Even if Alexandra full-out hated Dee’s guts, out of respect for me, she’d never show it. For months, Drew tried to tell me Rosaline wasn’t the girl I thought she was, and even though I didn’t believe him, even though he turned out to be right, he didn’t rub my face in it.

The best kinds of families try to stop a train wreck—but if they can’t, they still show up to give first aid to the walking wounded.

“You’ll be with me. She’ll be fine with it.”

Alexandra and Steven’s east side condo is a gorgeous place—I think it was featured in Architectural Digest or something. Despite the grandeur of it, Lexi still manages to make it feel like a home, not a museum. She opens the door for Dee and me, and we walk into the shiny, marble-floored entryway.

On her best behavior, Dee says, “Hello, Alexandra. It’s so nice to see you again.”

“Delores—what a surprise. You’ll be joining Matthew and Mackenzie at the zoo today?”

“I will.”

Lexi smiles, but there’s a teasing shine in her eyes. “That’s nice. Only, I do try to discourage Mackenzie from throwing her food, so please remember to set a positive example.”

I put my arm around Dee. “We’ll try to control ourselves . . . but I make no promises.”

At that moment, Mackenzie comes riding into the foyer. She drives her red, bell-ringing tricycle around the circular mahogany table in the center of the room, shaking the ornate arrangement of orchids and lilies in their vase. Reminds me of Danny Torrance from The Shining but without the hair-raising eeriness.

Mackenzie parks the trike and climbs her denim-overall-wearing self off. “Hi, Uncle Matthew!”

I get a hug.

“Hey, princess.” I tilt my head in Delores’s direction. “This is my friend Dee. She’s going to come to the zoo with us today, all right?”

Mackenzie’s never been a shy kid—she’s confident and candid, no matter where she is or who she’s with. Traits that run strong in her family.

“Hi, Miss Dee.” The “Miss” is all Alexandra. She’s drilled titles of respect into Mackenzie’s head since she learned to talk.

Delores waves. Then Mackenzie zeroes in on the black fur vest she’s wearing. She reaches out and pets it—like a rabbit. Then she asks, “Is that your Halloween costume?”

Dee’s wearing tight white pants, a white top, and black sneakers that someone Bejeweled within an inch of their lives. With the vest, I can see why Mackenzie might think it’s a costume—a Dalmatian, or a zebra.

“Mackenzie, that’s rude,” Lexi admonishes.

But Dee waves her hand. “No, it’s fine.” She crouches down to eye level with Mackenzie. “I like to dress like every day is Halloween.”

Mackenzie’s face brightens. “That’s cool. Can I do that, Momma?”

Alexandra shakes her head. “No. You only get to be Frankenberry once a year.”

With that, I get handed a neutral-colored man-purse with all the essentials that have to be in reach whenever any child Mackenzie’s age leaves the house. And we head to the zoo.

When I was a kid, I thought zoos were pretty f**ked up. You take a bear, or a lion—the king of the jungle—and lock him in a 300 by 300 foot cage, add some greenery, and expect him to be happy? Wild animals are meant to be . . . wild. As I got older, I realized that a lot of the animals were rescued because they were sick or injured and wouldn’t survive on the outside anyway. Although there’s something to be said for nature taking its course, now I look at zoos as a wildlife retirement home where lions and tigers and bears get to live out the last of their days being cared for and catered to.

It may not be as exciting as living in the wild . . . but it sure beats being dead.

Dee, Mackenzie, and I spend the afternoon visiting all the exhibits in the Central Park Zoo—the lions, the reptile house. Unlike every other woman I know, Dee actually likes snakes. When she was a kid, she wanted a boa constrictor for her birthday, but her mother said no. Her cousin bought her a rubber one in consolation.

We eat lunch—pizza—and I don’t even look at the hot dog cart. My days of chili dogs are over.

Dee buys Mackenzie a polar bear balloon and they have a long discussion about how many balloons she would need to be able to fly, like in the movie Up. Dee—because she knows about gases like helium—was actually able to figure out how many on her calculator. Mackenzie was totally impressed.

I just hope she doesn’t get any ideas.

At the moment, we’re eating popcorn and watching the penguins. And Mackenzie asks no one in particular, “Did you know the girl penguins got the boy penguins by the balls?”

Dee chokes on a kernel.

Mackenzie doesn’t notice. “Uncle Drew say the girl gets ta pick any boy penguin she wants—they has ta dance for them. Then, the boy penguin has ta carry the egg on his feet for a long time.”

“Those girl penguins are some pretty smart cookies,” Delores comments. And Mackenzie nods vigorously.

Next we move on to the monkeys. I’m not sure of their breed, but they’re small, white little puff balls that can only seem to sit still if they’re trying to mount each other. Delores snorts and Mackenzie says, “They wrestle a lot.”

I chuckle. And talk low in Dee’s ear. “These horny little guys are giving me ideas. We should go before I embarrass myself.”

Mackenzie—because she obviously has dog hearing—asks, “Uncle Matthew, whas ‘horny’ mean?”