Aunt Kia Lithany

Martha paced back and forth in her living room, her phone clutched tightly in her hand. "Monica, where are you? I’m about to lose it!" she snapped, her impatience bubbling over.

“Calm down, Martha,” Monica’s voice crackled on the other end. “I’m almost there, like five minutes. Just hold your horses.”

“I don’t have any horses!” Martha shot back. “And you better hurry up, or I’m going to explode. Kia Lithany is going to be at the mall, and I cannot waste another minute in this house. I have been dying to see the famous fashion designer up close. This is a *once in a lifetime* thing!”

“Turn around,” came Monica’s cool reply.

Martha spun on her heel and almost dropped her phone. “You’re here! Finally!” she cried, pulling Monica into a hug before practically shoving her into the backseat of her brand-new car. “Let’s go, let’s go!”

The driver, ever patient, started the engine and pulled away. “Do you think the driver can just stop in the middle of the road and say, ‘Sorry girls, I can’t drive today’? No, Martha, we’re good. Relax,” Monica teased.

---

When they reached the mall, Martha’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “Look at the decorations, Monica!” she gushed, her whole body practically vibrating with energy. Monica couldn’t help but get caught up in the excitement too.

The mall was a riot of colors, with elegant streamers and banners proclaiming, *“Welcome, Kia Lithany!”*

Just as they were about to enter the store, a voice over the loudspeaker announced, "Attention everyone! Mrs. Kia Lithany will be two hours late. Please feel free to shop for your favorite items, and don't forget—you can get her autograph when she arrives!"

Both Martha and Monica’s faces lit up. “She’s signing autographs?!” they squealed in unison, practically bouncing on their toes.

Martha grabbed Monica’s hand. “Come on, let’s go pick out some dresses and accessories!” she said, already dragging her friend toward the racks. But Monica, ever the practical one, pulled her back.

“Wait a minute. We need to buy something for her to sign!”

Martha stopped in her tracks, looking puzzled. “Uh, what?”

Monica rolled her eyes. “Hello, where do you think she’s going to sign? Your *forehead*?”

Martha blinked, then smacked her forehead. “Right! Good thinking, Monica. Let’s grab some autograph cards first. But ugh… I have to face my greatest enemy.”

Monica raised an eyebrow. “What enemy?”

Martha pointed dramatically toward the stairs. “*Those.*”

Monica burst out laughing. “You’re seriously calling stairs your enemy? It’s just one flight, Martha. We’ve got this.”

Martha pouted. “Yeah, well, elevators aren’t a thing yet, and I’m not exactly thrilled about it. But I’ll survive... maybe.”

---

As they trudged up the stairs, Martha couldn’t help but grumble. “You know, it’s times like these that I remember why I hate being rich.”

Monica laughed again. “Really? You hate being rich? Since when?”

“I mean, we have to suffer for luxury, don’t we?” Martha sighed dramatically. “Look at this place—everything’s so fancy, even the *stairs* are fancier than the ones at home. It’s all ‘affordable luxury’ this, ‘affordable luxury’ that. Ugh. But only if you’re already rich!”

Monica smirked. “Yeah, no commoners here. Just us, and our painfully rich people problems.”

“Exactly! Not a single commoner in sight,” Martha said, shaking her head. “But, hey, I guess that’s what happens when you go to a school like Eddington. The fees are practically a ‘commoner repellant.’”

Monica couldn’t help but giggle as they finally reached the top of the stairs. “Well, let’s not let the stairs defeat us. We’ve got an autograph to secure and a whole mall of fashion to explore.”

Martha grinned. “Right. Time to shop till we drop… hopefully not down the stairs.”

Alan stood in front of the mirror, adjusting his black t-shirt under the dark blue coat, the black jeans completing his “cool guy” look. He slid on a pair of sunglasses, even though the sun was already setting, but hey, he thought it added an extra touch of mystery. He was *beyond* excited to meet Emma.

Suddenly, his father’s voice bellowed from down the hallway. “Alan! What in the world are you wearing?”

Before Alan could respond, his dad continued. “Your Aunt, technically my younger sister, will be here in like, five—no, two minutes!”

Alan sighed, rolling his eyes. “Dad, please.”

His father appeared in the doorway, his expression both horrified and amused. “Would you look at that! Alan, you are *just* like me when I was your age—so fashion-forward. Oh, sunglasses at dusk? I remember those days! Good times, good times.” His voice dripped with humor.

Alan muttered under his breath, "Not *exactly* the compliment I was going for."

Just then, the front door opened, and there she was—Aunt Kia, in all her fashionable glory. She was greeted with Stephen’s exaggerated enthusiasm. “Kia, darling!” he called, arms open wide, ready for a big brotherly hug.

Kia shot him a cold, unimpressed look. “Not happening. I’m not hugging you, Stephen.”

She turned to Alan, her sharp eyes scanning his outfit. “Let him be, Stephen. He’s 17, not a toddler. And besides, I still remember you trying to impress your *now* wife with some very questionable fashion choices.”

Stephen’s face turned bright red. “Okay, okay, I get it,” he muttered. “No fashion advice from me. Alan, go on. Wherever you’re headed, you look... fine.”

Kia giggled. “You’re really playing it cool now, huh, Stephen?”

Kia walked over to Alan, smoothing down his hair and handing him a neatly wrapped gift—a pink handkerchief. “Here,” she said, with a mischievous grin.

Alan stared at it, puzzled. “Uh, what’s this for?”

Kia’s grin widened. “I know you’re meeting Emma, and it’s bad manners to show up without a present, don’t you think? You don’t want to make her sad, right?”

Alan blushed furiously. “I… I’m just meeting her, Aunt Kia. It’s nothing serious.”

“Sure,” she said, giving him a knowing smile. “But Alan, you’re in high school. You should at least *pretend* you could love her forever. And that starts with little promises, like this.”

“Okay, Aunt Kia. I’ll make sure to cherish her,” Alan said, his face as red as a tomato.

“Oh, and I almost forgot,” Kia added with a wink, “I’m heading to the mall to sign autographs. Why don’t you bring Emma over and introduce her to me?”

Alan nodded slowly, though his mind was racing. *That’s where we’re meeting anyway,* he thought. *But how did it suddenly become this whole event?* He had planned a sweet, quiet moment—maybe hold her hand, give her a hug, buy her a juice, and sip from two straws. Now there were crowds, his aunt, and… autographs?

His thoughts were interrupted by Kia, who handed him a second package—a fashion magazine and a signed study book. “Give this to Emma,” she said. “It’s personally signed by me, and the first page even has a little love note. Oh, and don’t forget the pen—it says, ‘Use this for your first autograph, and P.S.—don’t forget to marry Alan when you’re older. I’ll be your godmother for your first child.’”

Alan’s face flushed a deep shade of red. “Aunt Kia, she’s going to *freak out!*”

Kia winked. “Nah, it’s a girl-to-girl thing. She’ll love it. Just don’t tell her you read it, or yes, she might freak out.”

Alan groaned. “Okay, got it.”

“Now hurry up and get going!” Kia said, giving him a playful pat on the shoulder.

Meanwhile, Stephen sat on the couch, feeling utterly left out of the conversation. “Kia, you’re keeping secrets from me!” he whined like a little kid.

Kia gave him a sharp look. “Oh please, Stephen. You should know that Emma is a lovely girl, and she’ll be perfect for Alan. Don’t you dare mess this up for him.”

Stephen threw up his hands in mock defense. “Why would I? I love Alan. He’s my only son!”

“You better,” Kia shot back, narrowing her eyes at him.

Kia tried to change the subject. “Where’s your wife? Why do you still call her ‘wife’ like she doesn’t have a name?”

Kia raised an eyebrow. “Because I don’t like her, okay?”

Stephen sighed dramatically. “Well, I *really* hope you do someday.”

“Not gonna happen,” Kia said, crossing her arms as she sank into the couch, the final word hers as always.

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