“Hello,” I say to the African American woman wearing glasses (smart) with her hair in a large bun on the top of her head. Aunt Lil is sitting beside her, smiling. There are plates of green things, red things, and my sworn enemy: tofu. “Pleasure to meet you,” I say to the lady, not the tofu.

“Likewise, August. I’ve heard so much about you,” Davina says with a kind smile.

“I’m apparently infamous,” I say, looking at my aunt.

“Me too,” Aunt Lil says, “in certain circles.” She is a big fan of vintage clothes and designer glasses. Right now, she’s wearing a flowy purple dress and bright blue eyeglasses. Aunt Lil gets up and turns down the “music” so we can talk.

“I came home to seventeen messages from you-know-who,” she says with a frown.

My heart drops. It’s not a surprise that Mom would find me here. I didn’t have that many options. “Only seventeen?” I ask, trying to lighten the mood.

She shakes her head. “I haven’t checked my email yet.”

I sit down at the table. “You okay, Auntie?”

“Of course, sweetheart. I know in my heart this is the best thing for you, but I feel awfully guilty about stealing my sister’s child,” she says with a wink.

Aunt Lillian is risking so much for me to have this chance. Basically, her entire relationship with her sister. When it comes to my aunt and my mom, being sisters is the only thing they have in common. They disagree on politics, religion, ice cream flavors, whatever. Aunt Lil would drive through West Grove—maybe once a year—on her way somewhere better. We never once visited her in New York—Mom was too afraid.

Aunt Lil puts an empty plate in front of me. “August, tofu and vegetables? Maybe some brown rice?”

My stomach nearly screams. “No thanks,” I say. “I need real food.”

She heads to the kitchen. “I thought that might be the case.” Like a magician pulling a rabbit from a hat, Aunt Lil reveals a pizza box from the oven and plates two big slices. My stomach rejoices at the smell of actual cheese and grease.

“How do you two know each other?” I ask between cheesy bites.

Aunt Lil gives her a look. “Davina is my partner.”

“Oh, like art partner,” I suggest. They share a smile.

“Not quite.” Aunt Lil holds Davina’s hand. “She’s my girlfriend, although we’re too old to use that term.”

I stop chewing and let the information sink in. My aunt has a girlfriend. She likes women. I nod repeatedly, looking like a bobblehead. Aunt Lil lets out a playful laugh. “You’re not the only one who can keep secrets, August,” she jokes. “My parents—your grandparents—were not accepting of anything outside of one man and one woman. Just like your mom. Some apples don’t fall far from the tree.”