This summer seems unusually hot, but maybe it's just my longing for rain that makes me forget. S and the boy she's into are here, she's once again refused to see him on her own and made me promise to go out with them later. His middle name is Henry, he dresses like a Backstreet Boy but has a sweet voice and sincere green eyes.
Mom's already out, we raid her closet for the perfect designer outfits. Henry is on the bed, helping us choose. Try that one instead he says, just to get another glimpse of us in our underwear. S giggles, I play along.
After deciding on combinations of Prada (shirt), Trussardi (jeans), Comme des Garçons (dress) and a splash of Chanel Nº 5, she and I take our Singapore Slings up to the roof. I pretend I need to smoke but it's a lie to get away. I never have to smoke.
How will I know if I love him, she asks. He will break your heart I say, so try not to. She looks sad and I immediately wish I could lie to her. Cynicism has a way of making you inexorably truthful.