Carla is my mom’s younger sister. She smells like vanilla and fresh-cut grass. We mostly text on birthdays, never about prom.

Half in pajamas, I hurried downstairs. “What are you doing here?”

She grinned. “I heard someone needed saving.”

“Aunt Carla, you didn’t have to—”

She opened the car door. “You can yell at me later. Right now, three stops: coffee, magic, and payback. Get ready.”

Stop one: a strip mall café. She handed me a cup. “Decaf latte. Your mom always pretended she liked black coffee, but she didn’t. Said decaf made her feel like a lady. Don’t ask me why.”

My throat tightened. “How did you—?”

She shrugged. “Your dad texted me last night. A photo of you on the couch looking like Christmas got canceled. I asked questions. He answered some. I asked better questions. He answered the rest.”

My eyes burned. “He shouldn’t have—”