“It’s about being with your friends,” Beth said.
“Shopping for a dress,” Amy said.
I nodded. “Buying shoes.”
Jo regarded my pretty silver sandals doubtfully. “You’ll probably break an ankle in those things.”
Amy sighed with just a touch of envy. “I think you look beautiful.”
“You both do,” Beth said.
Jo clambered off the bed to stand beside me in front of the mirror. “I guess we don’t look so bad, do we?”
I smoothed the skirt of my silver gown. I’d bought it off the sales rack at the old-ladies’ shop in town, but Momma and Amy had transformed it, taking off the sleeves, altering the bodice to fit just right. Jo dug her dress out of the church donation pile, but if you didn’t notice the stain on the skirt, she looked really nice.
I smiled. “Not bad at all.” I tested the temperature of the flat iron. “All right, it’s ready.”
“Right.” Jo brandished the hot straightening wand. “Let’s do your hair.”
My phone lit up, interrupting the flow of memories.
I smiled. It was like Jo was psychic or something.
But it wasn’t Jo, it was Amy, WhatsApp-ing from Paris, four thousand miles and six hours away. “Hey, sweetie,” I said warmly. “How’s life in the fashion world?”
I propped the phone against the mirror so I could see her face as we talked. Or rather, as she talked and I listened, making occasional encouraging noises.
Our Amy would never admit it, but she sounded homesick. Well, it had been hard for her, leaving Mom. She’d had only a week to settle into her new job, her new digs. I reckoned she must be feeling lonely.
I listened as she hinted at some workroom drama, told a story about a club she went to the night before, a British boy band she followed on YouTube. “You went by yourself?” I asked. “What about your roommate? Chloe?”
A hesitation, so short I could blame it on the phone app. “She had other plans.”
I dotted concealer under my eyes. “You could have asked somebody else.”
“Meg, this is Paris,” Amy said. “People here stick to themselves. Unless your French is, like, perfect. Anyway, it was a good thing I was alone, because I went around back afterward. To meet them, you know? And Fred Vaughn was trying to talk to his fans, and I got to translate for him, and...” She paused dramatically. “He asked me to hang out with them backstage!”
Of course he did. Because things happened for Amy. She made them happen. “That’s amazing.”
“Right? So then I followed him on Instagram, and Meg—this is the best part—he just followed me back!”
Carefully, I applied eye shadow. “Why is that the best part?”
“Because he’s got over a hundred thousand followers. Even more onTwitter. So if he follows me, and his followers follow me, it builds brand recognition for my line.”
I smiled at her enthusiasm. “You have a line now?”
“I will,” Amy said. “Anyway, Vaughn invited me to New York to see them play at some club on New Year’s Eve. It’s not Times Square, but still... New York! I’ve always wanted to visit the Garment District. Go to Mood!”
I lowered my lash brush. “I thought you had to stay in Paris this Christmas.”
“I do. Not that there’s anything really happening here over the holidays. The studio is clearing out already.” Amy sighed. “But I can’t afford to come home.”
“If you need us to help...” I offered. A last-minute ticket over Christmas would cost the moon. But it would be worth it, to have my sister home.
“No, no,” Amy said. “I’m fine. You know me, I’ll find something to do. How are you all? How’s Mama?” She pronounced the word the French way,MaMA.
“Momma’s fine.” Should I tell Amy about the fall? But she’d been so upset, leaving when our mother was in the hospital. I didn’t want to worry her more. “Sweetie, I have to go. John and I are going to a party tonight at Sallie Moffatt’s.”
