Page 61 of No Greater Oblivion

“These just came in for you.” She lines up a row of four long, rectangular boxes on the floor and unties the silk ribbon around the first. Casting aside the layers of tissue paper inside she says, “I had to go off memory when I placed the order so I don’t know if it’ll fit properly around the shoulders. I think I was off by an inch or two.”

“I’m sure it’ll look fine.”

She casts me a pointed look. “You wouldn’t know a well-cut suit if it smacked you in the face.”

A huff of laughter leaves me, and she pulls out the jacket of a three-piece suit. I’m immediately struck by the color and subtle sheen of the fabric, a shade of purple so dark it’d be difficult to decipher when not under direct light, it’s pinstripe pattern thin and nearly imperceptible. She extends the garment to me and I take it, running my fingers along the stitching and seams, searching for imperfection. The buttons are mother-of-pearl and there isn’t a single fraying or loose thread in sight. I unbutton it to inspect the inner lining and Lettie shifts uncomfortably in her unicorn slippers, the weight of her body moving from one leg to another.

“Do you like it?”

The corner of my mouth lifts. “Very good, Leticia.”

“It’s superfine wool?” It comes out more like a question seeking my approval. “And the buttons are⁠—”

“Mother-of-pearl.” Our voices overlap and I smile at her fully this time. “Did you pick this up in Italy?”

“I’d never shop anywhere else. God knows the Italians are the only people on earth who can dress properly.”

She stands behind me and helps guide the jacket onto my shoulders without disturbing the lapels.

“And not the French?”

“Mostly snobs but they have their moments.” She guides me in front of a gilded, full-body mirror and I adjust the cuffs around my wrists. A subtle sigh escapes her. “You’re obnoxiously tall. It’s ruining the look.”

“Am not.” Without a waistcoat or tie, I look a little underdressed in a double-breasted suit jacket but for the most part, it fits like a glove. “Everything’s where it needs to be.”

“Next time I’ll go a little wider around the shoulders,” she murmurs to herself, hands tugging and pulling on the places she wishes to make improvements on. “And maybe leave some room around the biceps…this was supposed to be a winter suit but you couldn’t wear a thick shirt under this which means it’ll have to be for next spring…”

I take off the jacket, and Lettie makes me try on the waistcoat, sparing me the torture of trying on the pants which she insists can be done in private. Because God forbid her brother changes pants in front of her—she’ll have a stroke. As if Diego hasn’t walked around us in a barely dressed state our entire lives.

Most of the other outfits fit with ease and the last thing she has me try on is a completely monochromatic ensemble where the three-piece suit and matching coat are the same shade of deep, emerald-green. Noticing the way I run my fingers over the smooth, almost buttery soft fabric, she cracks a grin.

“It’s vicuña,” she says smugly.

“Vicuña,” I echo, as if I have any idea what that means. “Aren’t we fancy?”

I slip out of the coat and help Lettie pack up the boxes. “Do you need anything else for winter? I haven’t had a chance to go through your closet but you should probably get a few more wool coats and maybe new shoes. It’s been a while since your wardrobe was updated.”

“Some of us like to wear clothes more than once, Leticia.”

“Hmph,” she mutters in response. She moves to sit on the edge of her bed, arms crossed over her chest. “I need to do something to occupy my time, don’t I? Otherwise Dahlia might get it into her head again that I should get a job.”

If I had the energy to, I might’ve laughed at her comment. “She wants what’s best for you, Lettie. And I can’t say I disagree. If you don’t want to go to school that’s fine but you have to do something.”

Having this conversation in her bedroom feels almost ridiculous. Surrounded by soft pastels, lace, and antique glass, one would think I was reprimanding a five-year-old little girl and not my nineteen-year-old sister. What makes it worse is I can feel the judgmental stare of the unicorns on her slippers, their beady little button eyes glaring back at me.

I know Lettie is a bit…spoiled, for lack of a better word. It’s difficult to set boundaries in a relationship like this. Parents are the ones responsible for guiding their children into adulthood but in lieu of a mother and father or a grandfather who knows the word “no” when it pertains to her, the burden of being brother, dad, and guardian has fallen on my shoulders. I could do a better job at disciplining her but it’s difficult. When I look at her, I don’t see a young woman entering adulthood. She’s my baby sister playing dress up in our Mom’s clothes and it’s my job to take care of her. Though, I think I’ve done a better job at enabling her than raising her.

“Why not give BIS a try next semester?”

“I’ll be all alone.”

“Dahlia will be there.”

“Dahlia’s old.” She whines. “And like…five years ahead of me. We won’t even be in the same building let alone taking the same classes.”

“First, don’t call her old. At least, don’t let her hear you.”

Lettie smiles.