Page 35 of Persephone's Curse
The vintage store had a smell.Allvintage stores have a smell. It was a smell of wear, of use, of years and years and years of being in someone else’s house, someone else’s closet. It was the unknown, the unknowable. Another life entirely. The way each of my sisters somehow smelled just a little different, despite the fact that we all lived in the same house, used the same laundry detergent and the same soap and the same shampoo and conditioner. But, sound asleep in my bed, if one of them came into my room and laid down next to me, I’d know who it was without rolling over. I could pick each of them out in a crowd full of people without opening my eyes. Blindfolded, I would know them.
I rounded a corner and found Bernadette just slipping into a fitting room, an armful of clothes weighing her down.
I took a seat in an overstuffed armchair and waited. I got out my phone again. Nothing from Evelyn. I texted Clara instead.
Hi. Miss you
She sent back an emoji of a hand making a peace sign, which in Clara-speak meant she was at school and couldn’t talk.
I texted Evelyn again.
I’m sorry I came to Vermont without you but Mom was literally running out the door, I just happened to catch her at the right time, and she wouldn’t have waited for anyone else. If you want to blame anyone you can blame Mom but I am perfectly guiltless
Bernadette came out of the fitting room wearing acid-washed light denim jeans that somehow looked amazing on her and would have looked absolutely horrible on anyone else.
“Who are you texting? You look pained,” she said, turning around to check out her butt in the mirror.
“Evie.”
“Leave her be. She’ll come around. What do you think of these?”
“They’re perfect. Obviously.”
“Don’t be so fatalistic, Winnie,” she said, throwing a pair of wool sailor pants at me. “And try these on.”
Bernie made me wear the sailor pants out of the store, despite my concerns over when they might have last been washed. But she had guessed my size perfectly, and they looked and felt great. She even insisted on paying for them, so she could borrow them whenever she wanted (although she was a solid three inches taller than me and they wouldn’t have fit right). When we got back to Aunt Bea’s, both she and my mom made a big fuss over them.
“Honey, these arecute,” Mom said. I thought she was mostly just happy I was wearing something other than jeans.
“Stick with me, kid,” Aunt Bea said. “Vermont has better vintage.”
“Than New York?” Mom retorted. “You’re out of your gourd, Bea.”
“Notbettervintage,” Bernadette offered. “But definitelycheapervintage. These pants would have been four times the price in the city.”
“Well, they look great, honey,” Mom said.
Bernie dumped her own tote bag on the floor to show off her goods, and I beelined for a cheese plate set up on the kitchen table. My stomach was rumbling as I smeared Brie on a cracker and ate it in one bite. Bernadette and I had been gone most of the day and it only just occurred to me that we’d forgotten to eat lunch.
“Salad and cheese plate,” Aunt Bea said, putting an enormous serving bowl of salad on the table, along with four bowls and forks. “How long are you staying, anyway, Sissy?”
“Oh, we’ll drive home Sunday, I think,” Mom said.
“Perfect,” Aunt Bea said. “We’ll go for a big hike tomorrow. Pack a picnic.”
“I didn’t bring hiking boots,” I said.
“Aunt Bea has a closet full of hiking boots,” Bernie offered.
“It’s true, I do,” Aunt Bea said, sort of proudly.
“What about tonight?” Bernie asked. “We should play a game or something.”
“Game sounds great,” Mom said.
I served myself some salad and took a seat at the table as my phone buzzed. I pulled it out of my pocket and checked it eagerly—it was Clara, not Evelyn.
Can I borrow that Dior lipstick you got for your birthday and never wear
