So that is how I found myself, three weeks later, standing on a chair, taping up blue and gold streamers in the dining room. Ashley was blowing up balloons in her bra and underwear, with her face and hair fully done to the nines. I could count on one hand the number of times I had seen her in makeup before. The dining table was laden with plastic-wrapped veggie and cheese trays, bags of chips, two-litre bottles of soft drinks, paper plates, plastic cutlery, stacks of napkins, and a wide array of wine and liquor. Old Town Road blasted through the Bluetooth speaker.

Oh I have to show you my banner, Ashley shouted at me.

What?

I made a banner to hang on the wall.

I can’t—Hey Google turn down by five.

The music quietened, as Ashley picked up a paper banner and handed me one end.

I wanna tape it over the door.

She climbed onto another chair, and we taped it to the wall. Once unfurled, the banner read It’s All Downhill From Here. I told her that Congratulations would’ve taken fewer letters.

She shrugged—Yeah, well I’m a realist.

Speaking of which, I put two condoms in your purse.

She shot me a look—Mom.

I asked her if Liam was coming.

Do you think I care?

I laughed.

What?

You’re such a terrible liar.

I honestly don’t, I don’t care.

Okay, I said, my eyebrows disappearing behind my hairline.

The next track on her playlist began and she ordered Google to turn it up by eight, and we danced as we continued decorating. When Ashley was little, I used to draw the blinds, and play eighties club hits on full volume until we were sweaty and exhausted, and collapsed on the floor in a giggling heap. I used to love how into it she would get; the look of deep concentration on her face, her little arms pumping, her hips jutting back and forth.

I checked my phone, and then shouted to her that it was a quarter to six. She left the living room and returned holding her metallic rose-gold prom dress.

I hate it, she said, without affect. It looks like an iPhone.

I began helping her into the dress and reminded her that she had picked it out.

I know, I hated them all.

I told you, you should have gone with the tux.

Just then, the doorbell rang. Shit, shit, she said.

It’s fine.

It’s not fine, I’m not ready!

I helped her into the dress, one leg at a time, and zipped up the back, before she dashed to the door to answer it—to find Tom and Seema standing there.

Hi, Tom said, holding a large reusable grocery bag. Sorry to bother you, but is your—

Mom! Ashley called.