Perfect Girl - Weebly

“A Cosmopolitan, please,” Aunt Marty murmurs to the
dark-haired waiter as he tucks us into a corner booth.
“Make that two,” I say, flipping my hair. Whatever a
Cosmopolitan is. It just sounds so . . . so . . . cosmopolitan,
which is what I need—some city chic to counteract my terminal
country-bumpkiness.
Aunt Marty grins and says, “Three virgin Cosmos,
please. And one with a bit more experience.”
The waiter nods and leaves.
We open our menus and disappear behind them.
Everything is in French.
“The haricots verts sound fabulous, don’t they, Martine?”
Celeste says, trying to appear older than she is.
Aunt Marty smiles. “Yes, I love green beans.”
“I bet this sea bass with beurre meunière is scrumptious,”
Frankie says.
“Bear manure?” I quip. “Merveilleux!”
We all crack up, elbow each other in the ribs, throw our
heads back against the black leather of the booth. I run my
fingers lightly down my neck the way I’d seen Aunt Marty
once do.
“On Henry’s orders, I’m having the salmon almondine.
Appetizer size. But have anything your hearts desire,” Aunt
Marty says airily.
At the mention of my heart’s desire, I flash on Perry
Gould. But, just as quickly, I recover. “The salmon sounds
119