Read Online Two of a Kind by Yona Zeldis McDonough - Free Book Online Page A

Phoebe past the foyer into the parlor. There, she actually gasped. The entire room—walls, ceiling, furniture, carpeting, even the baby grand piano that stood at the far end—had been painted or upholstered in the same celestial shade of blue. “Please, sit down.” Phoebe gestured to a Louis XVI sofa covered in shredding pale blue silk. Christina hesitated but then saw that all the furniture in the room—the matching Louis XVI chairs, blue velvet settee—was in an equally deteriorated condition, and so she perched carefully on the sofa’s edge.
    â€œShe certainly had a point of view,” Christina began.
    â€œDid she ever! Wait until you see the rest of the place.” Phoebe had flopped down on the velvet love seat, drawing her strong legs—she’d played field hockey in school, no doubt about it—under her.
    â€œHow long did she live here?” Christina let her eyes travel the room. No paintings, but a large mirror in a sky blue frame hung above the sky blue mantelpiece, and several smaller mirrors were dispersed on other walls.
    â€œHer parents bought the house in 1915—she was about five years old. She lived here her whole life. Never married, never moved.”
    Christina reached into her bag and pulled out a black Moleskine notebook. “I’ll want to see the whole thing, of course. But I want to hear more about you first—what your goals for the house are. How you envision it changing and growing along with your family. Then I can tell you about how I might help you.” As if the word
family
were the prompt, there was a thud and then a shriek, both emanating from somewhere above.
    Phoebe leapt up and sprinted toward the sound. Christina followed more slowly, climbing the center staircase that was covered, of course, in balding sky blue carpeting.
    Upstairs, the monochromatic motif continued, but now in a pale, buttery color. In one of the golden rooms, Phoebe introduced Christina to her two daughters; the seven-year-old, Torry, was the namesake of Great-aunt Victoria. Once the girls were safely parked in front of Phoebe’s laptop, Phoebe showed Christina the upper two floors, one done in lilac and the top one in pink.
    When they were through, they went back down to the blue floor again. Christina had a brief, irrational desire to tell Phoebe to leave all of it, every last stained and shredded scrap, intact. But of course she would not say such a thing, and anyway, how ridiculously impractical would that be? Phoebe needed a more family-friendly kind of space; she had two daughters—
and a third on the way
, she had said confidingly, patting the front of her shirt. Christina had not realized she was pregnant, but now she saw it, the barely perceptible bulge. The woman was so taut and solid it was easy to miss.
    Back in the parlor, Christina asked more questions, took notes, and began formulating a plan. She wanted to maintain these light colors, but give them a more relaxed, contemporary spin. The moldings, pocket doors, and the like—those hard-to-replicate details that made these old houses so prized—she would recommend keeping, though she envisioned low-slung, informal furniture, bright rugs, and natural wood.
    Phoebe listened intently, and spent a long time looking through the book of photos Christina had brought. Finally, Christina got up to leave.
    â€œI’ll be in touch,” Phoebe said as they walked to the door. “And I do like your ideas for the nursery. A sweet, safe little space where I can bond with the baby.”
    â€œAn oasis,” said Christina, extending her hand. “A home within a home.”
    â€œExactly!” Phoebe took her hand and shook it vigorously. She had a grip like a python and Christina resisted the impulse to massage her own hand until she was on the street and safely out of her sight. When she turned the corner onto Carroll Street, she noticed a man with a turban standing in front of