“Greer, you look beautiful,” Marion says, kindly. “You too, Olive.” Olive, who hasn’t stopped smiling since she entered, nods in acknowledgment.
Finger sandwiches are passed around and tea is poured. “So what did everyone else receive yesterday?” Marion asks, carrying the conversation as if she already knows she’s the leader.
“More important, what did everyone give up?” Emmy says under her breath.
Olive tugs off her wrist-length white gloves. A fresh bandage is wrapped around the palm of her hand, identical to the one all six of us wear.
She extends her arms to the center of the table and wiggles ten perfectly smooth fingernail-less fingers.
Emmy gasps. Faith is stunned into silence. Greer shrieks. Marion just laughs.
“It was worth it, though, right?” Olive says. Her mouth cracks into an uneasy smile around her flawless teeth.
“Absolutely!” I exclaim, hopefully stopping Emmy from saying whatever negative remark looks to be on the tip of her tongue.
“What about you, Greer? What did it cost?” Olive asks.
Greer laughs, the same back-of-the-throat, snorting laugh she’s had since we were children. She stands up, pushing her chair into the shiny mahogany table.
“Look at this,” she says, but there’s a hysterical edge to her voice, like she can’t quite believe what is happening.
She closes her eyes in concentration but stays completely still. Then she relents with a sigh and walks in a wide circle around the table.
“I don’t understand,” Marion says.
“I can’t turn left,” Greer says.
“Ever?” I ask.
“Nope, never again.”
Marion snorts back a laugh. “And you agreed to that?”
Greer shrugs. “It’s what she offered, and it seemed less painful than losing toes, so...”
At that, all six of us dissolve into violent giggles, even quiet Faith, who slaps her hand down on the table so hard tea spills all over the scones.
“What about you, Marion?” Greer asks once she’s seated again.
Marion takes a sip of her tea and waves her hand in dismissal. “I’ve been plagued with migraines all my life, so I asked to experience no more headaches.”
Olive thumbs over the tips of her smooth fingers. “What’d she ask for in return?”
Marion shrugs, her diamond earrings swaying. “I can no longer smell flowers. No great loss.”
We all mutter in agreement and turn to Emmy, awaiting her confession.
Emmy purses her lips. “I asked for painting talent. I’ll never again be able to taste sweets. I never particularly liked sweets, but I didn’t tell her that.”
“And you, Faith?” Marion gestures to where Faith sits at her right. Faith has a cucumber sandwich pinched between her fingers, but she sits, completely frozen, staring oddly at Marion, something strangely charged between them.
“With all due respect, I don’t see how telling this to any of you would help me,” Faith says under her breath.
Everyone tenses. We know we’re each other’s competition. It’s only Faith who seems honest, or brave, or cruel enough to say the truth aloud. “You’re all just obstacles directly in the way of my happiness,” she continues. “The sooner this is over, the better.”
Faith pushes back from the table and stomps out of the room.
Olive sniffles, suddenly teary-eyed. “I was hoping we’d all be friends.”
