Page 9 of Promise Me Sunshine

I almost justify myself:Reese and I agreed that I can eat whatever I want while I’m here, okay? It’s customary to feed your babysitter when she’s working all day, okay?But I choose to let him stew in his ridiculous judgments instead, getting the coffee percolating in less than forty seconds and then stepping back into the living room.

As soon as Ainsley spots me I put my hands on my hips and affect a hard-line expression. “I’m here to take some tickets.”

There’re scraps of paper strewn in a wide arc. She’s onher knees, bouncing on her butt she’s so excited. “Check the tickets!”

At first I think she’s just excited to show me the tickets she carefully cut out for each stuffie. But then I realize her excitement is actually because she’s only distributed tickets to half the stuffies. She wants me to give the other half the boot. I gleefully roust the ticketless stuffies, kicking them across the room and making Ainsley scream with laughter. She does a few herself and then decides she’s too hungry to go on. We leave the mess behind and head into the kitchen.

Miles is posted at the other end of the table with a frown and a cup of coffee. My stomach sinks. Apparently he intends to have a front-row seat to everything Ainsley and Ido.

An idea occurs.

“Hey.”

Ainsley turns to look at me as she gulps orange juice with two hands.

“Should we be super fancy today?” I ask her.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ll show you after breakfast.”

We finish eating (I have to choke mine down—not my choice of textures; good thing I only gave myself a quarter portion) and bring her stuffies back to her room in armfuls. I flip open the dress-up bin I’d noticed the day before. It’s even better stocked than I’d hoped for.

“See, we have a lot of things to do today,” I explain to her. “Museums. Lunch at the teahouse. A matinee show.”

“Wait. Really?”

Reese left me a credit card and told me to show Ainsley a good time, so I’m taking her at her word. Besides, I have one very good reason to get us the heck out of the house today.

“Yes. But the problem is, these are very, very fancylocales. And we can’t just wear jeans and T-shirts.” I gesture to my sad apparel. (The same jeans from yesterday, a T-shirt boasting that I was a member of a walkathon in 2006, and a Big Bird sweatshirt tied around my waist.) “We need to dress the part.” I gesture to her dress-up stuff and she gets a gleam in her eye.

“Let me change out of my pajamas!”

While she’s doing that, I text Reese and explain my plan and get an immediate thumbs-up. I buy tickets for MoMA. The Met is probably a fancier profile, but I haven’t been there since—no, not thinking about that right now.

I quickly make a lunch reservation for the teahouse. Last but not least, I try to figure out last-minute tickets to a Broadway show, but no dice. So I settle for a matinee movie.

Ainsley comes out of the bathroom in an oversized Billy Joel T-shirt and shorts.

I clap my hands together. “Let’s get fancy.”

Chapter Three

That’s how I spend my day in a princess tiara and a tutu Velcroed over my jeans. I’ve got gobs of fake pearls around my neck and a plastic gem on every finger. To my delight, Ainsley opted for a top hat and waistcoat (both way too big for her) and also has enormous jewels on her hands. We swan around MOMA and practice saying things to one another like “Positively smashing, darling.”

We watch a Pixar sequel and get hot dogs from a nearby stand for an afternoon snack.

Then, of course, we have to return to the land of Miles.

Ainsley is exhausted by the time we pile through the door, so I help her out of her dress-up stuff and she collapses on the couch for some videogame time while I make dinner.

Miles is reading the newspaper at the table, though now there’s a can of Coke in place of a coffee cup in front of him. He surveys me when I come into the kitchen. “You went out in public like that?”

“Yes. Is that a problem for you?”

“No.”

“Oh, it’s such a crime to make a kid’s day, huh?”

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