Today is Friday, and it is the last day I will be eleven years old.

Mom and I have been invited to lunch with Nana. We do this sometimes, have Girls’ Lunches. Only today Adam will be there too. I don’t mind going to Nana’s for a Girls’ Lunch nearly as much as I mind having Nana to lunch at our house. When Nana gives a Girls’ Lunch she is in control, and when Nana is in control, she’s happy.

At a Girls’ Lunch we eat in Nana’s dining room, and Ermaline serves us teeny sandwiches with no crust on the bread, and little individual plates of fruit and cheese, and then we have tea and cookies for dessert. Ermaline stays in the kitchen unless Nana calls her by stepping on the hidden buzzer. I would dearly love to press that buzzer, but it is strictly forbidden for anyone except Nana to press it. Mom says it has always been that way. Nana is the queen.

Mom fusses and fumes before every single Girls’ Lunch. She says what a pain it is to have to take off her work clothes in the middle of the day, but I notice that she spends practically forever in front of the mirror, adjusting her clothes and jewelry, dabbing perfume behind her ears. She is not doing this just to please Nana. I think that secretly she loves an excuse, any excuse, to be Nana’s princess.

Later, as Mom and I walk along Grant Street, Mom says, “You look lovely, Hattie.” Her earlier grumbling about the Girls’ Lunch is over. “I can’t believe you’re almost twelve years old. Just think. This time twelve years ago, nineteen forty-eight, they said a hurricane was coming, but instead you arrived.”

I smile. Then I say, “Mom? How come you and Dad never had any other kids?”

“My goodness,” says Mom. “Where did that question come from?”

I shrug.

“Well …” Mom’s smile has faded. She clears her throat. “I don’t know. I guess it was just that you came along and you were perfect. So we decided to quit while we were ahead.”

It is on the tip of my tongue to say, “You mean to quit before you had a kid like Adam?” but the words will not come.

I think I have ruined something, because Mom and I walk the rest of the way in absolute silence. I hope that Ermaline and the no-crust sandwiches and tea and cookies will restore Mom’s mood.

Adam greets us at Nana’s, wearing a suit and tie.

“Welcome, welcome, Hattie and Dorothy!” he exclaims. “Dorothy, go right on in.” He gives Mom a little shove through the front door, then grabs my wrist and whispers to me, “It’s a good thing your party is this afternoon, Hattie. Ermaline fixed ladies’ food, which wouldn’t fill a canary, wouldn’t fill half a canary, wouldn’t fill a full canary. But don’t worry because we can eat at Fred Carmel’s. Leila and I have everything planned, don’t you worry, don’t you worry for one second.”

I am not worried, but I whisper thank you to Adam, and we head inside. My stomach flutters when I see Nana. She is wearing a much fancier outfit than she would ordinarily wear to a Girls’ Lunch, which means that she is already dressed to be a chaperone at the cotillion. She eyes my own nice but definitely not cotilliony dress, but says nothing. Instead, she ushers us into the dining room. The enormous table is set for four — Nana at the end, Adam to her right, Mom to her left, and me next to Mom. More than half the table is empty.

We have no sooner sat down than Nana says, “Well, Hattie, I hope you are going to enjoy your birthday party this afternoon.” Adam and I glance at each other. “It sounds like fun,” she continues. No part of her is smiling. “All right. If we’re ready to eat, I’ll ring Ermaline.”

I see Adam lunge to his left then, and I know exactly what he has done. He has done what I have wanted to do my whole life. He has stepped on Nana’s buzzer.

“Adam!” says Nana.

I see Adam lunge three more times, which explains why Ermaline comes flying into the dining room, looking alarmed. “Ma’am?” she says to Nana.

“Ermaline, I’m sorry. That was an accident.”

Ermaline hesitates. “Are you ready to be served?”

Nana casts a glance at Adam. “I’m not sure Adam is. Adam, are you going to be able to eat with us in the dining room, or do you need to eat in the kitchen?”

Adam’s face reddens. I think my face is reddening too. I know how tempting that buzzer is.

Adam faces Nana. “Are you going to be able to eat with us in the dining room, or do you need to eat in the kitchen?” he says.

“Adam,” says Nana.

“Adam,” says Adam.

“Not one more word.”

“Not one more word.”

Nana is old. And she is little. I bet I weigh more than she does. But she has a loud voice. Nana stands up now and uses it. She glares at Adam, then points at the door to the dining room. “Out!” she says, as if Adam is a dog. “Out!”

“Mother —” says Mom, but I don’t find out what she was going to say, because Nana silences her with a single sidelong glance.

Adam is out the door in two seconds, and I know better than to leave the table and go after him. I don’t see him again until lunch is over. Mom and Nana are chatting in the foyer, and I go looking for Adam and find him in the sitting room.

At first he won’t talk to me.

“Did you eat anything?” I ask him.

Adam has turned one of the armchairs so that it faces outside, and he is staring into the garden.

“Did Ermaline give you lunch?” I say.

Nothing.

“We can have the party another day,” I say finally.

Adam is silent for so long that I think he is not going to answer me. I am pretty sure we won’t have the party after all, and I am starting to wonder if now I will have to go to the cotillion, when Adam says, “The party is still on, Hattie. Come back at three-fifteen.” The way he says this, it is the first time I have felt that Adam is actually older than I am, and I remember that he is my uncle, and not just my friend.

“Okay,” I say.

I don’t know what to expect when I go back to Nana’s at three-fifteen. For all I know, Adam is being punished, and Nana will grab me, send me home to change, and make me go to the cotillion with her.

But Adam greets me at the door and, as Cookie would say, he looks fresh as a daisy. Fresh as a very strange daisy, though. He has taken a shower and washed his hair, which is now carefully parted along the middle, and all greased down. He is wearing plaid shorts, a tailored white shirt with every single button buttoned, and a red and green bow tie. Also, he is wearing loafers without socks.

“Hattie, Hattie, Hattie, my old friend. Hattie, the birthday girl. Girl who can lift the corners of our universe, girl who is a sight for sore eyes, girl who is eleven almost twelve years old, girl who is about to have her first birthday party with friends, girl —”

“Adam!” I hear Nana call.

“Good-bye!” shouts Adam, and slams the door behind him. “We’re off,” he says to me.

Adam is clutching a brown paper bag. He takes my hand and heads for the carnival at a pace so brisk, I have to run to keep up with him. I feel like a kid holding her father’s hand and trying to match the stride of his long legs. Adam whistles the theme from I Love Lucy as we hurry along. Eventually, he begins to sing. “I love Lucy and she loves me. We’re as happy as two can be!”

I am out of breath by the time we reach Fred Carmel’s. I look at my watch. Right on time. And Leila is waiting for us at the main entrance.

“Happy birthday, Hattie!” she calls.

“It isn’t her birthday, not really, you know,” says Adam. “Not until tomorrow, the sixteenth, Saturday, the sixteenth of July, although Hattie was born on a Friday.”

“Well, happy birthday a little early then,” says Leila.

“Let the birthday fun begin!” cries Adam.

“Yeah, it’s your special day, Hattie,” says Leila. “Anything you want all afternoon is free — rides, food, games, anything.”

“Wow,” I say. I’ve gotten free stuff at the carnival before, but I try to keep it under control.

“What do you want to do first, Hattie Owen?” asks Adam, who is jumping up and down.

“Rides,” I say. “Rides first.”

Adam lands on the ground and stays there. “Rides,” he repeats, and he lets out his breath. “All right.”

I know rides are not Adam’s favorite thing, but I just have to go on a few this afternoon. This is too good to miss.

Leila and I start with the merry-go-round. Adam sits on a bench and watches us. Then we head for the Tilt-A-Whirl, which nearly makes me sick but is still exciting. Adam sits on another bench. When Leila and I climb into a car on the Ferris wheel, Adam stands below us, just behind the ticket booth, and watches. From high above him I can see his head slowly following our progress, around and around.

“Now what?” says Leila when we step out of our car a few minutes later.

“Could we get ice cream?” I ask her. I don’t want to take advantage.

“Sure, sure,” Adam answers. “Ice cream all around, I scream you scream, we all scream for ice cream! … Leila, Leila, come here.”

Adam whispers something in Leila’s ear, and Leila nods her head. “Okay,” she says. “Get the ice cream and go sit over there. I’ll be right back.”

When Adam and I have gotten three cups of vanilla ice cream, we sit at a picnic table.

“What are we waiting for?” I ask Adam.

“You’ll see,” he says. And the next thing I know, he is singing, “Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you!”

His voice is joined by Leila’s, and she appears carrying a small cake with four candles, their flames trailing to the side in the hot breeze.

“Happy birthday, dear Hattie!” sing Adam and Leila. “Happy birthday to you!”

Leila has made the cake herself. She says it is her birthday present to me. Then Adam hands me the paper bag. “And this is mine,” he says.

I open the bag and pull out a tiny wooden box.

“I made that myself,” says Adam.

“Really?” The box is exquisite. On the lid is a round knob. I lift it and look inside. Polished wood. Smooth.

“You can put it in your pocket and keep your loose change in it,” says Adam. “I made it at my school, my old school, I won’t be going back there, you know.”

“Adam, it’s beautiful,” I say. I want to hug him, but Adam is in a state of high excitement, jiggling and bouncing in his seat. So I reach across the table and hold his hand.

The rest of the party is perfect. We eat candy apples and then play games, and Adam finally wins a stuffed animal prize. He chooses a small blue tiger, and it makes him so happy that he jumps up and down in ecstasy, wringing his hands and singing, “I am Lily of the Valley! I am Lily of the Valley!” which I suspect is from a Lucy show. Later, he loses the tiger but doesn’t care at all. He just wanted to win it in the first place.

When we are walking home, I tell Adam this was the best birthday party I ever had.

“I love Lucy and she loves me!” sings Adam.

The wooden box is in my pocket, and I think how nice it will be always to have a reminder of Adam with me.