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Three
Magnolia
My sister flings herself into my arms as soon as I walk through the door.
I see her all the time. She flies to me or meets me somewhere in Europe for my work trips, but it’s been a bit more than a fortnight since the last time we’ve seen each other.
She picks me up off the floor even though she’s shorter than me.
“You’re home!” She lets out a squeal of excitement and I peel her off my body, frowning a little.
“That’s much too much emotion, Fridget. And you’re crushing my dress.”
Ballerina Style Tulle Dress from Miu Miu with the cut-out flower pumps from Dolce & Gabbana.
My sister rolls her eyes and smacks me in the arm. “How was the flight?” She pulls one of my suitcases inside and throws me another look. “How many of these are there?”
“Hmm?” I look over at her mindlessly. “Oh. Twelve perhaps?”
“You’re here a week.” She blinks.
“Actually,” I glance from her to Taura, “I’m here just under three.”
“Oh.” Taura schleps in another bag before we all give up and leave them in the courtyard. Is this not what fathers are for? I wouldn’t know, I suppose. Mine’s been terribly useless thus far.
“Three weeks?” Henry asks, poking his head out of the study. “What for?”
“Couple of work meetings.” I shrug and it’s a bit of a lie but what else can I say? December 3rd?
They’d never understand, not even Henry.
I skip over into his arms and he wraps them around me as he kisses the top of my head. He sniffs me. “Your hair smells weird.”
“Oh.” I frown. “It’s the Philip B White Truffle shampoo — do you not like it?”
He gives me a look. “Why would you want your hair to smell like a mushroom?”
“It’s very expensive.” I frown at him.
He shakes his head. “That doesn’t answer the question.”
“I use Clairol Herbal Essences—” my sister announces.
I give her a look. “Don’t brag about that, Bridget.”
Henry grabs her by the waist and sniffs her hair. “Brag away, Bridge. You smell like a fucking meadow.”
I link my arm with Taura’s and glare over at them — my sister specifically.
“This is what you wear for my big homecoming, you terrible wench?”
She looks down at herself in her matching green tracksuit and then back up at me, frowning. “I have those stupid puffy Chloé slides on you bought me.”
“I like it.” Henry throws a defensive arm around my sister.
“I’m quite sure you would.” I eye him in his Wild Thang tee from Golf Wang with the black logo-print track pants from Vetements. “Tell me, did you two make some sort of tracksuit-wearing pact to lower morale or has everything just fallen entirely to the wayside in my absence?”
My sister tries to kick me and I swear at her in Ukrainian, dodging her dumb, gangly leg because I don’t want my white dress to get dirty.
