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music and made chocolate-covered strawberries while we all had fun
getting me ready. Originally the plan was to go with Lyla and the girls to
the salon, but today was perfect. I’m glad I spent it with my family.
I hold up my hands, posing and teasing, “So do I look cute?”
He steps in and walks up to me, leaning in to kiss my cheek. “That’s not
the word I would use,” he whispers.
“You both look great,” my mom chimes in.
“You don’t match,” my sister retorts, and I look up to see her entering
the foyer.
She’s dressed in her skimpy sleep shorts, probably for Misha’s benefit,
and I fantasize about putting vinegar in her mouthwash.
Match? Like his tie and my dress?
But Misha looks at her and places his hand on his heart, feigning
sincerity. “We match in here.”
I snort, breaking into quiet laughter.
My sister rolls her eyes, and my mom shakes her head, smiling.
“Alright, let’s go,” I say.
I lean down to take the bag, which my mom thinks contains a change of
clothes for the parties we’re not going to later.
But she shouts, “Pictures!” And I stop.
Letting out a small sigh, I step down the last stair, and he turns me
around, putting my back to his chest.
“Traditional cheesy prom pose,” he explains.
“Oh, well, then. If we must.”
My sister folds her arms over her chest, looking discontented as she
watches my mom snap shots of us. Of course, I want pictures. I’m not a
party pooper. But I have that first picture of us at the scavenger hunt, and I