“Do you like it?” She posed for me, showing off her cream linen suit, leather plimsolls, and a crisp bob, very like Grandmother Elizabeth’s, whose dark red lipstick she was still copying.
The bob, at least, suited Faraday.
I sighed. “We’ve only been separated a week, and you’re dressing like us. Have you missed me that much?”
“Who says I’m here for you? There’s a certain hot uncle of yours I might want to see.”
“Garrett is home today, not an uncle, and kind of funny looking.”
“Fine, then. Lock up or whatever. Let’s go get lunch. Ineedto hear about your goth hair.”
“Faraday, I work here. What if someone wants to buy the art?”
She frowned, sweeping her eyes across the millions of tiny playing cards—the jagged flushes, the endless pairs, the unsold fours of a kind.
“Well, then,” she said. “What if that someone isme?”
We found a leftoverbottle of decent champagne—Faraday promised to buy a piece, as long as we celebrated first.
With the doors locked and the cork popped, I gave her a tour of the exhibit, but she only wanted to talk about Helshire. Where the good parties would be next year. How she was going to decorate her Victorian manor. Finally getting to hang out in the Senior Commons.
“This is us now,” she said in front of the straight flushes. “Unbeatable.”
“The perfect hand. Maybe you should hang them in your perfect house.”
She frowned. “Straightsounds dreary.Flushessounds toilet.”
I steered her toward the fours of a kind. “Your art should reflect our triumph. First Helshire, then the world.”
“Ugh, the world. It’s so disappointing out here. Uncurated social circles. The lack of gothic architecture. Feeling young and tiny, like being a freshman all over again.”
I smiled. “Remember our room back then? Your stuff everywhere? You kept asking when the cleaners were coming.”
“LikeIwas the weird one?” She swirled her champagne. “In Intro English, you didn’t even know why Oscar Wilde went to prison. You leaned over and asked me if he’d killed someone!”
“Poets are unstable,” I said.
“Speaking of unstable. Have you heard from your cousin?”
I shook my head.
“He’s being a baby, whatever you did.”
“It’s not about me. Sebastian has a long-standing disagreement with family policy.”
“Strife, among the elegant, compelling Mortons? Don’t shatter my illusions, dear. I just got here.”
“Your illusions are always my priority.” I poured us both more champagne, making sure mine was mostly foam.
“I miss all of you so much, Jessica. Are there any funerals this summer?”
“Sorry, nothing’s on the schedule.”
“But Mother and Oscar Junior are crowding me. And Marlow has been dreadful!”
“He’s being stingy again?”
Faraday shrugged a little. “I’ve had to use a few of those checks, but he doesn’t notice.”
