw drops. “Marry me,” he jokes.
She slips her arm through his. “How about we start with a Diet Coke?”
As they walk into the crowd, the door opens again. Jules is holding an umbrella over herself and Jessamyn, who is dressed in scrubs, with a surgical cap covering her hair and a mask obscuring half her face.
Jessamyn catches me staring at her costume. “I used to be a writer,” she explains, her eyes dancing above the mask. “I like irony.”
“And I like dry clothes,” Edgar mutters, standing in the rain behind them. “Any chance we could move inside?”
For a moment, when he first steps in wearing a full prince costume that matches Oliver’s, I can’t breathe. They lookthatmuch alike.
Which is why,I remind myself,this is going to work.
“Happy birthday,” I say.
“Not until nine-fifteen,” Edgar replies. “Remember?”
Not wanting to leave anything to chance, we have arranged with Oliver to blow out the candles on his own birthday cake at the exact moment of Edgar’s birth.
My mother, wearing her witch costume, approaches when she sees Edgar enter. “You must be Jessamyn,” she says. “I’m Grace. It’s so nice to finally meet you.”
“Thanks for taking care of Edgar a few weeks ago,” Jessamyn replies. “I’ve had some health issues lately, and it’s really nice to know that he has people looking out for him.”
I follow her gaze as it lights on my mother, me, the crowd of Edgar’s friends. These are the people in whose hands she thinks she will be leaving her son, once she’s gone.
Gradually everyone notices that Edgar’s finally here. His name is chanted, echoing around the house, birthday wishes falling like confetti.
My mother turns to Jessamyn. “I’m just going to get the cake ready, if you want to come into the kitchen. Unless, of course, raging is your thing.”
