Page 82 of Sextuplet and the City

I feel bubbly all of a sudden. No one ever sends me flowers because their smells choke me, but this is a clever equivalent. Fruits have barely any scent.

“Thanks!” I yell at the cab, but it’s already moving.

I bring the arrangement inside and check it out.

It’s the full gamut: melons, strawberries, grapes, pineapple, and so on, but under it all, instead of a vase, is a cake, along with a longer note.

This gift is also a challenge. Eat all the fruit, then see if you’ll still want the cake afterward.

Some of the earlier bubbliness goes stale. I know it’s a girl cliché and all that, but is Art telling me I need to lose weight? Granted, in the most roundabout way possible.

Woofer whirs to life and bumps into my leg.

I’m not sure I would be so gauche as to call my human overlord fat, but I do think she’d shed less skin cells for me to suck if she dropped a few pounds.

Gritting my teeth, I take out my phone and set it to record video.

“Challenge accepted.” I start devouring the fruit with gusto.

It’s very nice, actually. Juicy and refreshing. Is fruit always like this? I don’t eat it outside of the garnishes they include in desserts, so I don’t really know. Of course, it’s possible I’m simply dehydrated from the banya and all the alcohol. I know this, though: there’s no way a few berries and pieces of melon will prevent me from eating that cake.

Except it’s not a few pieces. It’s a lot of pieces.

The more of the arrangement I eat, the more room it takes up in my stomach.

Skunk. I can’t let Art win. Even if I don’t enjoy it, I’ll have that cake.

Maybe.

When I’m done with the fruit, the idea of having the cake seems almost repugnant.

Damn it.

I delete the video. If Art asks, I ate the cake.

My phone dings.

Oh, right. People are waiting to hear from me.

I go over to my computer, set up a meeting on Zoom, and send everyone invites.

I wait until five identical-to-mine—but slightly thinner—faces turn up. Then Mom and Dad make their appearance, followed by Gia and her twin Holly, and, for some reason, Fabio.

“How did you get an invite?” I ask him.

Honey ducks away from her screen and shows up in Fabio’s. “Sorry. He was at my house when the invite came.”

“Fine,” I say. “Let’s begin.”

Honey returns to her screen and joins everyone in staring at me expectantly.

I take a moment to bask in being the center of attention for once. Then I say, “Looks like I’m the first Hyman sister to get hitched. That’s all the news I’ve got. Any questions?”

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