Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 43829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 219(@200wpm)___ 175(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 219(@200wpm)___ 175(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
She inspects her blush-colored nail polish, still bouncing absentmindedly on the edge of my canopied king-sized bed covered in an antique chenille pink and white bedspread. “You could never embarrass him. Besides, he doesn’t give a ripe reindeer shit about any of those people that come to the party. He just does it because—”
She stalls, then shrugs, twisting a golden strand of her hair in and out between her index and middle finger. “I don’t even know why he does it.” She back-peddles, her tone hints that she’s hiding something. “Whatever, come on.”
She nods at the door on one last bounce before standing, her blonde beach waves perfect as always, splitting over her shoulders and down her back. She’s the Elsa to my Anna. Always in control, total type A, tall, lithe, elegant in a perfectionist sort of way, where I’m more artist than engineer. Even in our style of dance.
She’s technically without flaw; whereas I may miss a step or improv a move, but I’m more fluid. More in the moment instead of planning them all.
I tug on my red elf slippers with the jingle bells on the toes and follow Lucy into the hall. The entire mansion is a holiday wonderland like it is every year at this time. It’s the one holiday that Papa goes completely bonkers. He hires an entire crew to come in and decorate from the tops of the chimneys down the gates of the driveway.
Gates that are formidable enough to rival The Wall in Game of Thrones.
We have every movie and TV show available here on DVD and on this weird private streaming service. Papa says it’s because there’re no other good channels up here, but that doesn’t seem plausible.
He makes sure we have access to the internet for ordering anything we want, but the controls on our computers block most of the other worldly sites. News and live TV are blocked. Any sort of other websites for deliveries from the big mega online retailers or small Etsy shops and man chests galore are A-okay.
Maybe, now I’m 18, he’ll loosen things up, but he hasn’t mentioned it. And honestly, what do I need the news for, anyway?
Lucy grabs at a spring of holly on the endless garland draped along the banister as we descend the mammoth carved wooden staircase to the main level and sticks it behind her ear. “You excited for the party? Gonna be so extra extra this year.”
I nod on an exhale as the bells on my toes make soft tingling sounds with each step. “Yes, I just want it to be perfect.”
“You gotta give up perfect, girl.” Lucy waves a hand at my face in all her Barbie Doll glory. “It’s an illusion.”
Ironic. Because she’s the one person I see as perfect. When we first met, she was a bully. Her father was her entire world since her mom disappeared when she was a baby and was later found… sleeping with the fishes, if you get my meaning. Seems she decided to turn on the family, thinking she could get a better set up elsewhere.
Pretty sure that did not work out how she planned.
So, for Lucy, having her dad marry my mother was not in her plan. I wasn’t a superfan of the whole deal either, but I wanted my mother happy. My father had died just the year before in a car accident and my little girl heart thought if Mama’s happy, maybe I get to be happy.
Surprise. Their marriage was not about happy. Nor were any that I saw since then.
Marriage is for business, not pleasure in the Sabato world.
As things became clearer over the years, Lucy shifted from resenting me to protecting me; because in the mix of danger and power, our parents abdicated their positions as caregivers and Lucy turned her anger towards them into a fierce guarding of me.
From there, we wove together a sisterhood and a friendship made up of fear, our mutual love of ballet, trashy romance, K-dramas, and grief.
Aside from Papa and me, the only other person she trusts is Mama. Our babysitter, housekeeper, and volunteered grand-nana of sorts. This is our chosen family. Mama and Papa, as we call them. They are our stand-in parents, and if I’m being honest, they do a far better, if not unconventional, job than our own did or would have done.
Lucy blathers on about the angle of her back arch as we walk my toes making music as we go while the candles flicker in the wall sconces and soft instrumental Christmas music plays on the sound system throughout the massive log cabin. A flush covers me as we enter the dining room, like it does at every meal.
Though, seeing my grandfather sitting at the head of the table, always waiting, also wraps me in a familiar cloak of safety. He’s our rock. He’s no marshmallow, as they say, but he is reliable.