Sass & Serendipity (10 page)

“It’s very …” Gabby fumbled for the right thing to say. “… romantic.”

Daphne’s face beamed so brightly and so fast, she practically made the same
ping!
noise as the computer when it sparked up. “Want to see it on?” she asked.

“Um …” Gabby wanted to say no and make a quick excuse about homework. But she knew it would sound lame. Besides, Daphne looked so wide-eyed and happy-hopeful—the exact same expression she woke Gabby up with on Christmas mornings when they were young. “Sure.”

Daphne wriggled out of her school clothes at amazing speed. Then she carefully pulled off the plastic, unhooked the dress from the hanger, and stepped into it. “Could you zip me?” she asked, pointing to her back.

As soon as Gabby zipped her in, Daphne whirled about and struck a pose. “Well? What do you think?” she asked, grabbing hold of the skirt and swishing from side to side.

Gabby felt a tug of envy. Every day she told herself she wasn’t jealous of her sister, but she was. Majorly. The girl was just so effortlessly adorable. All big brown eyes, broad smile, and dimples. And when she grinned really wide, her two dimples actually turned into four.
Four!
Even her dimples had dimples. Plus, she was just so cute and bouncy. Bouncy hair, a bouncy-sounding laugh, a bouncy frame—and two bouncy round globes that no guy could keep his eyes off of.

Gabby hated that this bothered her, but it did. She knew that in the Great Scheme of Things it was no big deal that she was a B-cup with room to spare while Daphne busted out of Ds. The logical side of her could fill a spiral notebook with reasons why her chest size wasn’t important—and was even preferable in some situations (like distance running—which, unfortunately, she didn’t do). But then they’d go someplace like the local pool and Gabby would feel like a drab twig next to her jiggly sister, and suddenly it all mattered. The inequality of their genetics. The way the lifeguard would lend Daphne money when she didn’t have enough for the soda machine.

Just more proof that no matter how hard Gabby worked, Daphne would continue to have things easier in life.

“You look … amazing,” Gabby replied truthfully.

“Thanks!” Daphne’s eyes seemed to increase their wattage. “Oh, and look. I also bought this.” She held up a small see-through jar full of silvery flecks.

“What is that?”

“Body glitter. Isn’t it pretty? And don’t give me that look. It was only a few dollars.”

Gabby hadn’t realized she was making a face. “What’s it for?” she asked, trying to appear neutral.

“I’m going to put a little around my collarbone and maybe dab some on my temples. I just thought it would make it seem more … what’s the word?”

“Las Vegas showgirl?”

“No!” Daphne laughed. “More
magical
. Doesn’t this stuff remind you of pixie dust?”

“I guess.” Gabby always thought Daphne had overdosed on fairy tales as a kid.

Daphne flounced to the mirror over the dresser and ran her fingers through her long, silky tresses. “Do you think I should wear my hair up? Or keep it down?”

“Up.” Gabby was amazed to hear herself answer so quickly and decisively. But she always did think Daphne looked good with her hair pulled away from her face. It made her seem more sophisticated.

“Okay.” Daphne flashed her a grateful smile. She lifted her mass of dark, shiny hair into a loose bun and studied her image in the mirror.

Gabby sat down on her bed and watched her sister. Strange that her opinion would mean so much to Daphne—especially since Gabby had never been to prom, or even been asked. No big tragedy, since she didn’t want to go. Still, the
fact that her thoughts mattered to her sister made her feel good for some reason. And she appreciated that Daphne wasn’t holding a grudge from their fight. The girl was quick to cry over stuff, but she was also quick to forgive, something Gabby found incredibly hard to do.

She decided to continue being big about things and show some real interest. “So what about your shoes?” she asked.

“I’ve got those silver heels from when we went to Tía Olivia’s wedding,” Daphne replied, still staring dreamily at her reflection. “And I’m hoping Mom will let me wear some of Grandma’s antique jewelry.” She turned her head from side to side, as if imagining a pair of earrings dangling from her lobes.

“Do you think Luke will take you someplace fancy for dinner?” Gabby asked.

Daphne’s shoulders hunched and her gaze drifted down to the top of the dresser, as if she were suddenly unable to look herself in the eye. “I don’t really know. I hope so,” she said. Her pitch was higher and the words took on a singsong quality, like someone
trying
to sound casual.

Gabby sensed deception. “So tell me,” she went on, hoping to gather more clues. “How did Luke ask you to prom? Was he all romantic?”

Daphne let go of her hair and stuck the first two fingernails of her right hand between her teeth.

“Daphne?” Gabby repeated, adding a warning edge to her voice. She knew she was supposed to be acting supportive, but it was too strong an instinct. She had to trap Daphne, catch her, make her submit. It was the natural order. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s just … he hasn’t exactly asked me yet.”

“What?”

“But he will. I’m sure. He just needs … the right opportunity.”

“Wait a minute. Let me get this straight,” Gabby said. “You spent all that money on a dress—money we need to live on—
and you don’t even have a date yet
?”

Daphne shrugged. “So?”

That did it. That one word, spoken with all the petulance of a bratty six-year-old, eradicated any residual warmth toward her little sister.

“God! I just don’t get you. You know Mom needs that money, but you go spend it on some tacky dress you’ll only wear once!”

Daphne looked as if she’d been slapped. “You said you liked it.”

“Forget the stupid dress! We’re in a real financial crisis here. Why can’t you be more considerate?”

“You mean like you?” Daphne’s skirt rustled as she stomped over to her bed and sat down, sounding as if she were tramping through a pile of leaves.

“Yes, like me! I work hard and give most of the money to Mom. And I still do more chores around here than you do. You don’t seem to care about anyone but yourself.”

“Neither do you! Here I thought you were being my friend. But you’re never nice on purpose. You were just trying to trick me so you could yell some more. Why can’t you just be a normal big sister? Why do you have to hate me?”

Gabby opened her mouth to say something … and let it hang there. The thing was, Daphne was right. Not about
Gabby deliberately tricking her, but about everything else. She was only pretending to be interested in the dress. She
had
lied. And she didn’t exactly hate Daphne, but she did hate spending time with her. When they were together, they were either fighting or ignoring each other.

She was never purposely nice to Daphne. She never wanted her around.

“Fine!” Daphne yelled when it became clear that Gabby had no response. “Then I hate you, too! I wish you weren’t my sister. I wish I could divorce you like Dad did Mom!”

Gabby stood motionless as Daphne swished out of the room. A second later she could hear the bathroom door slam.

Maybe it wasn’t the fact that Daphne wanted to live in a fairy tale that bothered her. Maybe it was the fact that she kind of was living in one.

And Gabby was the evil villain.

Daphne sat cross-legged in the recliner with her green spiral notebook in her lap. She’d started out doing some overdue homework for Ms. Manbeck, which had turned into a big doodle session, which had then turned into a series of dress sketches. Wedding dresses, to be precise. For her wedding. To Luke.

Of course, she knew she wouldn’t be walking down the aisle anytime soon. She and Luke would first have to finish high school and then college. Their love and the promise of a life together would spur them on through those long nights of studying and tough, penny-pinching times. Their dates would be economical yet romantic: Picnics in the park, where, while munching ramen noodle salad, they’d watch the children play and brainstorm what to name their own kids. Long walks during which they’d pick out houses they’d someday like to live in. Rented rom-coms or evenings when they simply read poetry to each other. Although they had years to go before their spring garden wedding with the string quartet and
mermaid ice sculpture, there was no harm in being prepared with a good dress design, right?

For the past twenty-four hours, Daphne had been replaying their trip to the pharmacy like some mental high-def video clip. She was so happy that she had souvenirs of the fateful day. She’d carefully stowed her lucky penny in the hinged cut-glass box she’d gotten from Grandma on her sixth birthday. Now that her prom dress wasn’t a secret anymore, she’d taken it out of the closet and hung it on the back of their bedroom door, where she could see it anytime she wanted. Even her forehead still prickled where he’d kissed her.

Whenever Daphne recalled the pressure of Luke’s soft lips, a sizzling sensation rushed over her, like a sudden fever. This was true happiness. The kind that could only come from finding a lost part of you. From finally seeing things the way they were supposed to be. She’d spent the day at school smiling at everyone—including Ms. Manbeck. She’d helped creepy Buck Templeton when his notebook exploded, sending his science notes all over the 300 wing. She’d even forgiven her mean, nosy, know-it-all sister. Because when it came down to it, Daphne felt sorry for all those people who didn’t have what she had.

Sadly, she’d only seen Luke once and in passing, but those pillowy lips had curled into such a wide, beautiful grin that the tingles had practically paralyzed her. It was all she could do to lift her left hand in a feeble wave. She’d been hoping he’d ask her to prom, but that was all they’d glimpsed of each other—especially since she’d finally gone by the diner after school to fill out an application and make her mom happy.
There was still time, though. In fact, he’d probably call her tonight.

“Girls, which do you think looks better on me? This blue blouse? Or the white one?”

Daphne stopped drawing her embroidered cap sleeves and glanced up. Her mother stood in the middle of the room looking like a statue of Justice. From each hand dangled a shirt on a hanger, and she took turns lifting one to look it over while simultaneously lowering the other.

Frankly, Daphne hated both options. One was dark blue and frumpy. The other was so ten years ago, with its wide collar and elbow-length sleeves.

“What’s it for?” Gabby asked, leaning sideways from her seat in the dining room to get a better view.

“There’s a job opening at the office. I wasn’t going to apply for it since it means taking on some evenings and weekends, but now I think I should. It’s a real step up moneywise. Probably not enough for us to stay here, but at least we could find someplace decent.”

“Do you think you’ll get the job?” Daphne asked. Maybe they could find a three-bedroom rental and she wouldn’t have to share with Crabby Gabby anymore. Maybe they could get a better cell phone plan. Maybe she and Luke could rent a limo for prom.

Her mom’s lips clamped together tightly, as if she was trying to prevent something from escaping her mouth. After a couple of seconds she shook her head. “No. I think Rick will get it.”

“Who’s Rick?”

“One of the other assistants. Young guy just a year or two
out of business school. You might have heard me talk about him.”

“Wait.” Gabby strode across the room toward them, her features bunched into a scowl. “If he’s just out of business school, there’s no way he’s been working there longer than you.”

“He hasn’t. He’s been there about two years.”

“And you’ve been there four. You should have the advantage. You should get the job.”

“That’s not how it works, unfortunately.”

“It’s because he’s a man, right?” Gabby went on, her hands resting in fists against her hips. “He’s a man and your boss is a man and they all just look out for each other. Who cares about the women? If they need help, they should just get a man, right?”

Mom smiled and nodded. “Something like that.”

“Is Rick a jerk?” Daphne asked.

“Well …” Mom tilted her head, her eyes swiveling up toward the water stain on the ceiling. “He’s the type of man who’s always pulling out your chair for you at lunch meetings, or rushing to hold open the door.”

Gabby wrinkled her nose. “Ooh, I can’t stand that stuff! Like we’re too weak to do those things on our own.” She pressed the back of a hand to her forehead and said in a thick Southern belle–type accent, “My, my! A glass door? How on earth will I ever manage it?”

Gabby and their mom hooted with laughter. Daphne felt embarrassed by them.

“God! You guys!” she exclaimed. “You sound like you hate men.”

“We’re just talking about Mom’s job. You wouldn’t understand.” Gabby was using that bossy voice that Daphne despised. The one that implied that Gabby was the other parent now that Dad was gone, and Daphne was somehow four years old again.

“It sounds like you’re blaming guys for everything that goes wrong,” Daphne said. “You can’t blame Dad for this one, so you’re going off on some guy you haven’t even met.”

She tried to imagine this Rick person. For some reason, she pictured him as handsome. And likeable. He was probably the kind of guy who laughed a lot and gave people compliments and stopped at Mrs. Johnson’s for a box of doughnuts to bring with him to meetings. Maybe that was why he’d probably get the job. If Daphne were a boss, she’d want to work alongside someone like that, not someone who never joked around and always looked as if they were sucking on an extrasour lemon drop.

Of course she was rooting for her mom, and she really hoped she got the promotion. But she kind of had to admit that she liked this Rick guy. Or at least, her version of him.

“Don’t worry, Daphne. We’re only being silly,” Mom said. “I’m just hoping I do well in the interview.”

“You should wear the navy blouse,” Gabby said. Again, the certainty in her tone bothered Daphne. It was true Gabby was smarter about most things, but fashion was not one of them. She only wore jeans and T-shirts—or that hideous red polyester theater uniform. Nothing else.

“Really? This one?” Mrs. Rivera raised the navy shirt and studied it.

Daphne hung over the back of the couch. “Mom, do you still have that sort of wine-colored blouse? The one with the ruffles up and down the front?”

“I think I know the one you’re talking about. Yes, it’s still around. Why?”

“You should wear that. It goes good with your skin. Makes you look young and soft. It’s pretty.”

Gabby rolled her eyes. “This isn’t a date. She doesn’t want to look pretty. She wants to look professional.”

Daphne glared back at her. “Why is pretty not professional? I mean, if she looks good and feels good, won’t she do better in the interview?”

“I still say the blue.”

“The wine one!”

“Girls, please don’t fight. I appreciate the feedback, but I’ll take it from here.”

Daphne scowled. She’d probably wear the blue one and look all washed-out. No one ever listened to Daphne. Now Rick would get the job and get to take home more money to his perfect wife in their perfect house. Maybe they’d even trade up to a bigger place and have perfect kids and live happily ever after. Together forever. All because of a tacky blue top.

“Mom?” Daphne called out as her mother headed back to her room with the clothes.

She paused and looked back. “What, hon?”

“Next time you have a meeting at work … you should bring a box of Mrs. Johnson’s doughnuts with you to share. It would be nice.”

Gabby swirled the spoon inside the cast-iron skillet, making sure each piece of onion got equally coated by the oil. They were starting to get that perfect glassy look. Just another minute of sautéing and she could add the pork (already browned and waiting on a plate), some diced tomatoes, and the paste of crushed garlic and cumin seed she’d mashed in the big stone
molcajete
. Her mom had gone to see Sue Sandborne, a woman who ran a salon out of her home, in the hopes that a haircut and color touch-up might give her an edge over Rick the Wonder Guy at work. So it was up to Gabby to cover dinner.

Not that she minded. Cooking was more of an escape than a chore. All the chopping and stirring relaxed her, and the smells brought back fond memories.

Grandma Rivera had taught her this recipe for came
guisada
the year before she died. Gabby was about eleven, and she and Daphne had gone to stay with her for most of the summer. Little did Gabby know at the time that her parents were already having huge problems, which was part of the reason why they’d shuttled the girls off to Grandma’s old cottage in Victoria.

Gabby had loved those cooking sessions. The peppery smells permeating the tiny kitchen. The clouds of flour stirred up by Grandma’s bony hands as she made tortillas. Even the sweat and calluses and burn blisters. It all made her feel important and empowered. And it made her feel closer to Grandma.

Of course, Grandma had tried to teach Daphne, too, but at age eight the girl had had the attention span of a caffeinated hummingbird, so she was quickly dismissed. Instead, Grandma lavished her with several home-sewn dresses made of bright pastels and covered with piping and bows. So while Gabby pounded meat, kneaded
masa
, and sliced vegetables until her hands were dotted with tiny stab wounds, Daphne spent the summer twirling about in her new clothes.

She still thought of Grandma whenever she cooked, and missed her terribly. She’d never really gotten to know her mom’s mom, who had died when Gabby was three. Grandma Rivera, however, had been a strong, stable force in her life. When Gabby was little, she’d been scared of the short, round woman, who was always rushing around with various kitchen utensils, barking out orders in Spanish, hugging her too tightly, and poking her cheeks with her fingertips. But later she identified with her grandmother’s bossy, methodical nature. It pleased her to know she came from hardy female stock.

The onions were now perfect, and she was just about to add the meat when the phone started ringing.

“Daphne, can you get that?”

“I’m busy,” came her sister’s muffled voice.

“I’m busy too! I’m cooking!”

“I’m in the bathroom! Besides, it’s probably for you!”

Gabby let out an exasperated grunt, threw down the spoon, and headed for the nearby phone. Daphne was right: the caller ID display showed Mule’s number. This only made her angrier.

In a huff, she picked up the receiver and said, “I’m quitting.”

“Uhh …” came Mule’s tenor voice. “What? Your job?”

“No. I’m quitting my life. I’m changing my name to Rosario and moving to Paraguay.”

He let out a staticky sigh. “What’s happened now?”

“The usual. My sister.”

“Ah. You’re still mad about the dress?”

“Among other things.” Gabby returned to the stove and added the meat with her free hand, enjoying the angry hiss it made as it hit the heated pan. “Did I tell you she spent all that money on that dress and … get this … she hasn’t even been asked to prom yet!”

“She will be. Probably by more than one guy.”

Gabby stifled her annoyance by sucking in her cheeks. She didn’t want logical, state-the-obvious Mule right now. She wanted loyal Mule. Devoted-sidekick Mule. Yes-to-whatever-you-say Mule. “Don’t you get it?” she said, pouring in the tomatoes, which didn’t sizzle nearly as much as the pork had. “I don’t care if she gets asked or not. I care about her refusing to help out and getting away with it all the time.”