that whenever she watched it, she’d get all misty-eyed. I like it because Scarlett is a badass, other than liking that d-bag Ashley Wilkes when Rhett Butler is so obviously superior. Anyway. In that last party they have before everything goes to hell because of the Civil War, they’re in a house with a huge staircase that descends into the middle of an enormous hallway. My grandmother’s house has a staircase like that, so when you walk downstairs, you feel like you should be wearing a hoopskirt. Cutoff jeans don’t exactly fit the scene.
“We’re in here, Alexandria,” my grandmother calls from the parlor.
As I wander through the hallways, the sound of my flip-flops echoes off the ceiling. When I enter the room, three heads swivel to look at me: a blond one, a brown one, and my grandmother’s perfectly arranged chignon.
Wow, I can’t help thinking, these girls are pretty.
Not just made-up pretty, either. These are seriously pretty people. Like, people who seem to have their own personal lamp inside their skin. Scarlett O’Hara had it. Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s, she had it. My mother had it. My grandmother, actually, has it. And now these girls—they definitely have it. It’s like if it were dark out, they’d still be glowing.
“Alexandria,” my grandmother says, “meet your Magnolia sisters.”
“Hi,” I say.
The blond one stands first. She has skin the color of milk, and her long, thick blond hair is arranged in little waves like that Botticelli painting of Venus that’s super famous—the one in which she’s standing naked in a big shell. The girl’s wide-set eyes are the color of bottle glass. She is wearing a green-silk knit dress that looks as though it’s been sewn just for her by her own personal elves, and tiny silver heels.
“I’m Hayes,” she says, smiling. She has an accent like my mother’s, but thicker. “Welcome to Savannah.”
“Thank you.”
And now the other girl steps forward. She is pale, too, with shiny, long dark hair and surprisingly blue eyes. She’s wearing a very cool burgundy Chinese silk dress—vintage?—and wooden platform heels.
“Madison,” she says in what I can’t help feeling is an icy tone.
“Josie!” my grandmother calls out, prompting her housekeeper to appear a moment later. Josie walks with a limp and looks much too old to be keeping anyone’s house. She’s really nice but certainly gets no points in assisting me in my attempts to eat healthily. She puts bacon in all the vegetables and offers me pie whenever I turn around. I’m pretty sure I saw her feed lard to the cat.
“Sweet tea for the girls,” my grandmother says. “And are y’all hungry?”
“Always,” Madison says.
“Just bring out something light, Josie. Do we have any of those cheese straws left over from Sunday? And that cake Molly Stone made? And a little of that crab dip if we still have it.” I wince, tallying up all the calories in my head.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I’ll just leave you girls alone, and you can get to know one another.”
“Sure,” I say, although for once I’d rather she stayed. I don’t particularly like my grandmother, but at least we always have a topic of conversation: For the love of God, let me go back to California.
Josie reappears and sets down a silver tray laden with a pitcher of tea and plates of food. I back off, expecting these tiny girls to do the same, but Hayes grabs the entire plate of ham biscuits and puts it in her lap. I pour myself a glass of tea and take a sip, nearly gagging. What does it take to get a glass of water in this house?
“We like our tea pretty sweet down here,” Hayes says, watching with a smile.
I nod, trying to neutralize the sweetness with a cheese straw so intense it could double as a cat-sized salt lick. I lean back into the sofa—then, noticing their ramrod posture, sit up again.
“So,” Hayes says, “how’s the transition going?”
“Horribly,” I admit. “Not to be a whiner, but it’s hot as hell, and I miss my boyfriend.”
“A boyfriend?” Hayes says, her eyes lighting up. “Madison, she has a boyfriend.”
Madison bites into a cheese straw.
“I have a boyfriend too,” Hayes says. “Madison prefers to play the field.”
I look at Madison. She chews at me.
“Huh,” I say.
The conversation lies down and dies.
“A boyfriend in… California?” Hayes tries.
“Yup.”
“We were wondering what you think of the guys here.”
“I don’t think of the guys here. I’m going back as soon as I can.”
“Ha!” Madison contributes.
“Well, I think you’ll like