Standard Sisterly Advice

They weren't seated together on the plane, but Imogene hadn't minded. She needed time to think to herself. She turned the thoughts over and over in her mind, and looked out the window at the tiny world below. It made her feel so small. How could she be so small, and have such enormous feelings? How could it matter so much what she did?

They flew overnight, and landed in Philadelphia at 4am. Neither of them had slept on the plane, of course. There were too many emotions. Too much was at stake. Imogene met Moss outside the terminal. He didn't look tired or weary, which was a relief, because that was how Imogene felt.

"My parents live in a mansion outside Philly," Imogene explained awkwardly, calling a cab as she spoke. "But frankly, I'd like it to be a surprise when we show up at the Prophecy office."

"I like that," said Moss. "Very cinematic."

"My thoughts exactly. So what I'm thinking is we should go see my sister Henrietta, who lives in this massive apartment with her husband, Jean-Luc. She studied piano at Juilliard and now she's studying composition at the Curtis Institute of Music. He's a couple years older than her, and he's a conductor."

"That sounds lovely."

They piled into a cab. Moss looked out the window while Imogene sighed and massaged her hands.

"I've never been to America," Moss said.

"Well," said Imogene. "There's no better place to visit than Philadelphia. We could go see the Liberty Bell and eat Philly cheesesteak and all kinds of fun stuff."

"Is there an arcade?"

Imogene laughed. "What do you mean, 'is there an arcade?' You're in America and all you want is to go to the arcade?"

"That's a valid question. I sample the local arcade scene on all my travels."

"Well, of course there are arcades, but I doubt there's one open at 5 in the morning."

"What about later, then?"

"Sure. We can get Philly cheesesteak and play Galaga."

"I prefer Dig Dug."

"Dig Dug? Am I supposed to call all the arcades and ask if they have Dig Dug?"

"If you don't want to, I will. Look at that!"

Imogene leaned over to Moss' side of the car. The sun was beginning to rise, just over the buildings.

"This is a huge city," Moss observed. "Then again, I'm from London. Who am I to talk?"

"Yeah, it's pretty cool." Imogene leaned back in her seat. "I'm not entirely sure I've missed it though."

"What do you mean?"

"Here we are."

The cab pulled to a stop and Imogene stepped out. They were in front of a huge apartment building with giant glass windows. Imogene pressed the buzzer.

"What are you doing, Imogene?" Moss asked. "Don't you know an unopened door is a happy door? That's why we never answer ours when someone knocks."

The door to the apartment opened, and a man opened the door. He wore his hair in long locs tied above his head, and he had incredibly chiseled features—he looked like he could have been a model. He was dressed in a bathrobe and his skin glistened as though he'd been applying skincare.

"Imogene! What are you doing here?" he asked in a thick French accent.

"Jean-Luc, this is my..." She looked at Moss. "Coworker, Maurice Moss. We're coming for a surprise visit."

"Hello!" Moss exclaimed. "I'm Maurice Moss! I work in IT."

Jean-Luc, indeed, looked surprised. "It's five hours in the morning."

"I know," said Imogene. "But it's an emergency. Is it alright if we come in?"

"Sure. We're just having our breakfast. Are you hungry?"

Jean-Luc led Moss and Imogene up a staircase lined with glass railings, and into an apartment that was, indeed, enormous, full of beige walls and sharp edges and little bottles with wooden sticks inside of them.

"What's that?" Moss asked, pointing to one.

"That is a, euh, diffuser," said Jean-Luc. He moved into the living room and rolled up a black yoga mat that was lying on the floor. "It is for distributing essential oils into the air. Put your things anywhere; I'm sure you had a rough journey. You are traveling from London, no?"

"Yes," said Imogene, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "We've just, um...is Henrietta here?"

"Etta is upstairs, eating an acai bowl and watching Dragonball Z. She is in a creative rut at the moment, so it's best she is not disturbed."

"I find the original Dragonball superior," Moss whispered.

Imogene waved a hand in his direction. Something about her gait had changed. She no longer looked like herself. It was as though she was trying to make her body look longer, and looser. When she dropped her backpack on the couch, her arm outstretched slightly, with a confidence that was unfamiliar to him.

"I'm going to go talk to her," said Imogene. "Would you stay here, Moss?"

"Yep."

She moved upstairs to the bedroom, where Henrietta sat on the bed, eating a fruit bowl. Her hair was in a towel and she, too, was dressed in a robe. It had been a while since Imogene had last seen her. She looked different somehow, and more like Imogene. She jolted when she saw Imogene at the door. She reached up and turned off the television.

"Imogene! What...what are you doing here?"

"I've made a surprise visit," Imogene said, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"All the way from London? With no notice?" Henrietta sat up. "Oh. I see. So he finally told you."

"No, I found out from the Internet."

Henrietta gasped. "So he didn't tell you. That bastard."

"Don't call Dad a bastard."

Henrietta rolled her eyes. "Okay, so that asshole."

"Flip off." Imogene looked down at the floor. "Do you think I still have a chance to stop it?"

"Stop it?" Henrietta put a hand on her shoulder. "Mimmy, it's all contracted. You think you can stop the whole thing if you walk in on a handshake? I love you, but grow up a little bit."

"It's technically my company. Isn't it worth a try?"

"This again?"

Imogene looked at her sister and winced. "Why do you look so different? What happened to your face?"

"I had FFS. Did Mom not tell you? It's still a little puffy, but I really love it. My jawline and my eyes look way better."

"You could have told me."

"I would if you called."

"Why do I always have to call?"

"You can take a break from the computer every once in a while, you know."

Imogene groaned and stood up. She went to the mirror and Henrietta followed. Imogene looked at her hair, still matted from the plane. Henrietta untied her ponytail and handed her a hairbrush.

"Look, I fully support you in this, but I also think you're being a little stupid. This is literally a done deal. And not only will it piss Dad off, but you'll probably make national news. And embarrass yourself."

"It's worth it to me," said Imogene. "This is my dream. You know it."

"Oh, Mimmy," Henrietta sighed. "Sometimes you gotta let dreams come and go."

Imogene narrowed her eyes. "Would you have listened to someone tell you that about music?"

"No, but I'm also not a pushover like you."

Imogene cocked her head. "Do you know where they're having the meeting?"

"Yeah, in the H.B. Laird Room at Prophecy. Or at least, I assume that's where they're having it. Are you gonna storm in like it's Legally Blonde?"

"I don't think that happens in Legally Blonde."

Henrietta pursed her lips. "You know, we're both bad at makeup, but I do know a stylist who can make you legally blonde. Or, at the very least, legally caramel."