Page 3 of Knot Just for Show

The girls are enjoying their master’s program and auditioning for seats with the Philadelphia Philharmonic, even though I’vetaunted them about how the Boston Symphony Orchestra would be a much better choice.

Agnes, as I already know, told the girls all about how she has been hard at work with investors to develop her own makeup brand. She’s been up to her eyeballs in sample products and packaging for the last two months trying to make the last steps toward bringing her brand to market.

Daphne, as anyone with eyes can see, looks like she’s ready to give birth at any moment. According to her, she’s so sick and tired of her ankles inflating like balloons, being unable to eat sushi, and peeing a little every time she sneezes, that Daphne loudly insists she wouldn’t care at all if she went into labor right in the middle of the premiere.

“Wouldn’t that be something?” I snort, starting in on Daphne’s makeup; a glowy, dreamy look in shades of pink and gold to match the dress Julian has made for her to wear tonight.

Everyone laughs a little at the thought of Daphne being rushed out of the theater—the rest of Pack Silver wringing their hands behind her as they rush to the hospital. But I can already feel a tense undercurrent waiting for the approaching beat of silence. It’s because I haven’t volunteered myself for a life update yet. I haven’t jumped into the sea of exciting prospects and life milestones to offer my completely lackluster contribution.

I’m fucking around with the idea of slipping into a deeper sulk about it when I notice that everyone’s eyes are on me.

I don’t wanna tell them, but making them ask me to tell them about my lame existence doesn’t really seem much better.

“Ah yes, my turn.” I waggle my eyebrows in an attempt to make light of the situation—focusing a little toohard on blending Daphne’s foundation.

“I’m doing my thing, y’know—working, hanging out with my super cool bestie when she comes to town.” I pause my work with my brush to squeeze Daphne’s shoulder lovingly.

“Might get really crazy and go up to Montreal for a few days on the way home from my parents’ after Rosh Hashanah.” I shrug.

“Any of y’all are welcome to tag along, of course!” I offer, trying not to sound shrill, but even to my ears, I’m clearly overcompensating.

The silence that blankets the room is thick and stifling. If I weren’t worried about destroying Daphne’s makeup—I might have actually shuddered under its weight.

“La-la,” Daphne says softly, making some of the silence dissipate like smoke.

I raise my eyebrows to encourage her, but continue my work. I’m already fighting the quiver in my lower lip, my crybaby tears stinging at the corners of my eyes as I refuse to let them spill.

“Honey.” Daphne reaches up and stays my hand, my brush becoming still under her touch.

I sniffle back a traitorous dribble of snot—my vision blurred with unspent tears, my upper lip lessthan stiff.

“You can’t keep putting yourself last, Ursula,” Daphne coos sweetly.

“Oh yeah? Watch me,” I sniffle, covering the hitch of a sob with a fake laugh.

“That’s exactly why we had to take matters into our own hands,” Agnes adds sternly from over Daphne’s shoulder, Cammy and Lotte backing her up.

Traitors.

“What do you mean, take matters into your own hands?” I do my best to blink the tears from my eyes without letting them fall, not sure what Agnes is trying to say.

Agnes and Daphne exchange a glance. Just behind, the twins look as if they’re going to burst out squealing with delight, as they are wont to do when they get what they’ve been after.

“Agnes… Daphne,” I look at my best friend and my mentor, my tears drying, a sudden anticipatory aggravation just shy of outright anger taking their place.

“I said, what do you mean—‘take matters into your own hands’?” I press.

Daphne waits a second more, allowing Agnes to take the floor—if that is what she was after by bringing things up now.Whatever ‘things’ are.

“Well fine, I was going to wait to tell you ‘till later–but we may or may not have signed you up for the next season ofBuild-A-Pack-Blind,”Daphne blurts out, refusing to meet my gaze.

“You, what!?” I roar, slamming my makeup brush down on the table and grabbing two fistfuls of my snarling raven hair as if I might actually pull them right out of my head.

“That’s not all. You got accepted as a cast member,” Agnes adds in before I can go completely berserk.

“Are you all out of your goddamn minds!?” I shriek at the top of my lungs, wondering if this is actually some kind of crazy dream born of eating too many apple chips and black sesame candies right before bed.

Just as I feel my sanity is about to leave me entirely, I feel a hand pat my shoulder.

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