“Too?”
“In addition to taming that feral skunk on top of your head.”
“Excuse me, but not everyone thinks it’s necessary to look like a fashion model.”
“There has to be a happy medium between fashion model and hobo.”
“If you mean people who don’t have homes, Cruella, the correct term is unhoused. Hobo is super derogatory.”
“You’ve been living in San Francisco too long.”
“Can we table this discussion that’s sure to devolve into a political shouting match for a sec so I can ask when we’re going to eat? The last thing I had was a gross clot of slimy black fish eggs with some coagulated dairy product on a piece of bread the size of a quarter. I’m absolutely famished. You rich people eat like birds.”
She pauses for a beat, then covers her face with her hands and dissolves into laughter.
I say drily, “I’m glad my starvation is amusing you.”
“It’s just that I forgot how funny you are.”
“Funny as in ha-ha, or funny as in weird?”
“Ha-ha.” She thinks for a moment. “And also weird.”
“Thanks for that. Changing gears again: what does Declan do for a living? And don’t lie to me. I’m not one of your bedazzled fuck boys. I know when you’re not telling the truth.”
Her smile fades. She walks slowly to the chair she had her feet propped up on, sits, and folds her hands demurely between her thighs. “I want to tell you, but I don’t want you to judge.”
My laugh is short and disbelieving. “Judge? Dude, I went on a date last week with a person who has a penis and a vagina. And showed them both to me during dinner. I’m not the judgmental type.”
Sloane looks fascinated. “Really?”
“Yes. Like you said, I’ve been living in San Francisco for quite some time. There’s literally nothing that can shock me anymore.”
“Okay. Well, if you must know…” Hesitating, she takes a deep breath. “He’s in the Mob. Actually, he is the Mob. He’s, like, the main guy.”
Several things click inside my head, and I nod thoughtfully. “Hmm. Makes sense. So about the eating situation again. Are we doing that before or after I let you do something awful to my hair that I’m sure to regret?”
When she only sits there staring at me, her eyes welling with tears, I get panicky.
“Oh, shit. What’s wrong? Please tell me he’s not cheating on you. I’m not sure whose side I’d take.”
She leaps from the chair and launches herself across the room, slamming into me and flinging her arms around my neck.
I’m almost thrown back onto the mattress. Despite my total shock and the force of her embrace, I manage to stay upright. Then she bursts into tears, leaving me at a complete loss.
I say tentatively, “Um. What’s happening now?”
She wails, “I’m sorry is what’s happening! I’ve been a terrible sister, and you’re being so nice, and I can’t believe we haven’t seen each other since your birthday a few years ago!”
Three years ago, to be precise.
Not that I’ll ever be able to forget it.
My boyfriend at the time took one look at Sloane and pronounced he was dating the wrong sister. He broke up with me on the spot.
In the middle of my friggin’ birthday party.
When I heard through a friend a few weeks later that they’d been seen together and called her to find out if it was true, she scoffed and said, “Who? Oh my god, that loser’s already in the rearview mirror.”
That “loser” she could barely remember had been my boyfriend for more than a year. He took my virginity. I thought we were madly in love.
After that, I started telling my dates I was an only child.
I haven’t seen Sloane since.
I pat her awkwardly on the back. “Okay, Hollywood. C’mon now. You’ll ruin your mascara.”
She pulls away, sniffling and gripping my upper arms like she’s planning on holding me hostage. “Say you forgive me,” she demands vehemently. “Please. Let’s make this a new beginning. We’ll start over from scratch.”
I frown at her. Who is this person?
When her big pleading eyes get to be too much, I relent.
“Fine. It’s a new beginning. But I’m withholding forgiveness until after I see what you’ve got planned for my hair.”
She bites her lower lip, tears spill over the edge of her bottom lids, and what the fuck has happened to my sister?