Fleur relaxes in her white faux fur butterfly chair. She’s playing a video game in which a character makes ice cream sundaes. Vanilla ice cream. Whipped cream. Chocolate sprinkles. Toasted almonds.
She hears a scream.
“There’s a mosquito hawk in here!”
Fleur sighs.
Brownie bits. Caramel sauce.
“Help! FLEUR!”
Maraschino cherries.
Fleur puts down the game and passes through the tiny hallway. The cloying scent of nail polish hits her even before she peers into the bathroom. There is Posey crouched on the floor next to the heating vent, her eyes enormous, her mouth folded shut. Used cotton swabs litter the floor, their tips stained a garish shade of red. At Posey’s feet are a dozen bottles: nail polish, base coat, top coat, lacquer, remover. Orchid Crush, Sapphire Desire, Splash of Grenadine, Watermelon. All this in addition to the mascaras, toners, creams, concealers, lotions, cleansers, eye shadows, blushes, and lip glosses that crowd the counter.
Fleur stands in the doorway as Posey points to the ceiling above the bathtub. “Fleur, it’s HUGE! Isn’t it?” Posey jabs her finger in the direction of the insect, which remains perfectly still, as if it realizing the peril it is in.
Fleur has to agree. The mosquito hawk is pretty big.
Posey fans her face with her hand. “Oh my God, oh my God. Help me get this stuff out of here.”
Fleur cannot resist rolling her eyes. “Why can’t you do it yourself?”
Posey fixes her with a look of loathing. “You know I’m scared of that thing. Besides, my nails are wet. God, you’re so stupid.”
“You could say please.”
“Fine. Please,” Posey hisses.
Fleur gathers up bottles while Posey struggles to her feet. They circle one another awkwardly, Posey trying to keep her nails from touching anything and enjoining her younger sister to hurry. Then the unexpected happens: The mosquito hawk leaves its perch and begins a leisurely tour of the bathroom. Fleur screams as the insect lurches toward her and then dips erratically away. Both girls scream as they bump into one another. There is a clattering of glass bottles as they hustle out of the bathroom and slam the door. Now they stand breathlessly in the hallway.
“Is it still in there?” Posey gasps. Anxiously, they scan the walls and ceiling. Then something occurs to Posey. “Fleur, we have to keep the bedroom door shut. That guy could just fly in there and invite all his friends!”
Posey rushes into their bedroom for a hurried inspection. Meanwhile, Fleur sets her armload of bottles on the kitchen table. She thinks for a moment, and gets some paper towels. This is when she notices that the back door is open. She is sure that she did not open it. It is summer, so it’s hot outside. In summer Daddy says, “Close the door! Don’t let the bugs in!” In winter he says, “Close the door! We’re not heating the outside!” Maybe Posey went outside to jump on the trampoline and forgot to close the door.
Back at the kitchen table, Fleur folds the paper towels. She lays them out carefully and sets the bottles on top. There. Posey can finish painting her nails here in the kitchen. But when Posey comes in, she looks at the bottles and stops short.
“What?” asks Fleur.
“Where is the remover?” asks Posey. She holds up her index finger, which is smudged liberally with Orchid Crush.
Fleur looks blankly at her. Then she realizes. In the rush to get out of the bathroom, she left the bottle of nail polish remover in there.
“Fleur! You left it in the bathroom?”
Fleur nods a despondent nod.
“Well, what are you waiting for? I have to get this nail polish off my hand!” Posey looks at her expectantly.
Fleur sighs. It doesn’t even occur to her sister to retrieve the bottle of remover herself. Fleur is starting to feel irritated. She hates Posey right now. She wishes her sister would die. Just evaporate. No one ever asked Fleur if she wanted to be born. No one ever said “Hey, we have a family for you, parents are good, but the older sister might have some issues.” No. She had no choice in the matter.
“It’s your fault,” Fleur says, under her breath.
Posey’s face turns pink with outrage. “WHAT?”
“You left the back door open. That’s how the mosquito hawk got in.”
“No, I didn’t! That was Daddy! He left it open!”
Fleur turns and goes back to the bedroom. She gets her phone and a five dollar bill from her piggy bank. On her way back through the kitchen she glances at her sister, who is still standing open-mouthed next to the table.
“OH MY GOD WHERE ARE YOU GOING?”
“I’m going to close the back door,” says Fleur. And she does. She closes it behind her. Then she walks down the back steps and pauses. She ignores the shrieks coming from inside the house. Should she knock on the door of Daddy’s studio? No. She’ll go to the corner store first, and get two ice cream sandwiches, one vanilla and one chocolate. Then she’ll knock on the door of the studio.
