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“You’re supposed to marry him. If your plan is to go out and make money so we can move out, are you not doing that? Because, you know what that means.” She shakes some hair out of her eyes. “Do you love him? Like Mom and Dad kind of love?”
I don’t want to have this conversation right now and we both know the answer anyway. I play with my ponytail then try to loosen the waistband of my skirt so not so much muffin top is hanging over. It doesn’t work so I just pull my sweater down farther, which also does no good.
I swallow hard and do my best to stay focused. I’m doing this, and yes, it may be silly but I don’t care. I lean into the dresser and play with a sterling silver hand mirror that used to be Mom’s.
“That’s not what everybody gets. Mom and Dad were lucky. I just want some freedom before I get married. I won’t lose this place either. I’ll marry Victor. But this place is our home even if it doesn’t feel like it right now with them here.” The last time we saw our mother, in the hospital before she passed away, she made us promise to keep this house in the family.
Dad built it for her and everywhere we look, we are reminded of the love they’d had for each other. “I just want Simon to see we can do things on our own. That he can’t control us forever. I mean, we don’t even have any friends. We have never been to a nightclub. We haven’t even been to the stupid mall. I want to go to school and be a real chef but they won’t listen to me; they’ve got all the power right now and I want to shake things up. We need money of our own. We’re like two princesses shut up in the tower. I want to live a little before I’m Mrs. Victor Galetti.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” She lets out a long breath. “You’ve always had the craziest ideas. Lord knows I’ve doubted you before and you’ve made me eat crow. But I don’t see how this is going to get you anything but in deep trouble.” Leah pulls at her hands in her lap. The shimmer in her eyes reminds me just how lost we would be without each other.
“I’m nineteen years old, how much trouble can I get into? I’m an adult.” I hold my head high in preposterous bravado.
She snorts out a laugh with a shake of her head. I push off the dresser and close the space between us, skipping as I go.
I crouch down in front of her, the hem of my pleated, navy-blue uniform skirt riding high enough to show the tops of the thigh high socks.
“I’m going to get us out of here.” My voice is steady and sure. “I’m going to get into that culinary school and become the most famous pastry chef and baker evah.” I toss my head back then settle my eyes back on her with raised eyebrows. “Did you like that raspberry napoleon I made tonight?” I bob my eyebrows and nod at her.
“Yes. It was amazing. As usual. How do you just know how to make stuff like that? You never even follow a recipe.”
“Magic.” I grin and wrinkle my nose at her. It’s true though. When I’m baking I’m as happy as I ever can be. I feel peaceful, and forget that I’m engaged to a man I barely know – and what I do know I don’t like.
I forget the charmed, blessed life we’d had until a drunk driver exploded our world. I don’t dream of much, but I want that peace, that sense of being alive I get when I bake. It’s stupid, I know, but it does it for me. Takes me away from this suffocating, isolated world.
I rise to my feet, wondering if I should lather on some make-up. I don’t have much, but I decide I can toss it in my bag and apply a coat of paint on the bus.
The reality of what I’m about to do hits me and I feel my stomach clench. I suddenly feel so stupid. What makes me think I can make money dancing?
Because you can’t think of any other option that will actually bring home money and let you work during the hours when no one will notice you’re gone. And, you’ve got moves.
Leah would have been the stripper. Legs that end at her neck, cheekbones set in a way that would make any Vogue model jelly, and the way she carries –carried– herself, was like royalty. She would have had every chin drop to the floor when she took the stage.
I, on the other hand, am none of those things. But my legs still work, and that means I need to do this. My stomach tightens, knowing eventually I will have to take off my top and they will see the imprint the accident left on me as well as my six-pack abs covered in a couple layers of cupcake calories, but I shake it off. My plan is to amaze them with my novelty, or at least feel so sorry for me that they will give me a shot.
I know I just need a chance. I will do whatever it takes to teach myself to dance. Or anything else. I don’t care. I’ll do whatever I need to do to get us out of here. We may both carry the memories of that horrible day on our bodies and in our hearts, but we still have each other and that will never, ever change.
Simon, our legal guardian, has practically kept us prisoners here since the accident. He still insisted we wear school uniforms Monday through Friday when the tutors came. He said it provided order and structure. Just what two young girls who lost their parents needed, uniforms and structure. Never mind hugs, kindness and understanding.
We are both over the age of legally needing a guardian now. I turned nineteen a couple months ago and Leah is fifteen months older than me. But somehow we are still under a conservatorship, which Simon is of course in charge of. The only way out of it is to go to court and have it removed. But that requires money and freedom, two things the poorest rich girls I know don’t have.
“So.” I stand taller, throwing my chest out and grinning from ear to ear. “You want to see my moves before I go?” I spin around and hit the play button on the CD player sitting on the desk next to the window.
“Noooo,” Leah exaggerates, rolling her eyes as she turns her chair away from me.
Her glossy, sable hair falls to the middle of her back, so shiny I practically see the outline of myself looking into it. It’s not the only contrast between us – she’s a head taller than me; my face is more cherub than Kate Moss, and I fill out every possible available inch of my clothes.
Mind you, that doesn’t stop me from sampling all the yummy goodness of the things I bake. Besides, it’s not like I’m ever going to actually date. My future has been decided and Victor shows about as much interest in me as a chunk of broken concrete.
OK, that’s not entirely true. He tried to kiss me once. The day we got engaged. He slipped the ring on my finger after Simon explained to me that I was getting married and to whom – and why I would do it without question.
Well, that’s not fair, he gave me a choice. There’s always a choice. He made it very clear that if I didn’t marry his son, that was fine. I would be granted my freedom.
But I would also never see my sister again. Or this house.
Leah doesn’t know that part, and I will never tell her because she would tell me not to marry him. Not only would I lose her, we would lose this place and I couldn’t bear that.
“Well, I’m going to show you anyway.” I spin the volume knob up and the funky 1970s Rick James jam fills the twelve foot ceilings of my bedroom.
