Lily slowly stirred her coffee. She had one hand on the spoon and the other on her book. She was bent over, her flaming curls creating a short curtain between her and the rest of the world. Her hair, once a smart bob, had just begun to touch her shoulders, and the curls she had spent the last three years carefully ironing flat every morning were back in full force. She didn't care, though; in fact, some days she barely even noticed she had hair at all. There were so many more important things to think about.
She glanced up as the bell over the door rang. Dylan led the way, followed closely by their parents. Jack and Rose were giggling, and it was most likely over something only they understood. Shaking her head, she caught Dylan's eye. He shrugged and gave her a "What do you expect from them?" look. She shoved her book in her bag and stood up. The round of hugs earned them more than a few curious glances, but they didn't care.
"How was Morocco?" Lily asked.
"Amazing," Jack and Rose said in unison. They leaned toward each other, overcome by another giggling fit.
"Stop talking when I want to talk," Rose said.
Jack assumed an apologetic air. "I'm sorry, miss."
She shoved him playfully. "I thought we weren't doing that anymore."
"We aren't? When was that decided?"
Lily and Dylan exchanged glances. "So, are you glad to be back?" he asked.
Rose turned to face him. "What? Oh, well, we're glad to see you," she said, laying one hand on his and the other on Lily's. "We missed you." She gave them each a quick squeeze. "If only you could have seen it. But tell us about you. What have the two of you been up to?"
"Well, I—" Lily stopped. Was it the right time to tell them? How could there be a right time? She could hear their reaction already; there was no need to make the disappointment ringing in her head real. So instead she told a story about one of the girls in her dormitory, a harmless anecdote she had actually played no part in, though in this version she was center stage. She felt Dylan glance at her out of the corner of his eye. Shut up, she thought. I don't hear you making any announcements.
*****
"I wish we could stay with them longer," Rose said.
"We could," Jack offered. "We don't have to go home yet. We don't really have to do anything," he added, grinning slightly.
"No. I want to go home," she said. "And they have their own lives, which is to be expected." She sighed. "When did they grow up?"
He pulled her closer. "They sneaked off and did it while we weren't looking."
She laid her head on his shoulder. "How rude of them."
He chuckled. "I'll have a word with them, miss."
"Oh, don't bother. Just tell me where we are. I don't hear anything."
"There's not much to hear," he said. "I'm afraid we've reached one of those boring little side streets no one ever walks on."
"You don't think anything is boring. That's a lie. So, tell me about it."
"It's small," he said, "and narrow. The buildings are all close together, and some of them look as though they're holding each other up. The signs need to be repainted, and…"
Rose lost herself in the picture he created. "It sounds lovely," she said when he paused for breath.
I wish you could see it, he thought.
She squeezed his hand. "I see it better through your eyes than I ever could through mine." His reply was a kiss on top of her head.
*****
"You really aren't going to tell me what happened?" Dylan asked. "You disappear for a week, and you won't explain why?"
Eva flicked the end of her cigarette into the grass. Lighting another one, she said, "I'm back now. Isn't that enough? What more do you want?" There was an edge in her voice. She smiled, hoping to deflect some of the harshness. "It doesn't have anything to do with you," she added. "So, if that's what you're worried about, don't."
"That wasn't it," he said, fixing her with his gaze. Lily was the one with Jack's eyes, but Dylan had his stare, the one that always seemed to look right through a person.
Eva turned away. "I don't see a reason to keep talking about it, in that case," she said. "So, you might as well ask me what you were going to ask me."
"I want you to meet my family."
"I've already met Lily. She introduced us, remember?"
"Yeah, of course I remember." How could he forget? It had been at one of his sister's parties, one of the last she threw before deciding such things were frivolous and bourgeoisie; it was, he concluded, just before she decided fun was counterrevolutionary. Eva had sat alone in the corner, a cigarette clenched between her fingers. Her dress had been what first caught his attention. It was the latest fashion from Paris, and it made her stick out like a gaudy thumb in a small, shabby room filled with equally small and shabby people. It was only later that he learned it was not the latest thing, but rather a very cleverly made copy. All of her clothes were copies. There were unemployment lines stretching across town, and Eva somehow managed to glide by each one draped in silk. "I don't mean Lily," he said. "I'm talking about the rest of my family."
"I thought your parents were in Guinea chasing some tribe or other."
"They were in Morocco collecting art for museums, and they're back now. They aren't staying long, though. In fact, they're leaving tomorrow."
"Where are they going?"
"Home."
"Where you grew up?"
"I guess you could say that."
"You either can or you can't, so which is it?"
"You always have to get right to the point, don't you?"
"What else is there?" She blew a series of smoke rings. "You're either getting to the point and therefore getting somewhere, or you're avoiding it and getting nowhere."
He touched her hand. "There's so much more. Eva, there's a whole world more than that."
She let her fingers curl around his. "That's funny. I've never seen it."
He lightly touched her cheek with his thumb. "I could show you."
*****
"So, tell me again where you grew up," Eva said. "Los Angeles?"
"Santa Monica, to be exact, but I didn't really grow up there. We lived there the longest, though, and my parents are going back."
"Why there?" She paused to look at herself in a store window. One of her waves was threatening mutiny. She licked her thumb and pressed it flat against her head.
Dylan watched her, torn between curiosity and amusement. "You look fine," he said.
She smoothed her dress. "I don't," she said, shaking her head. "I should've—"
"Don't worry about it." He took her hand. "You're beautiful." She stared at him as though she were hearing those words for the first time.
*****
Jack leaned in so his mouth was almost touching Rose's ear. "There's a woman across the room with an entire bird on her head."
She snorted and quickly covered her mouth with her hand to keep from spitting water across the table. "You're lying."
"Would I lie? To you?"
"I'll ask the children when they get here. I can trust them."
He kissed her earlobe. "You can trust me." His breath tickled her neck.
"I know I can," she said with a smile.
Their heads were together when Dylan and Eva came in. Jack's arm was around Rose; their clasped hands rested on their knees. Rose looked up as they approached. "Dylan," she said. "And—that doesn't sound like Lily's step." She turned toward Jack.
"It isn't," he said. "I think you were right."
"Um…Mom, this is Eva," Dylan said. Rose stood up and offered her hand.
Eva stared at it. Her skin is perfect. She can't be— Eva stopped herself. You know what you want to say. Poor. She can't be poor with hands like that. Eva resisted the urge to look at her own hands. They were clean and manicured, but three years of staying up all night sewing a new dress for the next day had taken their toll. But it would be rude to refuse the handshake, so she took Rose's hand and let it go all in the same breath.
Jack almost offered her his, but then thought better of it. The look that passed through her eyes when she saw Rose's outstretched hand was impossible to miss. There's something…familiar about her, he thought as she sat down. But that's crazy.