little too brutal: but then, most of Kiki’s questions hadn’t had to do with Quinn’s character, but with his income.
“Anyway,” said Kiki cruelly, “I don’t think he’s smitten with you .”
Fiji said, “I never thought he was.” But she kept her eyes lowered, because after this morning, she did think that might be a possibility.
This is the darker side of my big sister, Fiji thought. When Kiki was unhappy, she struck out against the people around her, especially the women. Kiki thought of herself as a sexual goddess.
Could she really be such a siren? Fiji wondered. Sure, Kiki had been married twice. But did that really prove anything? Reviewing the men Kiki had married and the men Kiki had dated, Fiji thought, I don’t think so. Surely that couldn’t be the basis for Kiki’s self-regard. So what was her sister really good at? She certainly couldn’t sing. “Are you good at art?” she asked abruptly, and Kiki gaped at her.
“Nope, I can’t draw a lick,” Kiki said. “What a weird question.”
They were sitting at the table in the kitchen, eating lunch. Fiji poured some more tea into their glasses.
“Why’d you ask?” Kiki said, as if simply being quiet bugged her.
“I just wondered.”
“That guy Quinn said you were a witch,” Kiki said, looking off in another direction, as if merely bringing this up made her uneasy.
“You know Aunt Mildred was,” Fiji said bluntly. “That was how she made her living.”
“So you make herbal teas for women with headaches? And read their futures in a crystal ball?”
“Future? No, that’s for psychics,” Fiji said, smiling. “You might try Manfred, across the road, if you’re interested in learning about your future.”
“That’s a bunch of crap.” Making a face to show how disgusted she was, Kiki got up to scrape her scraps into the garbage can and wash her plate. They’d shared a salad; not much of anything to put away or clean up except the cutting board. “I don’t believe in reading palms, or casting spells, stuff like that.”
Apparently, Kiki believed Francine Owens had genuinely fainted.
“Okay,” Fiji said, still smiling, but with an effort. “That’s fine.” Just deny my whole life and my beliefs. That’s okay!
“Maybe I’ll go down and get my nails done this afternoon.” Kiki had spotted the Antique Gallery and Nail Salon sign that morning, and she’d been peering at her hands ever since. “Do I need to call and make an appointment?”
“I don’t think so,” Fiji said, maintaining her smile. “Go do that. Tell Joe and Chuy I said hi.”
And very soon after, that was what Kiki did. The relief of having her gone was ridiculously keen. As soon as Kiki’s feet touched the sidewalk, Mr. Snuggly appeared by his food bowl. He fixed Fiji with a baleful glare, and she hurried to pour in his kibble and spoon a little Fancy Feast on top.
He had earned the treat.
Kiki had called Mr. Snuggly “Blubberbutt” three times, within the cat’s hearing. Though Kiki had no idea that the cat could understand her, Fiji had winced every time, sure that sooner or later she’d pay for her sister’s tactlessness.
“She’ll leave sooner or later,” Fiji said, scratching Mr. Snuggly’s head. She tried to sound confident. Maybe I can stand it for a week, she thought doubtfully, and her fingers slowed. The cat butted her hand to get her attention, and she resumed scratching. “Sorry, buddy.”
When Mr. Snuggly felt he’d been adored enough, he ate his food, every bit, and exited through the cat door into the backyard in what Fiji considered a very pointed way. This time of day, he normally took a nap in the basket under Fiji’s counter.
Fiji felt she’d apologized enough for Kiki—in fact, she’d thought of calling Joe to apologize for whatever her sister was saying right now— but she knew that was ridiculous. My sister’s character is hardly my fault. Kiki’s a grown woman, Fiji reminded herself. As Quinn had
“Anyway,” said Kiki cruelly, “I don’t think he’s smitten with you .”
Fiji said, “I never thought he was.” But she kept her eyes lowered, because after this morning, she did think that might be a possibility.
This is the darker side of my big sister, Fiji thought. When Kiki was unhappy, she struck out against the people around her, especially the women. Kiki thought of herself as a sexual goddess.
Could she really be such a siren? Fiji wondered. Sure, Kiki had been married twice. But did that really prove anything? Reviewing the men Kiki had married and the men Kiki had dated, Fiji thought, I don’t think so. Surely that couldn’t be the basis for Kiki’s self-regard. So what was her sister really good at? She certainly couldn’t sing. “Are you good at art?” she asked abruptly, and Kiki gaped at her.
“Nope, I can’t draw a lick,” Kiki said. “What a weird question.”
They were sitting at the table in the kitchen, eating lunch. Fiji poured some more tea into their glasses.
“Why’d you ask?” Kiki said, as if simply being quiet bugged her.
“I just wondered.”
“That guy Quinn said you were a witch,” Kiki said, looking off in another direction, as if merely bringing this up made her uneasy.
“You know Aunt Mildred was,” Fiji said bluntly. “That was how she made her living.”
“So you make herbal teas for women with headaches? And read their futures in a crystal ball?”
“Future? No, that’s for psychics,” Fiji said, smiling. “You might try Manfred, across the road, if you’re interested in learning about your future.”
“That’s a bunch of crap.” Making a face to show how disgusted she was, Kiki got up to scrape her scraps into the garbage can and wash her plate. They’d shared a salad; not much of anything to put away or clean up except the cutting board. “I don’t believe in reading palms, or casting spells, stuff like that.”
Apparently, Kiki believed Francine Owens had genuinely fainted.
“Okay,” Fiji said, still smiling, but with an effort. “That’s fine.” Just deny my whole life and my beliefs. That’s okay!
“Maybe I’ll go down and get my nails done this afternoon.” Kiki had spotted the Antique Gallery and Nail Salon sign that morning, and she’d been peering at her hands ever since. “Do I need to call and make an appointment?”
“I don’t think so,” Fiji said, maintaining her smile. “Go do that. Tell Joe and Chuy I said hi.”
And very soon after, that was what Kiki did. The relief of having her gone was ridiculously keen. As soon as Kiki’s feet touched the sidewalk, Mr. Snuggly appeared by his food bowl. He fixed Fiji with a baleful glare, and she hurried to pour in his kibble and spoon a little Fancy Feast on top.
He had earned the treat.
Kiki had called Mr. Snuggly “Blubberbutt” three times, within the cat’s hearing. Though Kiki had no idea that the cat could understand her, Fiji had winced every time, sure that sooner or later she’d pay for her sister’s tactlessness.
“She’ll leave sooner or later,” Fiji said, scratching Mr. Snuggly’s head. She tried to sound confident. Maybe I can stand it for a week, she thought doubtfully, and her fingers slowed. The cat butted her hand to get her attention, and she resumed scratching. “Sorry, buddy.”
When Mr. Snuggly felt he’d been adored enough, he ate his food, every bit, and exited through the cat door into the backyard in what Fiji considered a very pointed way. This time of day, he normally took a nap in the basket under Fiji’s counter.
Fiji felt she’d apologized enough for Kiki—in fact, she’d thought of calling Joe to apologize for whatever her sister was saying right now— but she knew that was ridiculous. My sister’s character is hardly my fault. Kiki’s a grown woman, Fiji reminded herself. As Quinn had
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