Sophia pokes me from her spot on the couch. I saw that coming. “You did.” I try to sound begrudging. The smile I haven’t been able to wipe off my face gives me away. “So, Starbucks tonight? That’s sort of your style, right? Low-key and meaningful?” “I’ve never been on a date, so I’m not sure if I have a style yet.” Are dating styles like clothes? If I like a classy, elegant look, does it mean I’m only ever going to go to theater shows and eat dinner at places like Zola’s? I don’t like that, I decide, as I vow to be more adventurous. Besides, isn’t a date with James adventurous in and of itself? “My baby girl is growing up.” She pretends to wipe a tear from her eye. “Oh, shut up.” I roll mine at her melodrama and go get dressed. My color-coordinated tops look like a rainbow mess on the hangers in my closet.
