“No, you won’t,” Taran says. “I’m going to be away from Guy for a while, and I promised him I would…keep in touch.”
My nose crinkles in disgust.
Guy is Taran’s boyfriend.
I don’t know much about him, but I can tell you this—I don’t like the way she said “keep in touch” like there was a sexual innuendo attached to it.
“Ew,” I say. “Please tell me you’re not going to be doing dirty things in Aunt Cindy’s house.”
“What I do in my room is my business.”
“Do it in the other room, then. I’m sure you’d appreciate the audience.”
Her eyes snap up to mine. “The Wi-Fi is better in this room, you know that, and given that you’re single and can’t be relied on to take care of our aunt by yourself, therefore uprooting me from my life, I’ll take the comfort I need to make it through the next few weeks.”
“What about my comfort?” I say, pointing to my chest. “Do I not matter?”
She gestures to where I clutch my pillow. “You have your special pillow, so you have all the comfort you need.” With that, she pushes me out of the room and shuts the door on me.
“You’re rude!” I shout, and then turn on my heel like a chastised child. I stare at the door to the other bedroom, my skin already itching from the thought of it.
Perhaps…just perhaps, she redecorated and has turned what was once a hell-on-earth room into a peaceful sanctuary. With scent diffusers on a white oak dresser, sage bedding draped over a cloud-like mattress, and a Hatch alarm clock on the nightstand peacefully setting the tone for every night…and gracefully waking me up in the morning.
One can only hope.
I close the space between me and the room and then, on a hope and a prayer, open the door, eyes closed.
Please be redecorated.
Please be redecorated.
I peek one eye open only for my hopes and prayers to come to a crashing halt as I go eye to eye with Josefina.
And Felicity.
And Molly.
And Addy.
And Kirsten.
And that perfect bitch, Samantha.
There are multiples of them, all set up in different dioramas. The six “queens” of the American Girl dolls, as Aunt Cindy would say, are all in their original outfits and posed in cases overlooking the floral canopy bed, but the duplicates are spread around strategically, offering a taste of historic opulence from the good ol’ days…and not-so-good ol’ days.
Molly in her velvet Christmas dress, rocking in the corner.
Felicity in her “saves the day” white gown, with a basket of fresh-cut flowers.
Addy acting as the puppet master of her puppy puppet show.
Josefina with her turtle and her piano, playing a ditty for the other girls.
And Samantha…oh, Samantha with the perfect hair, crimson bow, and batting eyelashes. The absolute worst, propped up next to her white fluffy bed and red trunk, looking through her clothes like the princess of the Progressive Era that she is. Sure, she’s an “orphan,” but she lives with her rich grandmother in upstate New York—compare that to freaking Addy, who had to pick her own birthday date because she didn’t know when it was. Samantha had it good.
But I digress. This room was made for torture.
It was decorated with horror in mind.
