Page 296 of The Long Way Home

Sixty-Nine

Magnolia

“And where, pray tell, do you think you’re going?” I ask my sister pointedly.

“To dinner with you.” She plucks my bright green Ghillies limited edition bag Birkin from the third row of my tote bag shelf.

“Can I borrow this?”

“Yes.” I nod, staring at her with pinched eyes, making sure it goes with her outfit — Versace safety pin logo T-shirt, Danni cashmere cardigan from Lisa Yang with the black original cropped straight leg jeans from Totême. Technically it matches, quite well actually. But also technically, I am underwhelmed… However, I’m always eager for her to branch away from that no-brand leather bucket bag she refuses to part with. She bought it from a street vendor in Kuta on a backpacking trip she went on in 2018. Backpacking! Yuck. Bridge loved it though. She said that’s where she’ll get married one day, over in Indonesia. I said I’d Skype in on account of my sensitive stomach and at any given moment I’m really only one stomach flu away from being considered clinically malnourished, so it’s hardly worth the risk.

“It is worth £25,000,” I tell her. “So be a bit careful.”

She blinks at me a few times.

“What the fuck, Magnolia?” She shakes her head, putting it back on the shelf. “That’s enough to feed a whole village for a year.”

“Seems racist—” I bobble my head around.

“No.” She gives me a sharp look. “You seem insane and ridiculous.”

“Don’t blame me, blame Pierre Alexis Dumas. He’s really got me by the balls here.”

Bridge shakes her head. “He really doesn’t.”

“Are you coming tonight?” Taura asks Bridge cheerily, tossing herself onto my bed.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Bridge beams excited.

“Love the enthusiasm.” I nod appreciatively. “Just to clarify — do we all feel good about you wearing jeans and a T-shirt to dinner? Is that what we’ve come to as people?”

Bridget looks down at herself, confused.

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

I look over at Taura, confused. “Sorry — did I not say jeans and T-shirt out loud?”

“What’s wrong with jeans and T-shirts?” Bridget frowns more.

“Nothing!” I shake my head at her. “Nothing at all if you’re herding cattle or you’re like a street urchin.”

Bridget rolls her eyes.

“Would you consider changing into perhaps into… pwha—” I think on my feet, darting to my closet. “This little Bottega number?”

I flash her the black silk knitted shirt dress.

She shakes her head. “I would not.”

“Right.” I frown and point to her Air Force 1 clad feet. “I doth protest.”

Bridget groans.

“The sneakers could go, Bridge,” Taura concedes.

Taura jumps up to find my black chain-embellished Medusa sandals from Versace and passes them to my sister. “These’ll match.”

“Better.” I nod.

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