Sheets of Egyptian Cotton
As I slowly sauntered down the hall, looking for Jo, I heard a few voices echoing from the living room.
I hated how we left things with my sister this noon.
I hated that I snapped and that I made her upset and so, hoping I might find her there, I quickened my steps, soon finding myself standing at the slightly ajar door, peering through the gap.
“Just look at this table, Dominic, isn’t it something?” My mother beamed as she flipped the catalogue page, shoving it in my father’s face.
“It definitely is, Elizabeth,” he muttered, looking at it from under his reading glasses, “but we are in no need for another table.”
“But look, it’s antique! It’s Victorian!”
“Elizabeth, if you’re looking for ways to waste money, I’m sure I can find a more entertaining option for you than bidding on an overpriced, nineteenth-century dust collector that has absolutely no use in this house.”
“Dominic.” She let out a frustrated sigh. “I wasn’t going to buy that table. I’m simply saying that if we go there, we could snag a rare find!”
“How rare are we talking? Because,” my father mused, his face serious, “unless it’s a piece of the Berlin Wall or at least a piece of toast partially eaten by Jesus, I’m definitely not going.”
A snort of laughter nearly escaped me as I quickly stifled it with my hand. Love it!
“A piece of what?” my mother quipped. “You are just being ridiculous, Dominic!”
“Tell you what,” he said, glancing at her, “why don’t you just ask the girls?”
I suddenly froze. Gee, thanks, Dad!
First, it was definitely a no. Second, the last time I went to one of those events, I nearly ended up buying an eighteenth-century French wooden churn because I simply waved at the cute guy sitting a few rows behind me.
And don’t get me wrong, I’m all for homemade butter, but that was a bit…
excessive? Luckily for me and my credit card, the cute guy waved right back at me.
He wasn’t very thrilled about the churn though…
Removing myself as far away as I could, I tiptoed past the living room, my feet carrying me down the hall. Suddenly, a delectable aroma filled my nostrils, luring me right into the kitchen. Mmm, what smelled so good?
Dorothy, hands busy with silverware, was setting up the dinner table. Eyes focused as she meticulously polished each of the utensils to a shining perfection, her foot tapped rhythmically to the hum of a familiar song that I knew would soon get stuck in my head and bother me until I could place it.
Yep, there it was. The tune followed, but the words danced just out of reach. Crap!
I walked by her unnoticed.
A splash followed by a few distant chuckles reached my ears from outside. I peeked through the window. Louis and Francine sat beside the pool, laughing. Mark, clothes on and neck-deep in the water, swam towards the ladder to climb out. No sign of Jo there either. Where was she?
I hummed that melody again, ugh! Dammit, Dorothy! What were those lyrics?!
Quickening my pace, I soon reached the back of the house.
The vibrant hues of my mother’s garden greeted me, the intoxicating fragrance filling my lungs.
The evening air, warm and balmy, carried a delicate whiff of the jasmine growing further away from the building.
My nose twitched, picking up the herbal aroma of lavender.
A sweet undertone with a hint of spice gave way to a rich, heady blend of roses and peonies.
The melody kept replaying in my head.
I picked a daisy, my fingers tracing down its long stem.
“He loves me.” I breathed, plucking one petal off. “He loves me not.” I removed another. A silly game I played with Josephine when we were kids. Now we weren’t actually talking about love, were we? One by one, I pulled the last petal. “He loves me.” Yeah, Florence. Twelve years old?
The haunting tune returned again, and yet again I couldn’t place it.
“Florence?”
“Florence?”
“Darling, Florence!”
I turned around. There they were—all three people I was hoping to talk to, though not all at once.
“Hey,” I said, forcing a smile. “What are you guys doing?”
“Jo here wants the scoop on our top-secret bachelor party plans for Mark, huh?” Blake teased, glancing at her.
“Don’t worry, Jo, you’ll hear all about it. Eventually,” Miles said. His gaze held mine for a brief moment. “Maybe.”
“Ugh!” She rolled her eyes at both of them, remaining slightly cold towards me. “There better be no strippers!” She muttered the warning at them.
“Oh,” Miles smirked, “there definitely will be strippers.”
“You think you are hilarious, don’t you?” Jo sighed, crossing her arms.
“Sounds fun,” I mumbled, humming the tune that was stuck in my head.
“What was that?” Miles glanced at me.
“What?” I shot him a confused look.
“What were you singing just now?”
“Well.” I let out a soft chuckle. “I have absolutely no idea.”
“Can you sing it again?”
“Um…sure,” I drawled. The melody followed.
“It sounds familiar,” Blake mused, his hand gently grasping mine. “Sing it again, darling?”
“Seriously?”
“I think I know it too from somewhere,” Jo muttered. “Go again!”
“Ugh! Fine, but only because not knowing what it is is killing me.” I hummed once more, staring at the three of them.
Jo murmured something, quickly picking up the tune, then hesitantly muttered the title. “Sheets of…Egyptian…cotton?”
“Oh my God!” I beamed. But that handholding really bothered me, so I jumped up, breaking free with a clap.
“That’s the one!” The melody finally clicked with the lyrics.
And suddenly, the icy cold gaze melted a little and Jo smiled back at me.
“This song was driving me mad,” I muttered with a chuckle.
“It’s from ‘Uptown Girls,’ isn’t it?” Miles raised his brow.
“Yes! Yes!” Jo said, wearing a proud expression on her face.
“As in, Billy Joel?” Blake asked.
“Oh, no! You are thinking of the ‘Uptown Girl.’ Singular,” Jo corrected him. “It’s a movie. God!” She suddenly laughed, looking at me. “Remember you used to have a crush on that actor? Wait, what was his name? Jesse Spencer?”
“Well, hello, I still do!”
“Wait, wasn’t he starring in ‘House’?” Blake glanced at my sister.
“Oh, yeah!” Jo mused, giving me a slight nudge on my shoulder. “The sexy Dr. Chase.”
“Can we just drop that, please?” I muttered through gritted teeth, staring at her.
“She’s got a soft spot for blond men, you know,” Jo said with a chuckle. Blake’s face momentarily creased with a frown.
Miles raised an eyebrow, a silver lock of hair falling across his forehead as a slow smirk played on his lips.
“Not just blond!” I blurted out, my cheeks burning. “I mean, I like all sorts of men. Well, not all men, obviously, but…um.” I crossed my arms, trying to regain my composure. “It’s not about hair colour or looks, okay? It’s…other things. Like personality, of course!” Jesus Christ!
“You know—” The grin on Miles’ face grew wider. “—blushing is a good look on you.”
“Ugh, shut up!” I groaned.
“So—” His gaze lingered. “—what kind of personality are we talking about here? Would you say you’d choose a good heart over a good hairline?”
Seriously, Miles?
I stared at that smug face, fighting the urge to smile. “And which one are you,” I asked, “because when you say, ‘good heart,’ well, let’s just say I’m not seeing any halos above your head.”
“Ouch!” Miles clutched his chest dramatically. “You wound me, Florence.”
“Oh, wow, and here I was thinking you were heartless,” I quipped.
“Indeed.” Miles ran his fingers through his locks. “I know, I know. A heartless monster with impeccable hair. I’m truly blessed.”
A soft chuckle escaped me as I rolled my eyes, suddenly realising there were actually four of us here. Awkward . I shifted on my feet, glancing at Blake before my gaze fell on Jo. “Um, I was hoping we could talk?”
***
“So.” I cleared my throat and we slowly walked towards the swing. “About what happened…”
“I’ll start first.” The words burst from Jo. “Look, I understand why you were mad at me.”
“You do?” I glanced at my sister.
“I do,” she sighed, staring back at me. “I really, really do.”
“Because it just seems that no one even bothers to ask me what I want. God, Jo, you of all people…”
“I know,” she said with a frown. “But I didn’t mean it like that, I swear. All I want is what’s—”
“Best for me?” I snatched the words right out of her mouth.
“Well, yeah, of course.”
“And I get that, I truly do. But you must understand that your best doesn’t necessarily mean my best.”
“Lore…” Jo’s voice trailed off, her gaze drifting towards the horizon.
“Please don’t push it. I already have enough pressure from mum.”
Jo let out a sigh. “I know. I’m sorry.” We both sat on the swing, the old chains creaking as our feet gently pushed off the ground, swaying us in the air, momentarily startling a few chirping birds.
“I know you do. And…I’m sorry I snapped.”
“Yeah. That was pretty harsh.”
“Yeah…”
“I promise I won’t bring it up again, and if you say no, then it is a no. It’s just I really don’t want a great man to go to waste.” She suddenly snorted a chuckle. “They are so rare these days. They’re practically extinct!”
“Oh, Josephine,” I laughed, feeling the tension between us ease slightly.
“They are!” she insisted with a dramatic frown that slowly transformed into something that looked very nostalgic. I wondered if our conversation reminded her of him.
A few years ago, before my sister met Mark, she told me about a guy she once met after a student party.
He gallantly rescued her shoe from the clutches of the cobblestones.
He was different, she said. Interesting, witty, and funny.
And he had the most beautiful eyes she had ever seen—a fascinating anomaly, one a vibrant green, the other a deep azure.
“Heterochromia,” I’d told her, though she hadn’t quite understood the term.