Davina puts her arm around Aunt Lil. “Your aunt sold a painting today for an embarrassing amount of money.”

“A semi-embarrassing amount of money.”

I take my first sip of champagne. It’s bitter, sweet, and removes all the spit from my mouth. “Congrats,” I say, having no idea what a semi-embarrassing amount of money is. “Aunt Lil, your paintings are amazing.”

“Oh, stop,” she says, then takes a drink. “I mean, I have my moments.”

Davina removes her wool blazer and slips off her shoes. She must work in an office. “Now you can take me on that cruise you’ve been promising.”

“Actually,” Aunt Lil says with a huge smile, pulling out folded papers from her apron, “I might have booked the jazz cruise for next summer.”

“No way,” Davina says, on her feet and hugging Aunt Lil. They are nose to nose, looking in each other’s eyes. “Thank you, baby,” she says, then they kiss. It’s such a sweet moment. My parents never showed affection. Never went on cruises.

They continue to kiss, and I feel awkward. “Should I leave?” I offer.

“No,” Davina says, then laughs. They are so cute together. “I’ll head downstairs and get dinner ready.”

“How did you know you were a painter?” I ask my aunt when it’s just us.

“I don’t think of myself as a painter, I suppose.” She takes off her apron. That means the workday is over. “I’m an artist. I need to show the world what I see, and my medium is the canvas. Just like yours is the stage.”

I nod to a painting with a cute cartoon baby swimming in a pool of motor oil. “So that’s how you see the world?”

“Sometimes.”

I love my aunt. Her sense of humor lightens things up. “Did you paint when you were in school?” I ask.

“Started in middle school. No, it was high school. That was a long time ago.”

“Before the internet.”

“Before computers. Maybe before calculators. I’m ancient history. But I’ll never forget what painting gave me when I was your age.”

“Not many friends,” I say, feeling loose. I like champagne.

“An escape, wise guy.” She puts her glass down by a brush can. “And a way to express my feelings. My teen years were confusing. I was alone carrying around this secret. And felt wrong for getting crushes on my friends.”

I shake my head. I know all those feelings.

“Art class was my safe space, as you kids call it. The teacher let me work after school. And sometimes before. I needed a place to be myself and work through my feelings.” She takes a drink of champagne. “There I go blabbing away again. August, how are you?”

“Everything is so good,” I say. But there’s been something I’ve needed to ask my aunt, and now seems like the best time. “I wear binders.”