Page 118 of Meet Me in the Valley
Oh, to be twelve again.
I glance down at my sad little salmon salad and immediately wish it had more grease and fewer vegetables.
Raising a hand, I flag down Mrs. Dickson, who makes her way over with the same stiff-legged shuffle I remember from high school, like her underwear is always riding a little too high.
“What is it, honey?” she drawls.
“Can we get a basket of fries for the table, please?”
“Sure thing.”
Cali pushes her plate toward me without missing a beat. “You can have some of mine, Aunt—wait. What do you want me to call you?”
Nora shakes her head, amused, and I catch the warm flicker in her eyes as she watches her daughter. There’s something so natural in the way they move together, like a rhythm only they know.
In Vegas, everything was tense and raw. I wasn’t able to witness their dynamic the way I can now. Now, I can actuallyseethe love between them. It’s loud in the quietest ways.
Cali may be a full-blown preteen—quirky, sassy, occasionally feral—but her heart? That belongs to her mom. It’s clear that Nora knows exactly how lucky she is.
I steal a fry from Cali’s plate, dunk it into a glob of ketchup, and take a thoughtful bite as I mull over the list of names she rattled off.
This might be the most important title I’ve ever had.
Not lead interior designer. Not dutiful daughter. Not even best friend.
ButCali’s aunt.
“I think I like TT,” I say, chewing slowly as I smile at her. “I don’t know why, but it’s the one that’s speaking to me the most. What do you think?”
Cali slides her plate back in front of her, gives me a serious little nod, and points a finger gun in my direction. It’s ridiculously cute.
“TT it is,” she declares.
And just like that, I’m officially someone’s TT.
Mrs. Dickson drops off the fries with a wink, and for the rest of dinner, the conversation orbits entirely around Cali.
Within the hour, I’ve come to one undeniable conclusion.
I’ve got the coolest niece on the planet.
She’s got this wild independence that’s so distinctly Nora, it’s almost eerie. The way she talks with her hands, the fire in her opinions, the confidence in her posture—it’s like watching a miniature version of my sister in real time.
And yet, there’s something else. Something all her own.
Cali’s sharp. Witty in a way where she doesn’t even know she’s being funny, but somehow always lands the punch line. A few times I’ve nearly snorted water through my nose at her perfect delivery.
She’ll passionately explain the intricacies of photography and the way she sees the world through a camera lens. She dips her fries into her milkshake without hesitation, like she trusts her instincts implicitly.
There’s a lightness to her—playful, curious, weird in the best way. That’s the part that doesn’t come from me or Nora. It’s just soCali.
I’m in awe of her.
She’s chaos and charm, depth and delight—wrapped in Converse high-tops and graphic t-shirts with weird slogans that make you look twice then burst out laughing.
And I’ve already fallen completely in love with her.
“Mom, can I have some quarters for the arcade?” Cali asks, palm outstretched toward Nora before she can even answer.
