“Oh my God, it’s soearly.”
It seemed the other Bennet sisters had arrived, too.
Lizzy turned back around and saw Jane first. The eldest Bennetsister was kneeling down to pick up their mother’s tote bag where it lay upside down on the red tile floor. Her dark hair was in a ponytail, with a few wisps framing her heart-shaped face. It was hard for her sister to skew her angelic features into anything like disapproval, but she was trying her best as she replied, “It’s eleven a.m., Lydia.”
Lydia moaned as she landed in a chair at a nearby table, then promptly let her head collapse into her arms. Kitty sat down across from her, her attention on her phone. They were identical twins and for most of their life, it had been almost impossible to tell them apart. Then they both started at Suffolk County Community College two years ago. Within a few weeks, Kitty had joined the Future Business Leaders of America, while Lydia joined TikTok. Now, with both about to graduate next month with associate’s degrees, they couldn’t be more different: Lydia, with long hair like a silk curtain over her back and an oversized sweatshirt almost completely covering her small biker shorts, barely passed most of her classes. Meanwhile, Kitty—who looked like she was on her way to a board meeting with a short bob and perfectly pressed white button-up shirt—was already looking into bachelor’s programs at SUNY.
“Elevenisearly,” Lydia whined into her sleeve.
“Not when you were supposed to be here at six,” Kitty murmured, attention still on her screen.
Lydia picked her head up, eyes barely open. “Why are you yelling?”
“I’m not yelling.”
“You’re so loud,” Lydia grumbled as she stood up again and shuffled around the counter, her Crocs making a dull scraping sound on the floor as she made a beeline to the coffee machine. “I don’t even know why I have to work this weekend anyway. Do you even know how many parties are happening? This is child abuse.”
Lizzy cocked her head to the side. “Bold claim from a twenty-one-year-old.”
A rogue tube of lip gloss had rolled under a chair, and Jane stuffed it back into their mother’s tote as she gave Lizzy a look. It was the look the two eldest Bennet sisters had honed over the past twenty-five years: a weary smile, a furrowed brow, a roll of the eyes. All a truncated version of the same conversation they had had a million times before:
Be nice, Jane would say.
I am being nice, Lizzy would reply.
Okay. Then be patient.
Jane, I don’t think anyone could survive in this family without the patience of a saint.
Are you the saint in this scenario?
In the colloquial sense? Absolutely.
Jane smiled and shook her head.
“Like, the party last night was epic,” Lydia continued, oblivious. “It was at this huge house in Sag Harbor, and there was just… so much rum.”
Jane stood and placed the tote on a table, her eyebrows knitted together. “I thought you hated rum.”
Lydia paused, the coffeepot in hand, as if this fact sounded familiar. “Do I hate rum?”
“You hate rum,” Lizzy, Jane, and Kitty answered in unison.
Lydia scowled. “You’re all so loud.” Then she let out a tortured cry. “How am I supposed to get a cup of coffee if there’s no cups for the coffee?”
Jane was already coming around the counter, picking up a sleeve of to-go coffee cups from below the register as she passed. Lizzy followed, taking the cups from her sister’s hand before she could restock them. “You’re not on the schedule today.”
Jane smiled, trying to grab them back. “Neither are you.”
“And where are all the sour cherry muffins?” Lydia moaned.
Lizzy ignored the question as she dodged Jane’s reach, then handed the sleeve of cups to Lydia. “Here. Restock these.”
Lydia offered another pout, and Lizzy was about to remind her that if she had bothered showing up for her shift, she would have known they sold out of sour cherry muffins hours ago, but then their mother’s voice pierced the air again.
“It’s not going to take up the whole bakery! I just need a little space up front for a small display. You won’t even notice it.” She emerged from the back office and marched through the kitchen, the mannequin legs still cradled under her arm. Mr. Bennet followed behind her, though there was no evidence he was actually listening to his wife. He was still studying his paperwork as he stopped in the doorway.
Mrs. Bennet walked to the front of the bakery, lifting the mannequin legs onto the table by the window. “We’ll put it right here. That way, even if she doesn’t come in, she’ll see it when she walks by, you know?”
