“Let’s just say that my dreams never involved a syllabus when I was your age,” she says. “And your mom used to roll her eyes at me that same way when I said that.”

“It’s not my dream school, exactly. That would be Columbia but um . . .”

I’m not getting a lot of catcalls from that construction site, I think.

“It’s good to have options, Auntie,” Corinne chimes in, as if sensing my butt cheeks clenching at the topic.

“But McGill’s a really good school,” I find myself saying. “They have an amazing design program.”

Corinne raises an eyebrow at me.

“Yeah, I heard something about that from one of the girls at my Zumba. Well, I’m sure you’ll nail it, babe.” Terry pats my shoulder.

I Smile and she smiles, seemingly happy with the answer. Here’s a-hoping, Aunt Terry.

“I was a little afraid when you said you were coming—unannounced, no less. Last time, she rearranged the seating downstairs because it was ‘suboptimal,’” Terry says. “Your boyfriend has mellowed you out, Riri.”

“You can keep making all your jokes, but we’re still not dating, Auntie,” Corinne corrects. Was that a snort?

“And why not?” Terry asks. “Look at him. Handsome young man with a future. You could do worse. Ask your mom.”

“I am really handsome.” I grin with teeth fenced with mac and cheese.

“Ugh,” Corinne says before turning back to her aunt, legs folded under her. “He’s a hussy, for one,” she adds.

“Excuse me?” Is that what she really thinks of me?

Auntie Terry raises both eyebrows at me as if awaiting rebuttal, and for a moment, I feel like I’m presenting a dissertation to Chantale Troy.

“I—I don’t— I’m not a hussy! Is this because of Evie?”

“And Charlotte . . . And Jayna-Mae . . .”

Charlotte was my partner in a play who fully stuck her tongue into my mouth when Juliet was supposed to be comatose. And J-M was only a few Shake Shack dates sophomore year, back when I thought I would have time to date. The text she’d sent me after being left waiting outside the movies had been very, very long. A lot of exclamation points that climaxed with a DELETE MY NUMBER, FCKBOI. But that was a lifetime ago!

“You have a reputation around FATE, that’s all,” Corinne says, chewing very deliberately. “There’s a shocking list in the third-floor girls’ bathroom stalls.”

I would ask for a follow-up, but Corinne is smirking in a way that makes me want to refuse her the satisfaction with every fiber of my being.