“Oh my god, is that my little Lory?” my aunt Sara bawled the second I got into the doorway. She wrapped her long arms around me and gave me one of her world famous warm hugs.

She grabbed a lock of my hair between her thin fingers. “Look at you, sweetie. You look so gorgeous.”

I pulled my hair behind my ear, a nervous tic, and felt my cheeks turn rosy. “You’re not just saying that, right?”

She shook her head, keeping her eye at my new lip stud. “You look like a Pink Star and I’m even digging the …” she pointed at her lip. “I know you’ve wanted that since middle school, but you were too young and I am pretty sure your mother would have killed me.”

“Yeah, I know,” I smiled at Sara who was always so open-minded. I loved that about her.

“Wait, so did you get Sardine?” her eyes sparked open wide.

I lifted my sleeve and revealed Sardine. Her tears bundled up in her eyes as she tried to put on a smile. She lightly picked up my arm and petted the tattoo like Sardine was still alive.

“Your parents would have loved this. Kimmy would have loved this,” her voice broke, tears falling down her cheek along with her makeup.

Even after ten years, Sara still missed her best friend and I can’t blame her. They had been best friends since they were born and once they got married to the Scarner brothers, they were sisters-in-law. I wanted to cry with my aunt but I knew that if I did, I would have never stopped.

“Mal!” I heard a booming voice creak behind the kitchen wall that instantly brought me happiness.

“Lory!” my aunt followed up in a quiet voice to continue their old two nickname tradition train.

“There’s my little angel,” he wrapped his warm arms around me, tightly, and lifted me off the ground. “I missed you so much. Why don’t you ever visit your favorite uncle anymore?”

“You’re my only uncle,” I mumbled, my face and body smashed against his large, squishy body.

My aunt and uncle looked like the kind of couple you saw in a cartoon. Sara was tall and thin like a pole, and Bruce was short and wide, who on the holidays made a very convincing Santa Claus. They were Santa Claus and the North Pole, but they hated it when I called them that. In my defense, I was about seven when I gave them the nicknames.

My uncle dropped me and watched my face carefully with a giant smile, displaying all of his white teeth.

“There’s something different about you,” he pinched one of his chins.

“I’m using a different brand of toothpaste,” my voice was dry and dusty.

He gave me a stern face like I had just offended him, but started to wheeze with laughter. It wasn't before long until his face turned red as he bounced with his booming laugh. He was one of the rare people who honestly enjoyed my dry sense of humor. Or lack of humor.

“I missed you so much. By the way, we already talked to Birdie, and you are staying here,” his fatherly voice took over his jolly laugh.

“What do you mean?” I squinted toward my aunt whose mouth was already open ready to explain.

“Birdie told us this morning you have been staying at their place for the past few months since you broke up with Paul, which. You. Forgot. To. Mention,” my aunt broke up the words. This was her way of telling me she was mad, without her yelling at me.

“We thought it would only be fair for you to stay here with your family,” my aunt crossed her arms so tight I thought she might snap them.

I let out a heavy sigh, cursing Birdie under my breath. She had always been like this, even when we were kids. She always felt like she had to be my voice when it came to my aunt and uncle since I was too prideful (or too stubborn if you asked Birdie) to ask for their help.

“Don’t get angry, please. I was just busy with everything since I graduated. And —”

“You could have told us that you were having trouble with your living situation at your graduation dinner. Two months ago …” Uncle Bruce copied his wife and crossed his arms over his belly.

I dropped my chin and looked at them with wide eyes. I hated when they were disappointed with me, so I would just come clean.

“Guessing you also know I quit my job and have been freelancing the past few months too?”

They nodded with the same tempo.

“I’m sorry. I should have told you earlier,” I mumbled, feeling the guilt eat me up.

“Damn straight,” my uncle’s voice echoed through his excessively large house. “Go to your room and get ready for my party.” He let a smile escape his face even though he was still frustrated with me.

They had a right to be angry since I rarely visited them when I went away to college, which was only about forty minutes away. I was always too busy with classes and internships, but mostly too busy trying to please the asshole I was dating at the time to even visit my aunt and uncle, the only family members I had left. But that the same time, I didn’t want to bother them; they have already done so much for me since my parents passed away.

I walked up the never-ending flight of stairs and headed all the way down the hall toward my old bedroom, which was partially its own little island. It was exactly the same as when I last saw it a few months back at Christmas. My bedroom was the size of, if not bigger than, Birdie’s and Klaudia’s one bedroom apartment. The walls were still the same off-white shade and my light oak wooden floor was still covered by the same old fluffy pink rug I had since I first moved here. I still didn’t have the guts to tell Sara or Bruce: I hated that stupid hot pink furry rug.

I headed toward my bed and plopped down on the round mattress. The smell of fresh apples and nature hit me when I landed, almost melting into the bed. I tumbled over on my back and looked at the ceiling that was just gathered fabric draped around my bed. My bed always made me feel royal or like a Disney Princess, and I loved every second of it. It was the only thing that made me love being spoiled. Other than that, I could live without the high-end clothes I never wore and the large extravagant mansion.

My eyes wandered along my long desk and posters hanging right above. Most of the posters were typography posters I loved or looked at for inspiration. In the corner of my eye, I saw my parents.

I leaped out of my bed and grabbed the photograph off my desk. I felt my throat tighten as I held back my tears. I almost had forgotten what they looked like, what they sounded like. I ran my eyes down my mom’s long dark purple hair against her fair skin and my dad’s clean-shaved head, making sure he showed off as much as his perfect olive skin as he could. They looked so different, but they worked.

A static buzz filled my thoughts.

“The guests are coming in an hour. Make sure you are ready. Over,” I heard Bruce’s muffled voice over the intercom.

“I’ll be ready. Over.”