by Portia Moore
14
Rain
After Vincent leaves for work, I ask April to call for the driver so I can take Erin to the passport agency to have hers rushed. I know Vincent will have called ahead already, and it feels strange—a reminder that I’m no longer a person to who the normal rules of life apply because of who I’m marrying. If I want my sister to have a passport within a day so she can fly to Italy, she’ll have it.
No, if Vincent wants her to have it, that little voice in my head reminds me.
I go to shower and change, quickly braiding my wet hair so I won’t have to take the time to blow-dry it. I want to get as much time with Erin alone as I can. The idea of an afternoon out in the city suddenly seems exciting with my little sister in tow.
I dress as casually as I can—jeans and a designer t-shirt with a cat wearing a beret on it that I love. I never get to wear it; Vincent hates graphic tees and says they’re cheap regardless of how much they cost, but with any luck, we’ll be back and I can change before he comes home and sees it. It feels like a small act of rebellion, inconsequential, but still lifts my spirits a little.
Getting permission from my mom to take Erin to Italy was easier than it should have been. I’d called her last night, hoping that she’d refuse, maybe even insist that Erin come to Seattle with her. I’d miss my sister, of course—I miss Erin all of the time. But I don’t like her being around Vincent’s lifestyle, especially not with the hero-worship she seems to be developing in regards to him.
But of course, my mother has done a complete one-eighty when it comes to Vincent, and now he can do no wrong in her eyes, either. She was happy that we’re taking Erin with us, going on and on about how good it will be for Erin to experience an international trip, a new culture, new language. She encouraged me to get Erin to learn some Italian, saying that it would be good for her college applications. She talked about how disappointed she was that she’d never gotten to travel out of the country and passed along her prayers and good wishes for Vincent’s mother. And that was the end of that. Not even the smallest pushback on her part.
Erin is nearly bouncing off the walls of the town car as we drive to the agency. Every new thing about my life that’s revealed is met with wide eyes and a dropped jaw. Under other circumstances, I’d be ecstatic at how excited my sister is—but I can’t because she’s exactly the way I was when I first met Vincent.
“I can’t believe I’m going out of the country,” she chatters next to me, with April sitting across from us, her face as impassive as ever. “I’ll have traveled to more places in a week than I have in my whole life.”
I smile at her, but my stomach is in knots. The last few weeks have been nothing but chaos, with the move to New York, Vincent’s Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde routine, bringing Erin here, and now a trip to Italy to meet in-laws who I’d thought were dead. I’ve never been out of the country either, and I know I should be just as excited as Erin is, but I can’t seem to muster it up. All I can feel is that I need a minute to breathe, for things to slow down a little. But it doesn’t look like they will be anytime soon.
It doesn’t help that I’m meeting Vincent’s parents soon, either. I have no idea what they’re like, and I can’t exactly ask him. I’ve only ever met a guy’s parents once before, and that was different. He wasn’t just someone I was in love with. He was my best friend.
I push the thought away as the car pulls up to the curb. I’m still surprised by the feeling I get whenever I think of him, even after all this time, the way my heart swells in my chest until it feels like I won’t be able to contain it. But I try not to let it happen too often. He’s long gone, and it does no good to think about the past.
Especially a past I can’t change.
The application at the passport agency is quick and easy. All it takes is letting them know that “Mr. Vincent Jamison” called ahead. The agent is quick to get Erin the paperwork, walk her through it, and then assure me that it will be ready for pick up as quickly as humanly possible. Erin seems to love every second of it, but it still makes me vaguely uncomfortable. I used to love the perks of being with Vincent too, but everything's different now that I understand what causes him to get exactly what he wants.
“What do you think of Mexican for lunch?” I ask Erin after we leave. When she nods enthusiastically, I ask the driver to take us to one of my favorite spots in the city, a restaurant Vincent and I often frequented. It’s a cute little Spanish-style restaurant front, with a patio that I request we be seated at.
“I’ll wait in the car,” April tells me. “Let me know if either of you need me for anything.”
“Can I ask you something?” Erin asks as we’re led out to the sunny patio. I look longingly at a tray of colorful, fancy margaritas that a waitress is walking past us carrying.
“Of course,” I reply, tearing my eyes away from the drinks and sitting down. “Anything.”
“Why does April have to go everywhere with you?” Erin asks curiously.
My heart drops, my face flushing with embarrassment.
“Because it’s safer,” I lie, giving her the same spiel that Vincent did when he told me about April. “Vincent feels better if I have some security with me. Especially in a city like this, that I’m not familiar with.”
Erin giggles. “It’s so bad you need a bodyguard?” she asks, sarcastically eyeing the luxury around us. I know she has to be thinking this place is a hell of a lot safer than Indiana. “Is Vincent like, secretly a drug lord or something?”
She’s teasing, of course, but I feel my face go hot. “Vincent is really successful,” I tell her lightly. “But someone as successful as him sometimes has people who are jealous or who want to get close to him, just like a celebrity. So it’s better if his family is protected. That includes you,” I add, not wanting her ideas about Vincent’s work to run off any further than they have.
Erin just laughs. Thankfully the awkwardness is broken when the waitress comes over to take our order, preventing any further questions about that. I’m deeply tempted to order a drink, especially without April around to see, or food that I really want to eat. But I can’t risk Erin accidentally saying something about it to Vincent in her excitement to tell him about our day, which he’ll undoubtedly ask about when we get home. It’s not fair to put her in that position. So I order water with lemon and a salad, suppressing a sigh.
“Are you going to miss your friends at school?” I ask Erin, unfolding a napkin and putting it in my lap. “Since you’re here, and while we’re in Italy, I mean.”
“Sort of.” Erin shrugs. “But it’s not like when you were in school,” she explains, and I stifle a laugh. As if I’m so much older than her. “I can FaceTime them whenever I want since you got me that iPhone for Christmas last year.”
Yet another thing I could do because of Vincent.
“What about a boyfriend?” I ask her coyly.
Erin rolls her eyes. “Sort of. But it’s complicated.”
I laugh, taking a sip of my water. What could possibly be complicated about a high school relationship? And then I remember my own at sixteen, and a little of the laughter dies away.
“What’s complicated about it?”
“I’ll tell you when it’s not complicated anymore,” Erin says. “But honestly, I’m glad I’m single,” she continues, her eyes brightening. “There’s gonna be so many hot guys in Italy, I bet. Does Vincent have any younger cousins? Maybe some that look like him?” She leans forward over the table as she speaks faster, and I swat her on the arm playfully. The excitement in her eyes reminds me of how different Vincent is on the inside than the outside and how easily someone could be fooled by how handsome he is.
“Not everything is about looks,” I tell Erin firmly, my heart speeding up in my chest a little. I need to get a handle on this.
“That’s easy for you to say,” she says pointedly. “You’ve got one of the hottest guys I’ve ever seen.”
“It’s about how a man treats you, not how
he looks.” I try to keep the exasperation out of my tone, but it’s hard. I need Erin to understand, and I’m not sure how to get through to her.
“Do you think I could get a rich guy like Vincent one day?” Erin asks thoughtfully.
I clench my jaw. In a way, I’m disappointed in her. I didn’t think my little sister was so superficial, but at the same time, I know she’s young. I know how I saw things when Vincent first took me out. If I were on her side of things, wouldn’t I think the same way? She has no idea what Vincent is really like, nothing besides how kind he is to our family, how he’s lavishing her with things and trips, and how he behaves in front of everyone else. And it’s hypocritical of me too, I know, to tell Erin that looks and money don’t matter when I have a ring on my finger that probably cost six figures, a bag sitting beside me that was three times as much as some people’s mortgages, and when, in less than twenty-four hours, we’ll both be sitting on a private jet headed to Italy.
“Maybe,” I tell her carefully. “But I want you to understand that it’s important to be able to get things for yourself, Erin, not just be given them. Marrying rich isn’t a goal; it’s just nice if it happens, but you shouldn’t bank on it. You should be independent. Don’t focus on finding a guy. Focus on your education so you can have your own money. And then if you meet someone attractive and has money, those can just be extra things that come after being kind, and generous, and treating you well.”
Erin looks at me, her face blank. It’s clear she’s bored by my older sister speech. It’s hard for me to blame her; after all, she’s grown up in the same place I have—a backward Midwestern town without anything exciting or thrilling. All of this is new and wonderful, and I feel bad for trying to suck some of the joy out of it. But I don’t want her to give up on being her own person.
Thankfully, the food comes then, alleviating the sudden awkwardness between us. The waitress sets a piled-high nacho platter down in front of Erin, and my mouth waters just looking at it. I love nachos, and nacho cheese is my favorite. I would put it on almost anything. I can hear my stomach rumble as my salad is set down in front of me, and I let out a small sigh.
“What is that?” Erin laughs, eyeing my salad. “Who goes to a fancy Mexican restaurant and just gets a salad?”
Someone who has no say in her life because she’s dependent on a man, I want to retort, but I don’t.
“Someone who has a wedding dress to fit into soon,” I say instead, laughing as if it’s a joke, but I hate every word that comes out of my mouth. The last thing I want Erin to think is that starving yourself to fit into clothes is okay, but I don’t know what else to say. Telling her the truth about Vincent would be worse for both of us. And as usual, I don’t want to put that burden on her.
My phone rings, and I pick it up quickly, seeing that it’s Vincent. My stomach does a flip—not the happy butterflies I used to get when I saw his name come up, but a pit of anxiety that threatens to open up and swallow me.
“Hi, love,” I say quickly, swallowing back the nervousness.
“Did Erin’s passport get approved?” he asks, his voice curt.
“Yes,” I tell him quickly. “It’ll be ready by tonight. They were very accommodating.”
“Well, I would hope so,” he says dryly. “For all the money I’m paying them.”
Great, now I can add “bribing government officials” to the list.
“That’s good, though,” he continues, sounding pleased. “Take Erin shopping when the two of you are done with lunch, and get her hair done.”
My nerves flutter a little when I realize that he knows we’re at lunch, but of course, the driver or April would have updated him on our whereabouts. I can’t go anywhere without him knowing. Not anymore.
“That sounds great!” I tell him, surprised but happy that he’s fine with us spending more time out together and willing to let me spend a little more money on Erin. “Thank you—” I begin, but before I can tell him how happy that makes me, he cuts me off brusquely.
“I can’t let her meet my family looking like she grew up in a trailer park.”
I feel the blood drain from my face, and a sudden swell of anger rises in me—almost enough to make me forget about being careful how I talk to Vincent. Is he fucking serious?
“I’m just kidding,” he says quickly, as if he’s made the funniest joke I’ve ever heard. “I just want her to look as beautiful as you—if that’s even possible.”
I don’t know what to say.
“I have to go,” he says, and I feel relief wash over me. “We’ll leave tonight, as soon as her passport is in hand.”
“Sounds good,” I tell him, but my voice cracks a little as I say it. For all the things Vincent has said and done, this one somehow hurts the most. It’s one of the most hurtful things I’ve ever heard him say. I don’t know how to respond, how to not burst into tears of hurt and fury in front of my little sister, and while still on the phone with him. I hope he’s not going to say anything else, but he does.
“And make sure you take her to the kinds of places you shop now,” he says firmly. “None of that cheap shit, like what you were wearing when we first met.”
I can hardly hold back the tears as I hang up the phone and shove it back into my bag, wiping at my eyes as I lean over so that Erin won’t see.
“What’s wrong?” she asks as I sit up. I can’t help the sadness in my eyes, no matter how hard I try.
“Nothing,” I tell her quickly, forcing a fake smile onto my face. “Vincent is running late tonight, that’s all. He wants me to take you shopping for the trip and then to the salon to get your hair done! That will be fun, won’t it?”
“Oh my god, yes!” Erin exclaims. “I’m so excited, shopping in New York City! If this is a dream, I don’t want to wake up!”
I try to be excited with her, keeping the smile on my face, but I can barely even manage to eat any of my salad as Erin plows through her plate of nachos and then orders flan for dessert. Normally my mouth would be watering at the sight of the syrupy dessert, but my appetite is entirely gone. I see Erin’s eyes follow the heavy black credit card I slide across the table to pay for the meal, and my stomach sinks when I instruct the driver to take us to one of the expensive boutiques that Vincent likes me to shop at.
We go to several of them, and Erin is on cloud nine, trying on designer jeans and tops that cost as much as a month of our parents’ rent, picking up huge dangly earrings and setting them back down. “Are those real diamonds?” she asks me in a hushed whisper when she picks up a pair of sparkly hoops, and when I nod, her mouth drops open.
Erin models everything for me, popping in and out of the dressing room with boundless energy. I try not to be too parental, although I make her swap out at least one pair of cutoff shorts for a slightly longer pair. For the most part, I let her choose what she wants. I see her eyes go wide with shock when we finally take the stacks of things she’s picked at the last store up to the register. Erin sees the total, bringing our grand amount for all the stores to a little over six thousand dollars.
“This is the best day of my life,” Erin whispers reverently as the cashier bags up the last of her purchases, handing Erin the sleek, matte black bags with the ribbon handles. There are not just clothes, but her first designer bag and her first pair of diamond earrings—small silver hoops with black diamonds encircling them, just edgy enough for Erin’s taste but classy enough for Vincent’s family. The sick pit in my stomach just seemed to get deeper all afternoon, but as I look at her shining face, I try to tell myself that it’s okay, that Erin should have things like this.
But I’m just lying to myself, like always. This wasn’t how I wanted today to go. I wanted to take her shopping, but I wanted to go to places that would be fun. The kind of places that normal teenagers shop, like Forever 21, Abercrombie, American Eagle, and Hollister. I wanted to take her to the stores I wanted to shop at as a kid, when my mom couldn’t afford a pair of eighty-dollar jeans at Hollister—e
specially not ones full of rips and tears—and had to take me to the thrift shop instead. A few hundred dollars at each of those stores should have been the extravagance I introduced Erin to today, blowing money in an innocent and fun way—not spending five hundred dollars on a pair of designer jeans. My mother would be horrified.
Or maybe she wouldn’t. I honestly don’t know anymore.
I just know that I don’t want Erin getting used to shopping at places where a pair of shoes cost over a thousand dollars. Seeing her so elated makes me happy, but I can’t silence that voice in my head, the one that says I’m getting Erin used to a lifestyle that neither of us could sustain without Vincent. Even most normal, nice guys couldn’t manage this. And that’s what I want for Erin in the future—a normal, nice guy.
There’s nothing to do but get in the car and direct the driver to the salon, all the while watching Erin’s glowing, exuberant face and trying not to let her see how sick I feel inside.
Erin’s been squeezed in on a moment’s notice, of course, to a high-end salon that I expect will be my new one here in Manhattan. The stylist is a talkative man with perfectly styled hair and an accent. He manages to upsell Erin on threaded eyebrows, telling her how perfectly they’ll frame her face and cheekbones; she looks at me pleadingly, and I relent.
I sit in the corner with a magazine, trying to ignore April as the stylist does his work. When he calls out “Ta-da!” and whirls Erin around to face me with the hairdresser’s smock removed, I can’t help but stare. With her hair cut and highlighted and the maintenance done to her eyebrows, I’m completely floored by how beautiful she looks, how elegant and grown-up. My little sister has always been beautiful, of course, but now she looks like a teenage supermodel. Not just that, but I’m astounded by how much she looks like me.
“There’s no question that you’re sisters,” the stylist says, echoing my thoughts. “Come back when you need your hair done,” he tells me, and I thank him, promising that I will.
