Free The Pretty One: A Novel About Sisters by Lucinda Rosenfeld Page A

big sister.
    “Hi,” Perri said curtly and without looking up. She was clearly in a grumpy mood. Not that Olympia could blame her. “How did it go at the hospital?” she asked.
    “Fine, I’m about to head back there to retrieve them.”
    “Oh—cool. Thanks.”
    Perri didn’t answer.
    “So, how was Dad going in?” Olympia tried again.
    “Dad was fine. It was Mom who was the problem. She’d been there approximately four minutes before she started complaining that no one had been in to see her husband yet, and what was taking so long?”
    “That sounds like Mom.”
    “Tell me about it.”
    “Well, I appreciate you taking them,” said Olympia, trying to be conciliatory.
    “I just had to postpone two meetings and a conference,” said Perri. “No big deal.”
    “Sorry about that,” said Olympia, who didn’t appreciate being guilted, even when she felt guilty. “I really need to get my license renewed. Though I probably couldn’t have gotten out of work any earlier. We have a big concert this evening at the museum, which I’m obviously missing to be here.”
    “It’s the first night of the Falco reunion tour?” suggested Gus. “He was the first punk ever to set foot on this earth,” she began to sing. “Amadeus, Amadeus, Amadeus, Amadeus.”
    “No, it’s an experimental chamber music ensemble from Vienna,” said Olympia, sighing. “And for the record, the Falco guy died in a car accident.”
    “I didn’t know that,” said Gus.
    “Well, now you do.”
    Perri’s eyes shifted from her magazine to Olympia’s feet. “New shoes?” she asked.
    “Sort of. I got them at a consignment store in Brooklyn.” She angled her leg so Perri would have a better view. “What do you think? They’re Chloé.”
    “Not bad.” Perri wrinkled her nose. “But did you spray them with something before you put them on?”
    “Not all of us are germaphobes in need of institutionalizing,” said Olympia. She was going to add “or rich” but refrained, money being a far more fraught subject between them than mildew.
    “They’re your feet,” said Perri, shrugging.
    “Well, in case anyone’s curious,” began Gus, “I spent the first half of the day trying and failing to convince a notoriously sexist judge to issue a restraining order on behalf of a client of minewho’s walking around with a huge black eye.” She took a seat on the other end of the sofa. “All the fucker cares about is letting the kids see their father, even though their father is a violent drug dealer who has never done anything for them.” Gus tutted with derision.
    “You don’t think the kids should be able to see their dad?” asked Perri, flipping a page.
    “I don’t give a flying cojone about their father!” Gus replied with a quick laugh.
    Olympia felt an unexpected surge of warmth toward her younger sister. “If the guy was violent with her, can’t he be charged in criminal court?” she asked.
    “He could,” said Gus. “But my client wants to avoid that situation.”
    “That’s so weird,” said Perri, her eyes back on her magazine. “Basically, no one in Israel is allergic to peanuts.”
    “Weird,” Olympia deadpanned.
    Perri motioned with her chin at a cardboard box on the coffee table. “Speaking of food, Sadie made some cupcakes as a get-well present for Dad. But I don’t see him eating a dozen of them just after surgery. So help yourself.”
    “I wouldn’t mind, actually. Thanks,” said Olympia, happy both for the change of topic and for something sweet to snack on. She opened the box and discovered a dozen mini cupcakes, each with a perfectly executed red heart drawn atop its chocolate icing. Within each heart outline, tiny alternating silver and pink block letters spelled GET WELL . It was clear that Sadie had had some help (and then some). When did Perri find the time to do stuff like this? Olympia wondered. And why did she bother? “No trans fats, I trust,” Olympia went on, somehowreluctant ever to