Her pink beanie has been switched out for the turquoise one I got her last week. I suspect she only ever wears it for my benefit, but it’s still appreciated by this first-time boyfriend gift giver.

“Mom, I’m headed down!” she shouts behind her.

I meet her halfway down the stairs and, after a quick peck on the cheek, carry her deceptively heavy luggage down the rest of the way.

“Look after him while I’m gone, okay?” Corinne instructs Ming as he hugs her both hello and farewell.

“Will do,” says Ming, nodding solemnly. “Although I can’t promise he won’t give himself carpal tunnel syndrome refreshing his Columbia page.”

Corinne softly kicks at my leg as I put down the cinder block of a suitcase.

“You text me the second you hear, okay?” she says, sounding concerned. “Good news or whatever.”

“Or whatever.” I Smile.

“My. You have a full goodbye party, Corinne,” Chantale says, coming down the stairs with a leash-less Palm Tree behind her. His tail is wagging up a storm at all the confusion. He’s not traveling with them, and I’m taking care of him all week, with extra walks and playdates at the Troys’ budgeted into my payment.

“Hello, Mrs. Troy.”

“Hello, Henri and . . . friend.” It takes a lot to make sunglasses and a neck pillow look elegant, but Chantale’s, monogrammed in Ls and Vs, are certainly doing the job.

“Mom, this is Ming,” Corinne introduces. “He goes to FATE. Ming, this is my mother, Chantale.”

“Hi, Mrs. Troy,” Ming says, ever the polite young man. “It’s a pleasure meet—”

“Yes, hello, Ming.” Chantale nods curtly. “The car is outside, Corinne. I will not be running through JFK unless Chadwick Boseman himself is waiting at a gate.”

“Here, let me help!” I say, quickly picking up her luggage and bringing it outside. Ming picks up Palm Tree and watches me operate with his lips pursed. Bastard.

After the bags are handed to the driver, Corinne and I linger on the sidewalk, not quite sure what to say. I hadn’t planned for such a large audience when wishing her goodbye.

“Take lots of pictures, okay?” I try. “And don’t be self-conscious about taking selfies. Like, it’s the currency of the world, so go hog wild.”

Chantale raises an eyebrow behind her large white-rimmed sunglasses.

“Okay, well, bye,” Corinne says before pressing her lips into mine with her eyes closed, causing our chins to bump awkwardly. Did I mention the audience?

“I’ll . . . not not miss you,” she adds after pulling back. If dark-skinned folks could blush, she would be a freaking berry right now.

“That was certainly very chaste,” Chantale notes, eye on the door. “Enjoy your spring break, Henri. I know Palm Tree is in good hands. I’ve already wired you the payment for the week.”

“Yes, ma’am.”