“Is that Jack?” comes a female voice and I look up to see Allie’s mom standing on the stairs, looking like she’s ready for acover shoot with perfect amber skin, tasteful makeup, and her jet-black hair worn straight to her shoulders. She’s part Asian like me, and I feel instantly like she could be my long-lost sister. She has Allie’s brown eyes, and is dressed in a formfitting mauve, knee-length dress and stiletto heels. When she sees me, her whole face lights up.
“Sora!” she cries. “Jack told us all about you.” He did? I glance at him, but he gives me an unreadable smile. Kylie moves quickly down the stairs. “But she’s evenprettierthan you said!” Kylie sends Jack a scolding look as she reaches the landing. “I’m Kylie. Ian’s wife.” I hold out my hand for a shake, but she bats it away and pulls me into a big hug. “We’re huggers,” she explains. “And I’m so, so very excited to meet you.”
“Me, too!” So Jack has been talking about me? I like that.
“Sora! Sora!” cries Allie, grabbing my hand. “Do you want to see my room?”
“Of course I do,” I say.
“Uncle Jack! Come, too. We’ll play spa.”
Jack grins at me. “Told you,” he whispers as we follow Allie as she bounds up the stairs.
An hour later, Jack has his hair up in two short pigtails and he’s wearing big plastic pink clip-on earrings and a matching necklace, as well as a pink feather boa that’s far too small for him. Allie is meticulously painting his fingernails what she calls “princess pink” and all the while Jack patiently sits at her tiny little play table, with the heart-backed chairs, and lets her do exactly what she likes.
I stifle a laugh as he wiggles his eyebrows at me. I don’t think I’ve ever found a man as adorable as I do now.
I’m sitting at the table, too, but Allie just put little glittery heart stickers on my already painted nails, telling me she liked my pale pink and that I have “very good taste.” It’s sweet seeing Allie working so hard. Her little pink tongue pokes out from between her lips as she concentrates.
“How often do you give Uncle Jack a makeover?” I ask Allie.
“Everytime,” she says. “He needs it. He doesn’t wearanypink.” She wrinkles her nose in disapproval.
“What the princess wants, she gets,” Jack says. “I don’t want to be fed to any dragons.”
Allie just giggles. “You’re silly, Uncle Jack.” Then she swishes one last swipe of nail polish on his left pinkie nail. “All done!” she cries, and Jack looks down at his nails—which are only partially covered with nail polish, as most of it landed on his cuticles. I’ve never seen a man so patient, or so willing to play along as Jack. When I try to think about Marley or Dan getting dressed up in a feather boa, I can’t even imagine it. Jack would seriously make an excellent dad. He’s so patient. So kind.
“Beautiful,” he says. “Am I a pretty, pretty princess now?” He keeps his voice completely serious. That’s the beauty of it.
Allie stands up and studies him, serious. “Wait,” she says, and runs off to the corner of her room where she digs out a sparkling silver light-up tiara. Then she gingerly places it on his head. “Nowyou’re all done,” she says, and does a cute little curtsy in front of him. She giggles, covering her mouth with both hands.
Allie digs out another crown from beneath her pile of stuffedanimals in the corner and puts it on her own head. “I got this in the hospital when I was sick,” she tells me.
“What was wrong?” I ask. I glance at Jack, who suddenly seems serious.
“I had…” Allie lowers her voice. “The Bad Stuff.”
“She had leukemia,” Jack explains.
I blink, shocked. Allie looks like any other healthy little girl. I can’t imagine her sick in a hospital with… cancer.
“She went into remission last summer. You kicked that Bad Stuff, kiddo.” Jack stretches his arms out for a hug, and she gives him a big one.
Allie giggles. “I sure did.” She looks at me, green eyes wide. “You know what I call the Bad Stuff? I call it a bad word.” She looks around as if the four-letter-word police will bust down the door. “I call it the S-word.”
Well, cancersureis shitty, that’s for sure.
“What’s the S-word?” Jack asks, guard up.
She glances at me, and then at Jack, and lowers her voice so we can barely hear her. “Stupid,” she whispers, as if she’s really cursing. Makes my heart want to explode.
“Cancer reallyisstupid,” I agree, and she giggles at my use of the word.
“You said a bad word!” she cries, and claps her hands in glee. When she’s grown, she’s going to be a very, very fun drunk.
The doorbell rings then.
“Pizza’s here,” Jack declares, standing up, not bothering to take off his jewelry or his tiara as he moves to the stairs.
