Lily bounded out of the jetway. I clasped my hands together, not sure how to greet the ten-year-old girl I barely knew. “Hi Aunt Roxana,” she yelled, wrapping her tiny arms around my waist and squeezing tight. People must’ve thought we were quite the pair—me in tailored Gucci, she in her brothers’ hand-me-downs.
With frantic gestures, she described the cottony clouds, miniature houses, and everything else she’d seen on her first flight. “And get this,” she said, “I got ginger ale and pretzels—for free! And it was a whole can of ginger ale, which usually costs fifty cents, which is my whole allowance for a week. And it wasn’t a mistake—I asked the woman twice just to make sure.”
On the drive home, Lily marveled at my automatic windows and electric controls to adjust her seat. She yelled out each landmark we passed. “It’s the Washington Monument!” “Oh my gosh, the White House is over there.” “No way, there’s the Capitol.”
While stifling my laughter, I thought, She’s so precious. So wide-eyed and curious. And excited! The last time I was that enthusiastic about anything was probably when I started at The Washington Post, almost fifteen years earlier.
“I feel like a princess,” cried Lily upon seeing the guestroom in my Georgetown home. Running her hand across the satin duvet cover, she said she’d never slept in such a big bed or had a bedroom to herself. She couldn’t believe the empty closet and dresser were just for her. After thanking me profusely for everything, she asked if she could put her things away.
I poured myself a glass of bourbon because it was almost five pm, and my body was tense all over. I had thought having Lily, my high school friend’s daughter, visit me would be a good thing. It would broaden her world beyond her little house and town in Tennessee. But now I wondered if I’d made a terrible mistake. Was I actually ruining her? Would she look down on her life and herself when she got back home?
For dinner, we went to a restaurant packed with screaming kids, the place my colleague had recommended I take Lily. While studying the germy plastic menu, she asked me what pesto was. And pepper jack cheese. What an avocado tasted like. And how to pronounce q-u-e-s-a-d-i-l-l-a.
When I asked what she planned to order, she said a cup of tomato soup.
“Mmm, sounds good,” I lied. “What else are you going to get?”
“Just that. And a glass of water.”
“Are you sure you don’t want anything else?”
“Oh no, I love tomato soup. I make it sometimes—it’s so easy. You just empty the can into a pot, add one can of water, turn the heat on medium-low, and then stir until it gets hot.”
“Well how about a ginger ale like you had on the plane?”
“No, water is great. That’s all I drink at home.”
I held up my sticky menu by its edges. “There’s nothing else in here you’d like to try? Like maybe something you can’t get at home?”
“No, I just want the soup.” She patted her big nylon purse that looked like it belonged to her mother. “I only have $12.28, and I’m hoping to have some money left over for a souvenir.”
Trying to hide my shock, I said, “I’m sorry, I should’ve explained this earlier. Since your family paid for everything when I visited last year, I’m going to pay for everything on your visit. It’s only fair.”
“But we didn’t take you to an expensive restaurant like this. We just ate at home.”
“I know, but you and your family made me such good food.”
After some cajoling, Lily finally ordered the chicken quesadilla. She turned down my suggestion to add an appetizer because she doubted she could eat everything, which made me realize I’d have to finish my cobb salad.
“Do you have a coupon?” she asked. When I said no, she suggested asking the server if he could apply one to our meal anyway, because that worked once when Lily’s family forgot to bring theirs to a pizza place. She also made sure I knew that some places accept coupons past their expiration date.
I was amazed she wasn’t embarrassed telling me about her family’s coupons. But then my cheeks burned as I recalled my own childhood. My family ate lots of peanut butter sandwiches at the end of the month. We only bought generic brands and clearance-rack clothing despite the fit. None of it was embarrassing back then because it was all I knew.
Yet I hadn’t shopped like that for decades. Didn’t need to. Of course, people often took cost-saving measures simply because they didn’t like wasting money, but I didn’t want to risk anyone looking down on me, which was maybe the same reason I paid exorbitant prices to wear designer clothes and fly first class.
Touring the monuments the next day in the heat, Lily wanted me in every photo so she kept asking strangers to take our picture and surprisingly, they were happy to oblige. When a few chatted her up, she introduced me as “my Aunt Roxana,” a name I loved. Lily stood with her shoulders back for each photo. She also put her arm around my waist, so I put mine around her shoulders, and then we’d say “cheese.”
As we strolled by the Washington Post building, she wanted to know everything about my job. I told her being a journalist wasn’t that interesting, but she insisted it was and asked all about it, like how do you come up with ideas to write about? Do some people not call you back? How amazing is it to see your articles in the paper? Can I read one?
Despite her fascination with journalism, she understood I was tired of my job, because she’d gotten tired of playing soccer. She asked what I wanted to do next. With a shrug, I said I’d probably just keep my job.
“You can’t—you just can’t,” she said with her hands flying around. “You have to do something you love—there’s so many things you can choose from.” She made me come up with something I’d be excited to do. I finally said interior design might be kind of fun. Once she understood what an interior designer did, she told me, “You’d be amazing at that—your house is the most gorgeous house in the entire world.” She then asked how she should rearrange the furniture in the bedroom she shared with her little brother.
For lunch, Lily chose a hole-in-the-wall deli that stunk like tuna. She wanted to try a Reuben, but only if I’d split it with her because she couldn’t eat the whole thing by herself. She closed her eyes as she bit into it. Then cutely oohed and aahed over everything she’d never tasted before—corned beef, sauerkraut, rye bread, “the sauce.”
After getting down a bite of the greasy sandwich, I told her she’d be a fantastic journalist because she’s so inquisitive. Being a journalist would be “awesome,” she said, but it wasn’t what she wanted to do. She wanted to help the poor like Mother Teresa did. But not be a nun because they can’t get married and have kids. She wished she could hide her hair under a habit though. I chuckled because her hair was quite scraggly.
“Do you want to have kids?” she asked, digging a napkin out of the overfilled dispenser on our table.
“I did when I was younger, but my ex-husband didn’t and now I’m too old to have a baby.”
“You could adopt, but I think you could also just have a baby yourself. I know someone whose mom was forty-four when she had her. How old are you? Oh sorry—I’m sorry—my mom told me to never ask adults their age.”
“I’m fine telling you.” I took a sip of diet soda from the can. “I’m just forty, but I’ve decided I’m not going to have any children.”
Lily slowly nodded in acceptance. Then tucked her hair behind her ear, revealing her pretty face. Big hazel eyes framed by long lashes. Smooth skin with a splatter of freckles. Full lips.
“You’re very pretty,” I told her.
She looked down.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I just wanted to make sure you knew that you’re pretty.”
“Oh… thanks.” Lily untucked her hair so it was covering half her face again.
“While you’re here, I could take you to my salon if you’d like. They could give you any hairstyle you want. You could even point to someone’s hair in a magazine for them to replicate.”
“Thanks,” she said, glancing up at me, “but I like my hair the way it is.”
“Of course you do. It’s so nice and long. I just brought up the salon because you mentioned wanting to hide your hair under a habit.”
Lily didn’t say anything back and was pretty quiet for the rest of our lunch. With a lump in my throat, I considered how stupid I was to think I was qualified to spend time with a child. I hated having made Lily feel uncomfortable and bad about her hair. At this point, I just hoped the visit was doing her more good than harm. Thankfully, she was back to her talkative self by dinner time.
The next morning, Lily liked my idea of painting our toenails. Although I would’ve loved to have brought her to my nail salon for some real pampering, I figured she’d feel more comfortable at the no-nonsense one in the strip mall.
On the drive over, she was biting her fingernails, something I hadn’t seen her do before. “I thought we were going to paint them ourselves,” she mumbled as I parked. “I’m sure no one wants to paint my toenails.”
I did my best to assure her that everyone at the salon would be happy to do it—it’s their job. I also mentioned how my colleague’s daughter loved getting her nails done at a salon with some friends for her tenth birthday.
Inhaling the fumes of cheap nail polish, we selected our colors from the racks. Lily dismissed my suggestion to go bolder like my deep plum, choosing a pale pink that was practically her natural nail color. An older woman with “Sunny” on her nametag seated us next to each other in the only empty seats. I showed Lily her chair’s massage and reclining options, but oddly she didn’t use them.
Sunny began filling our foot tubs with water. “Sorry but I don’t need that,” Lily said. “I’m just getting my toenails painted.”
“We soak everyone’s feet first,” Sunny explained. “It helps get off all the grime and dead skin.”
“It’ll feel nice,” I told Lily who looked skeptical. “You’ll like it. It’s called a pedicure.”
After guiding Lily’s feet into the tub, Sunny pointed to a young woman with blue hair who was maneuvering freshly-painted toes into flipflops. “Brynn will be right over to take care of you, honey,” she told Lily before turning off my lukewarm water and informing me she’d be back.
Lily chewed on her pinky nail as she sunk deeper into her chair. My efforts to start a conversation about the elevator music went nowhere, so I reclined back. The roller dug into my back—the chair had no padding. Despite telling myself Lily would enjoy the pedicure, the pit in my stomach remained.
“Hey,” said Brynn as she glanced at Lily’s feet. Shaking her head, she turned to me. “Mom, how long has it been since you cut her nails?”
Lily shot up in her seat. “She’s not my mom. She’s my aunt.”
“Got it,” said Brynn before turning back to me. “Auntie, I’m afraid I’m gonna have to declaw your niece.”
Lily pulled her feet out of the tub, dripping water everywhere and apologizing. Brynn shooed her away from trying to wipe up the water. Sitting back down, Lily said, “I can’t believe I did that—I’m so sorry. I just didn’t want my nails cut. I shouldn’t have done that though. I’m—”
“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “It’s no big deal.” When Brynn had gotten all the water up, I told her to keep our nails the length they were.
“Okay,” she said, putting Lily’s feet back in the tub, “but that’s going to make it really hard to dig the dirt out from under those suckers.”
“I don’t want to do this,” cried Lily, yanking her feet out again. “I’m really sorry, but I just don’t want to do this.” She looked at me with tear-filled eyes. “I’ll just wait until you’re done.” Before I could respond, she grabbed her socks and shoes and ran to a plastic chair by the door, leaving a trail of wet footprints behind.
With the whole salon watching, I blinked back tears as I asked Brynn to dry my feet. I apologized—though the woman was partially to blame—and insisted on paying for the pedicures.
Lily was hunched over biting her thumbnail as I approached her chair. “Alrighty then,” I said, trying to sound chipper, “let’s get out of here.”
She looked up. “Oh no, you should get your nails done. I’m happy to wait. I’m really sorry I—”
“You have nothing to apologize for.” I sat beside her. “I shouldn’t have brought you here.” Leaning in, I whispered, “This place is terrible.”
“No, it’s a really nice place. I just didn’t want my toenails cut because I like having them long. And I really don’t think that lady wanted to clean my nails.”
“She would’ve been happy to do it,” I said despite Lily knowing it wasn’t true.
“Can I call my mom?”
When we got home, my heart ached as I heard Lily’s sobs through the door. She must’ve been telling her mother how awful I’d been making her feel. Bringing her to get her nails cleaned. Suggesting a haircut. Asking if she knew she was pretty. What’s wrong with me? I wondered. Why can’t I just let her be? She’s a kid, and she’s fine with the way she is.
Lily came out with puffy eyes and said her mom wanted to talk to me. “I’m so sorry,” I told her mother. “I’m doing everything wrong—I feel awful that she isn’t having a good time—I understand if she wants to go home early. I can—”
“Roxana,” she interrupted me, “she doesn’t want to go home early. She’s having a wonderful time. She was just feeling a little homesick. It’s her first time away from home so a lot of things are new to her. But trust me, she’s having a wonderful time.”
Though that made me feel somewhat better, I decided that the next day I’d have Lily hang out with someone her own age, my friend’s daughter Isabel. She’d have a much better idea of what a ten-year-old girl would like to do.
Lily came flying down the stairs the next morning. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, showing off her entire face for the first time. Even with her crooked teeth, she was a beautiful girl.
When Isabel and her mom came to pick her up, Lily said “hi” in a tiny voice I didn’t recognize. She stared at the floor, biting her nails. I swallowed hard as she skulked out the door with her brothers’ hand-me-downs hanging off her frame, her cheap purse slipping down her slumped shoulder. In front of her strode Isabel, tall and proud. Her outfit was adorable: pleated miniskirt and ruffly pink shirt with silver sequins spelling out “Girl time!”
As I drank two bourbons, I forced myself to think back to college, how everyone had more and nicer clothes than I did. They had money for restaurants, shopping, movies, bowling, a million other things. If I had to go to a friend’s birthday dinner, I ordered the cheapest thing and prayed we wouldn’t split the bill evenly. Every spring break, I worked in the admissions office while my friends flew home or went to Florida, Mexico, even Europe. I couldn’t wait to build a life for myself where people didn’t look down on me for being poor.
Lily’s hair was back in her face when she returned. While carefully removing her beat-up sneakers in the foyer, she told me they went to the mall and Isabel bought some clothes. “Oh I’m sorry,” I said with my hand on my heart, “I didn’t realize you were going shopping. I would’ve given you spending money if I’d known.”
“I had my own money.” She pointed to her purse. “Thanks a lot for setting that up. Isabel is a really nice person. Yeah, she was really nice to me.”
Hoping I wouldn’t be making things worse, I said, “Lily, you know it doesn’t matter how much money people have, right? Having more money doesn’t make anyone better than anyone else. What matters is what’s on the inside.”
“I know,” she said softly before going back to chewing her nails.
For the last full day, we decided to stay home. Lily taught me card games she always won because they were all about speed. We watched the silliest sit-com, laughing until our stomachs hurt. It was a show her friends liked that she hadn’t seen before because it was on cable. All through lunch, we giggled as I pretended to be a famous food critic who’d never tasted anything better than Lily’s peanut butter and banana sandwiches, which were actually quite good.
“Would it be possible for me to see your room?” she asked after lunch. In my walk-in closet, Lily brushed her fingers along the rows of my dry-cleaned suits and dresses. No one she knew had so much clothing and jewelry, she said. She didn’t want to try on anything but was delighted when I asked her to pick out an outfit for me. She chose the few bright items I owned: a yellow-striped dress, red boots, chartreuse scarf, and necklace with colorful beads.
She couldn’t believe I wanted to go out to show off my outfit. The ice cream place I picked was outside my neighborhood because it was quite an outfit. Nonetheless, a friend was getting rung up when we arrived. From my hiding place in the corner, I saw her give a condescending smile to Lily in her raggedy clothes. I hated my friend for doing that. And I hated myself for knowing that despite my upbringing, I would’ve done the same if I hadn’t known the girl.
I wept for days after Lily left. I cried because I missed her. I cried because I worried I’d damaged her beautiful soul. I also hated knowing some people looked down on her just because she was poor, just like people did with me as a kid. What must my teachers have thought when my parents asked them to wait until the first of the month to cash their check for a field trip? Our distant relatives had to have pitied us for spending vacations at their homes because we couldn’t afford a hotel or meals out. I also cried because I’d spent years judging people based on material wealth. I hated who I’d become.
Over the years that followed, I got updates about Lily from her mother. She’d gone on to do quite well—went to top schools, became a pediatrician in Boston, got married and had children. But I always wondered how she felt about herself. It pained me to think I might’ve permanently damaged her self-esteem.
Then just last week, I saw Lily for the first time in thirty years. It was at her mother’s celebration of life in a community center in Tennessee. She looked fantastic in a royal blue chiffon dress, her hair swept back in an elegant updo. She carried herself with confidence and grace. Without notes, she delivered a moving tribute about always looking up to her mother.
After the event ended, I approached Lily though I figured she wouldn’t remember me. Her face lit up. “Aunt Roxana!” She pulled me in for a hug. “I can’t believe you came.”
“Of course I did. Your mother was such a dear friend of mine. I’m heartsick that she’s gone.”
Lily nodded solemnly before brightening up. “Although it’s under such sad circumstances, it’s wonderful to see you again. You know, visiting you was the highlight of my childhood.”
“Seeing D.C. for the first time is pretty magical.”
“D.C. had nothing to do with it,” said Lily with a laugh. “It was all you. I still can’t believe you took an entire week out of your life to spend time with this little girl from the boonies. But believe me, it made a huge difference. Like whenever I felt that I didn’t belong in college freshman year, I would tell myself, ‘Hey, a journalist from The Washington Post thought you were worthy enough to spend a week with.’ I don’t know what you were thinking, but thank you so much for doing that.”
Lily started to slump. “It makes me cringe to think of the things I must’ve said and done on that visit. And goodness knows what I wore—I was such a ragamuffin. You must’ve been so happy to get me back on that plane.”
“You were perfect,” I said. “I loved spending those days with you. You have absolutely no reason to be embarrassed about that trip or anything else from your childhood.”
“Thank you, I… I appreciate you saying that.” Lily wiped a tear from her eye. “Sorry, I’m just so emotional because of my mom. But uh, how are you—how have you been?” Gesturing to me, she added, “I love your outfit, by the way.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I’m doing well. You and your visit actually helped me really turn my life around.”
“Oh please,” said Lily, shaking her head. “I seriously doubt I played any role.”
“You really did, though. I was at a low point when you visited and your positive energy rubbed off on me. I ended up leaving journalism, which I should’ve done years before. I moved to Sedona and started a little interior design business and began volunteering a bunch in my community. And it really was all because of you.”
“Well I’m so glad you’re doing well. I would love to keep talking, but I’ve got to catch my uncle before he leaves.” She waved to an older man by the door. “Is there any chance we could meet up later this weekend? Or talk by phone some time?”
“I’d love that,” I said. We exchanged numbers. And after a big hug, I strode off in my red boots and yellow-striped dress.
