And if there is anyone I want to see other than my family tonight, it’s my girls.

Lola’s new apartment is a huge step up from the dorms. I expected her to move in with me when we graduated, but she wanted to be downtown, and every time I visit I can’t really blame her. It’s situated just north of the Gaslamp Quarter in a new, giant-windowed high-rise with wide-open rooms, a view of the harbor, and a location only blocks away from the Donut Bar. Lucky woman.

“Harlowwwww!” My name is shouted across the large living room and quickly I’m surrounded by four arms. Two are Lola’s, and two belong to London, Lola’s new roommate and the most adorable all-American girl you can imagine: sandy blond hair, freckles, dimples and a constant smile. She cools it down perfectly with her hot nerd girl glasses and wild clothes. Tonight, for example, I see she’s wearing a blue Tardis T-shirt, a polka-dot green and yellow skirt, and black-and-white–striped kneesocks. With Lola’s retro black dress and sleek Bettie Page thing going on, they make the rest of us look tragically unhip.

“Hi Lola-London,” I say, pressing my face into Lola’s neck. I needed this.

Lola’s voice is muffled against my hair. “That sounds like a stripper name.”

London laughs, extracting herself from the tangle. “Or the name of a drink?”

“One Lola-London on the rocks,” I say.

“Well,” London says, pointing to the cooler on the kitchen floor. “We can try inventing it tonight. I swear I bought everything. Mixers and booze and beer and nuts and—” She closes her eyes, raises her right hand in a rocker salute, and belts out, “Fritos!”

She turns running off to answer the door and I give Lola my nod of approval. “I like that girl.”

“Someone told me there is a fiesta in this casa!”

I turn to the sound of Ansel’s deep, accented voice, and every sound in the apartment dips for a beat before applause and laughter break out. He’s wearing a sombrero filled with tortilla chips. Because he’s an adorable idiot.

Mia breaks away from him, making a beeline to me, and wraps her arms around my shoulders. “You okay?”

I called Lola and Mia earlier, gave them both the truncated update, and they know me well enough to anticipate the magnitude of my panic.

I blink away from the delightful spectacle of Ansel doing some weird little bullfighter dance. “Eh. You know.”

She pulls back and studies my face before deciding, accurately, that I’m here for distraction and not to discuss my mom. We all turn to watch Ansel as he offers sombrero chips to someone. Seriously, his inner child is definitely alive and kicking.

I draw a circle in the air around my head. “What is with the—”