![]() ![]() My feet are frozen in cement as my sisters approach me with a sense of urgency. One of them lets out a low whistle, shaking his hand like he’s been burned and the other nods enthusiastically. Then they trade a sly glance with each other.Ī sense of foreboding settles in my belly when they point me out to the men. On cue, both of my sisters turn and pin me with a look. Something a lot more important than breakfast. But these two seem to be discussing something important with my sisters. Tommy Bahama shirts, loafers, expensive sunglasses. They give off an air of importance, like a lot of the businessmen who come to our exclusive island on vacation. ![]() I set down the plates in front of two sunburned college kids, hoping I can get back to the kitchen before the song ends-Sundays should be for dancing!-but I’m brought up short when I see my sisters talking to some men at the hostess station. His blush sends me into the bustling dining room with a giggle. ![]() ![]() “Looks incredible, Marcel.” I pick up the plates, pirouette toward the door and blow him a kiss. It might just be me and my two older sisters now running the restaurant our parents opened as newlyweds, but I have to be grateful for what I’ve got. The vision weaves my happiness through with melancholy, but I force my smile to stay in place, even as I replace the mop against the wall. Important Reasons for Having Mirrors in Elevators ![]()
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