“God forgive me for the lies I’m about to tell. I’m trying to make my mom better,” I said, glancing at the sky and making the sign of the cross. I took a deep breath and hit the bell.
I didn’t have to wait long before I heard locks being unbolted and the door swung open to reveal a man in a red sweater. He had the exact same cheekbones as me.
“Sofia?” he asked and shook his head. “Of course it is.” He opened his arms and made a sweeping gesture, inviting me inside. “Thank you so much for coming. We’re all very excited to meet you.”
“Is she here?” a girl squealed from further down the entrance hall.
A child raced toward us wearing an old-fashioned, green-and-blue-checkered dress and blue velvet headband.
“I’m Bella,” the girl said, outstretching her hand. “Very nice to meet you. We’re half-sisters, you know.”
I shook her hand, a little dazed by her confidence. I was somewhat prepared to see my father—the man who’d always been the missing piece of the puzzle as I was growing up. And of course, he’d told me that his two children would be there. I just hadn’t really thought about it beyond numbers sitting around a table. But Bella was right. We were related by blood. We were sisters.
“Bryony is just coming.” She turned to the bottom of the stairs. “Bryony?” she bellowed.
“Shhh.” A woman appeared in the hallway just as Bella ran off back up the stairs. The woman was very British-looking. Tall and thin lipped, with a neat row of pearls sitting just on top of the neck of her camel-colored sweater that was no doubt one hundred percent cashmere.
“How do you do?” she said to me, giving me a wide smile as she offered me her hand. “I’m Evan. So pleased you could come to lunch. Please come this way.”
I glanced at my father, taking in his pale skin and light hair, which wasn’t anything like mine, and his amber brown eyes that looked like they’d been stolen from me. He was grinning like he’d spent the afternoon at Serendipity and was high on sugar.
I was led into a room at the bottom of the stairs that looked like something out of Downton Abbey. There were huge old-fashioned portraits on the wall and flowery wallpaper that actually looked like fabric rather than paper, and those old-fashioned chairs I associated with France and long-assed wigs on the guys who wore pointy satin shoes. There were flowers everywhere, crawling from the drapes into the rug and couch.
Bella slipped into the room like a cat burglar, holding the hand of a slightly shorter girl who was wearing exactly the same outfit. “This is Bryony.”
I waved and Bryony waved back. Bella led her little sister over to what looked like a footstool underneath one of the huge, Georgian windows. They both sat down, legs crossed at the ankle, hands placed gently in their laps, like one was the shadow of the other.
I almost burst out laughing, everything was so goddamn weird. I bet these guys had servants and ate those teeny tiny sandwiches on tiered plate stands. It was a whole other world from the tiny two-bedroom apartment I grew up in and still called home, with its yellowed walls and a toilet that had to be flushed twice after six in the evening or it got blocked.
This was the home of someone who’d had a very different life.
“You have a beautiful home,” I said, glancing up at the crystal chandelier that hung from the ceiling, raining down refracted light.
“Thank you,” Evan said, sitting and patting the cushion next to her. “It’s Des’s family home that we took over after his parents’ death.”
My grandparents. I hadn’t known they’d died. But then again, I hadn’t known my half-sisters were called Bella and Bryony.
There was a lot I didn’t know.
I took a seat, and as soon as I had, wished I hadn’t. This was too odd. I should have taken up his first suggestion of a quick coffee, just the two of us. Now I was here among the chandeliers, watching him in his normal life that was so far from normal to me. It was the life I might have had, if he’d chosen a different path and not run off and left my mother to figure it out—pregnant and as poor as a church mouse.
“Shall we have a drink before lunch?” my father asked as a young boy, no older than twenty, entered the room. I smiled and said I’d have water. The boy wrote it down, along with everyone else’s requests, like we were in a restaurant.
“How are you enjoying London?” Evan said. It seemed like only seconds had gone by and the boy was back with my water—complete with ice and a slice of lime—along with everyone else’s drinks. I took a sip and hoped my voice didn’t come out as a croak.
“I’m really enjoying it,” I said. “I haven’t gotten the chance to see an awful lot because I’ve been so busy at work, but I can’t wait to wander the parks and explore the museums.”
“We love the natural history museum,” Bella said. “Don’t we, Bryony?”
Bryony nodded diligently.
I laughed at their double act. They should be on Broadway. “The natural history museum was a favorite of mine too when I was your age. As well as New York Public Library.” The library had been a babysitter to me. My mother often left me there among the books while she went off on a shift at her main job as a manicurist. It didn’t seem odd at the time. She said she thought it was safer than getting a local babysitter, which carried the risk of a crack addict boyfriend making an appearance. She reasoned that bad actors generally didn’t spend loads of time in the library and besides—it was free. We always started at the children’s section, where I picked out some favorites, and then my mom would tuck me away in the corner of the biology department where no one would wander. If anyone did happen to pass by, I was instructed to say that my mom had just gone to the restroom and would be back soon. No one ever did. I was left alone but I felt safe, surrounded by the books that were age appropriate and the ones that were less so.
I bet Bella and Bryony had never hidden in a library when their mom needed to get to her job. I wasn’t sure if I was envious or felt sorry for them.
Either way, it was impossible not to compare their lives now and what mine had been at the same age. We had the same father, after all.
I needed to snap out of feeling intimidated or maligned in some way and focus on the prize. Today was just a building block. A foundation stone to a relationship in which my father was more likely to give me the money I needed when I asked him for it. I had a job to do, and I had to get to work.
When we’d had more small talk and finished our drinks, we moved into the dining room, which was full of more chandeliers and floral wallpaper, and an antique dining table and chairs. I wondered whether or not the British used silverware in the same way Americans did, or if I’d end up making a complete fool of myself. I should have Googled this shit.
“How’s the new job?” my father asked as we took a seat.
I was seated next to Bryony. When she took her napkin from her plate and placed it in her lap, I followed her lead. Yes, five-year-old Bryony would be my etiquette coach, whether she knew it or not.
“It’s good. I’m learning a lot.”
“Andrew Blake has a reputation for being demanding,” Des said. “I hope he’s treating you well.”
I shrugged. “I’m a New Yorker. I can handle Andrew Blake.” Hopefully the heat that burned my cheeks didn’t show. I didn’t want to talk about my job or Andrew. There was a ninety-nine-point seven percent chance I was getting fired on Monday, and Des didn’t need to know that. I wanted him to think he’d missed out on seeing his clever, charming daughter grow up, not dodged a curveball. I needed to provoke regret in him, not relief.