"You can learn many things from children. How much patience you have, for instance."

~Franklin P. Jones

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I've spent the past hour trying to get ready.

I took Finn's advice and decided to take the girls on a date. Aimee is coming tomorrow and everything feels like we're just waiting for the inevitable. Not knowing what to do with ourselves. Wandering aimlessly.

So I decided to book a reservation at a fancy Italian restaurant downtown, thinking that we could all get dressed up like ritzy glam queens.

That was my first mistake.

Trying to get ready while having to deal with three nieces is nearly as impossible as trying to put on a pair of skinny jeans right after you get out of the shower.

My second mistake was assuming that the girls would be able to handle themselves.

I've told Eloise three times that she can only bring one book.

"But I only have twenty chapters left of the one I'm reading!" she argues.

"In that case, maybe you should just skip dinner and go straight to Harvard if you think you can read that fast."

Now I'm finally alone in my room with five minutes to get ready.

This was a mistake, I think. We have so much packing to do before Aimee comes.

I pull on my leather jacket over a ruffled light blue top. I look in the mirror, wince, then shrug.

Fancy enough.

"Aunt Beverlyyyy!" Jemma screams. "Dusty's done it this time!"

I rake a brush through my hair before flying into the hallway, where Dusty is crying with her face buried in her hands as Jemma lectures her.

"You look like Frida Kahlo!" Jemma's saying.

"I don't," Dusty weeps. "Koalas don't have makeup!"

At the word makeup, my spine tingles. I creep closer to Dusty like she's the last bag of cotton candy at the fair that's half-melted by the moisture in the air, with bugs trapped against it.

I don't want to go near it, but I have to.

"Dusty, look at me," I say warily.

"No," she moans. "You'll put me in the garbage disposal."

"I only said that once and I was kidding." I sigh.

Slowly, Dusty looks up at me.

"Oh sweet mercy," I breathe.

Somehow, at some point, she'd stolen my black eyeliner and used it to "fill in" her brows. Except now her eyebrows make a bridge from one to the other. And I don't think it's actually eyeliner because I smell the fumes of Sharpie in the air.

I check my watch. We have to be at the restaurant in ten minutes.

Jemma mutters, "You really do look like Frida Kahlo."

That gives me an idea because we don't have time to fix Dusty now. "Yeah! You can pretend you dressed up!"

"But I don't wanna be a koala!" she weeps.

"Jemma, explain to her who Frida Kahlo is," I say. "She'll come to her senses if you emphasize the part about how she stopped the zombie apocalypse using nothing but a fork."

Jemma squints. "Frida Kahlo didn't--"

"Yes. She. Did," I hiss.

Jemma's eyes widen with understanding and I race downstairs to get my purse.

As I'm checking for my wallet for everything I need, Dusty peels down the steps all smiles and squeals and rainbows. "I'm Frito Koala, zombie slayer!"

I breathe a sigh of relief. "Welp, we ready?" I ask.

Dusty jumps for joy, her unibrow raised excitedly.

We all clamber outside to the car, where the girls reprimand me for muttering a curse word when Dusty's seat buckle won't click into place.

Soon we're on the road with five minutes to get to the restaurant.

Just don't let them know how sad you are, I tell myself. Give them at least one good night before they go. With real food and manners--prove you can do it, just this once.

I want this night to be their lasting memory of this whole ordeal. I don't want to cry in front of them or throw a tantrum...I want it to be perfect and I want them to feel loved, just like Aimee said.

If they have to go home early, might as well go out with a bang, right?

All hope of having a conversation is dashed when the girls start singing every part of Bohemian Rhapsody so loud that the windows shake.

"Galileo!" Jemma screams.

"Galileo!" Eloise echoes.

"Galileo! Figaro!" Dusty cries.

Together, they bellow, "Magnifico-o-o-o!"

By the end of the song, we're at the restaurant. It's an ordeal getting out of the car, especially since Shakira, Dusty's stuffed penguin, gets lost underneath the seat (again).

We all hold hands and cross the street in a line.

I can't explain exactly why this scene makes me smile. Or why it makes me want to cry.

The four of us, together.

Don't think about it, I tell myself.

"Holy mackerel," Jemma whistles.

"It's like Elsa's castle!" Dusty coos.

I look up at the restaurant for the first time and my mouth gapes open.

Though it's a hole-in-the-wall place, it's made of grey cobblestone with ivy surrounding each window. A fountain sparkles in the manicured lawn that's lined with lights.

"Welcome!" a chipper host greets from his pedestal-thing, like a gatekeeper to the palace.

"This is too fancy," I whisper. I've made a terrible mistake, I can feel it.

The waiter guides us through a throng of white-cloth tables with far too many breakable items on top of them.

Italian music lilts on the speakers and it seems like everyone there is wearing clothes that probably cost as much money as the restaurant pays for rent.

"FISH!" Dusty screams, tearing off across the red carpet to promptly attach her face to a ritzy glass tank in the middle of the room.

"No!" I cry, doing that awkward half-run towards her. I grab her arm and yank her away from the tank. I turn her towards me and hiss, "Did we not watch Finding Nemo just the other night?! Do you know who you look like to those fish?!"

Dusty's eyes widen with horror. "The scary braces-girl?"

I nod gravely.

She shrinks. "Sorry fish," she whispers.

I take her hand and lead her through the crowd.

One red-lipped mom is shaking her head disapprovingly and I point to her child that's sticking a green bean up his nose.

"You're not doing much better," I snap.

We make our way to the table, where Eloise is already passing out waters to each of our places.

"That aquarium trip made her into a monster," I mutter to her.

Eloise adjusts her glasses. "Well, the dolphins were quite captivating."

I laugh, because that sounds exactly like something Finn would say.

The waitress comes up to our table with a basket of warm, buttery garlic knots.

My heart melts with joy.

Jemma grabs two and stuffs them in her mouth, one for each cheek like a chipmunk.

The waitress's eyes grow big.

"She's practicing for an eating competition," I say quickly. "Her record is ten under thirty seconds."

Eloise scowls.

"Um, what will you all be having tonight?" the waitress asks.

"More garlic knots," Jemma says through a mouthful of bread.

Dusty is studying the menu, stroking her chin and nodding thoughtfully as if she can actually read.

She takes forever.

"Dusty," Eloise prompts quietly, tapping her leg.

Dusty folds the menu and regards the waitress thoughtfully. "I'll have the chicken fettuccine alfredo. But without the chicken and the alfredo, please."

The waitress stops writing and frowns. "So...just...pasta?"

"Buttered." She folds the menu and hands it over to her.

The rest of us complete our orders and by the time we're finished, I see that Jemma's eaten all of the garlic knots.

"Dude!" I gasp. "How did you eat all of those already?!"

Maybe she should enter eating competitions.

Jemma shrugs with a smirk.

My phone dings in my pocket and I slide it out to see Aimee's name.

-My plane got delayed for tomorrow, but I should be there in the afternoon.

I swallow hard at the reminder.

"Jemma, give it!" Dusty wails.

I look up just in time to see Jemma snatch away a crayon. "No, I need the red one to color in the eyes!"

"But I need it to color in the blood for my zombie!"

"Girls," I say evenly, in my best Aimee impression.

But they're too far gone.

"Give it to me!" Dusty screeches.

"Get away from me, cretin!"

I get up and move to sit closer to them, taking the crayons away from them, and then delegating them out evenly."Dusty, you can work on the green skin while Jemma uses the red."

Eloise gives me a thumbs up. I smile.

I'm finally learning how to be a parent on the day before they leave. How typical.

Once there's peace between the two nations, we're allowed a few moments of calm.

Out of nowhere, Eloise says, "I'm gonna miss you, Aunt Bev."

"Me too," I say quietly. More than you know.

"I kinda wish we could've stayed the whole time."

I blink. My heart gives a sad tug, but I manage a half-grin. "C'mon Eloise, tonight we do as the Italians do."

"What do Italians do?"

"Eat garlic knots and avoid their problems." I lift my glass and clink it against hers.

This is when the moment of peace comes to an end.

Jemma reaches for another pack of crayons and knocks over her water.

Ice and liquid spills all over Dusty, which makes her scream bloody murder and jump from her chair, which then spills her drink.

A literal flood of water complete with tiny waves washes over the table and cascades to the floor.

I jump up to help catch the water and back into a waitress carrying a giant tray of shrimp alfredo.

The waitress yelps as pasta and sauce and shrimp go flying through the air, splattering an elderly couple sitting at the next table.

"I'm so sorry," I breathe, reaching out to steady the waitress.

She bats my hand away, looking like a sea monster with all the pasta hanging over her scowling forehead.

"Get out!" she yells.

I give a dejected sigh and turn towards the girls, who are watching me with eyes the size of Oreo cookies.

This wasn't supposed to be how it went. It was supposed to be perfect and happy and one last hurrah before our worlds separated once again.

"McDonald's?" I suggest.

They erupt into cheers.

I dump a basket of garlic knots from the next table into my purse before herding the girls together and making our way out of the restaurant.

~~~~

"Sorry, Eloise," I say, stabbing at my M&M McFlurry.

Eloise licks her ice cream cone and glances out at the playground, where Jemma and Dusty are in the middle of an intense game of tag.

"They're way happier here. Besides, it was unforgettable."

I roll my eyes. "Yeah, well, so was my first date with this guy named Al. I thought we were going to the fair, y'know, nice and normal, but when we showed up, it was his second cousin's bar mitzvah, where everyone was dressed up like they were coming to an 80's high school reunion. The hairspray fumes set off the fire alarm, which was a disaster, and I told Al that it was so lame, why did he bring me here? And he explained that there were free dinosaur chicken nuggets and-"

Eloise laughs. "I think this was unforgettable in a good way."

I give a relieved sigh. "Good."

Then, Eloise and I talk for an hour, like we're both real adults.

She tells me that she's planning to start a book club at their old school in Colorado. That she's going to help her mom clean out the garage that's full of their dad's old stuff and sell it on Ebay (at which I give her the name of a guy who can put an authentic "antique" label on just about anything so they can sell it for an astronomical price). She apologizes again for the drinking incident. I say she's forgiven.

She says I did good. I don't know how to respond.

The hours are dwindling and I'm wishing more and more that I could hold on for just a little while longer.

Eloise must sense this, because she holds out her ice cream. "To the last adventure!"

I clink my McFlurry against hers and cry, "To the last adventure!"