Page 15 of The Plus One Professional

“To Riley’s.”

She shook her head. “I’m not going.”

“Why not?”

“I got in a fight with Mom, and I don’t feel like going over to Riley’s perfect house with her perfect siblings, and her perfect parents, and her perfect dogs.”

Fuck. I remember feeling that way about my friends’ houses when I was in the system, or couch surfing. It always made me feel like shit that their lives were ‘perfect’ and mine was a pile of horse shit. I hated that my niece felt the same way I had.

“What did you and your mom fight about?” Sara and Carly rarely fought. I braced myself for something serious. She was only eleven, but nowadays, that didn’t mean anything. Eleven-year-olds had the internet at their fingertips. Not to mention the drugs that were around now. I wasn’t much older than Carly, but in the time since I was her age, so much had changed.

“Mom signed me up for the stupid big sister program. I don’t need a big sister. I’m not a baby.”

Big Sister program. Okay, that was a crisis I could manage.

I held up my finger. “Hold that thought.”

She nodded as I walked into the bathroom and got out of Arthur’s suit. I hung it up and put it in a dry-cleaning bag. Even though he’d technically given me his wardrobe, I still always got everything cleaned right away, just in case he changed his mind and wanted his clothes back.

After throwing on some sweats and a T-shirt, I checked on Sara, who slept in a nook off the hall that I’d converted into a makeshift bedroom. It was only big enough to hold a twin bed, but at least it gave her some privacy. She was sound asleep. Next, I peeked in on the twins, who were also out for the count in the bunk beds I’d built them. Before heading back into the front room, I detoured into the kitchen and grabbed a pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream and two spoons.

A YouTube video was playing on the TV as I sat down beside Carly on the couch and handed her a spoon.

“Uncle CJ, I don’t need a big sister. It’s so stupid. I want to do cheer, not go hang out with somemillennial.”

“Hey.” I pretended to take offense.

“What? You’re Gen Z, like me.”

I felt like a baby boomer, but that wasn’t the point. “I thought you were Gen Alpha.”

“I’m on the cusp,” she explained as if it were the fiftieth time she’d told me. “I don’t need a stupid mentor. Youhaveto tell her I’m not doing it.”

As much as I could see where Carly was coming from, I knew that my sister’s heart was in the right place. Between being sick and the twins, Sara didn’t have a lot of time left over for Carly. She felt guilty for that. This was her way of making sure Carly had what she needed.

“Look, just meet her. Hang out with her. If you hate her, if she’s wiggida wiggida wiggida wack, I’ll talk to your mom, and you don’t have to see her again.”

Carly’s eyes rolled so far in the back of her head that I wondered if they were going to do a full three-sixty rotation. Most pre-teen eye rolls were probably viewed as negative, but I knew that the gesture meant my niece was relenting; she just wasn’t happy about it.

“Fine.” She dramatically exhaled. “I’ll go. But only if you promise never to say wiggida wiggida wiggida wack again.”

“Not a fan of Kriss Kross?”

“What’s criss cross?”

Kriss Kross was a teen R&B/rap duo that was even before my day, but Lindsay had loved the movieFriends with Benefits, and Justin Timberlake and Mila Kunis had a scene where the song “Jump” was featured. In the scene, Timberlake raps the song and dances around the bed. I used to always do his part whenever it came on. I used to be fun.

“Doesn’t matter.” I held out my pinky to Carly. “I pinky promise those words will never leave my mouth again.”

Reluctantly, she took my offered little finger, even though I could tell she thought she was getting too old for our ritual promise-keeping.

“And you never know—maybe she’ll be dope.” I dipped my spoon in the carton.

“Dope?”

“Yep. Dope.”

“Why do you have to be so cringe?” Carly grabbed her computer and headed off to her room.

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