“Please?” she begged. “We don’t have a mom to help us with this stuff. Dad tries, but some things require a woman’s touch.” What in Carrie Bradshaw’s world was happening. I pressed my fingers to my temples. “I’m sorry—what kind of eleven-year-old talks like that? I can’t decide if you’re trying to act like you’re three or thirty. And second, did you just pull the dead mom card to try to guilt trip me?” Gracie nodded with an ear-to-ear grin on her face. “Yep. It usually works too.”
