The Lies That Bind

Chapter 4: Sister Sister

The following morning, I called my now former bosses to let them know I would not be returning to work... ever. Finally, I could focus on what I truly wanted to while still being able to live comfortably. Money really is the answer to everything, and despite my previous disgust with myself, maybe the sugar lifestyle really wasn't so bad. I didn't even have to screw the guy although, I wouldn't mind doing so with Dr. Kolomna.

As I got out of bed, my sex throbbed pleasurably at the thought of our evening together last night. I eyed my nightstand and contemplated another round with Ol' Faithful, but thought better.

An envelope in my mailbox with a check was waiting for me, the words "Three Thousand" written in what I could only assume was Dr. Kolomna's admittedly elegant handwriting. It almost looked like one of those fancy script fonts with all the curls and loops. There was also information about the upcoming event hosted by the De Young art museum in Golden Gate Park. I'm not too big on art museums but, well, at least it wasn't the MoMa! The event featured art from the Surrealist period along with more recent artists with the focus being mental health. I looked the note over to find nothing about attire. However, judging by the doctor's attire the few times I was with him I'd likely have to dress up. Better to be overdressed than underdressed, I'd always say! I pressed my lips together and trotted over towards my small walk-in closet.

Of course, I had nothing worth wearing, my only business casual dress I owned I'd worn at the diner. I wasn't going to whip out ultra-formal attire. But what if that was the attire? I shook my head at the idea. No, if there was a specific dress code it would have said so... hopefully. Still, I could only assume this huge check was for shopping. I don't know what Dr. Kolomna was thinking; I didn't need several thousand to buy clothes. Did he think I shopped at Saks Fifth? I guess I'd take it as a silent compliment.

I contacted my best friend since high school, Rey, and my third youngest sister, Erika, for the shopping trip. While both of them are more the capable advisors of fashion, together they make a deadly combination. Prior to moving back to California, Rey was my only connection to my past. I'm not close to my family, especially my sisters. I only communicate with Erika because we live in the same city. She's like my twin, Elena: loud, uncivil, annoying, rude, the list goes on. However, unlike Elena, she's at least good for something. Rey is far more pleasant to be around. He's been there to support me in every aspect of my life; he's someone I can count on. Erika, I'm not sure of. But hell, I guess any reliability is better than none... like, my twin.

Erika was at my door exactly at noon. She lives in Daly City, which to be frank is basically San Francisco as it's a suburb within the city. I opened the front door to see the taller redhead before me, her full lips smiling wide and her blue eyes were sparkling. Her long hair flowed over her shoulders, resting just above her chest, which I will admit, is significantly larger than mine. Between the four of us, I'm pretty sure I drew the short straw in terms of bust size. She was in her usual attire: high waist, red capris with a black belt. Her white top had little black and red vintage cars on them to match her red pumps. I'll never know why Erika bothered with high heels; she was tall enough to get by in flats.

"Edie!" she bounced with joy and hugged me tight, I cringed at the nickname.

"Hi, Erika," I put on a cheerful smile. "How have you been?"

My question fell on deaf ears as she moved past me to go pet Lark, who was waiting eagerly behind me. I turned to see him flopped on his side, purring happily as my sister petted him. The fluffy Ragdoll squirmed and rolled onto his other side to sniff Erika's shoes. I took notice of her lack of response, but I thought nothing of it. Erika's attention often shifted elsewhere when animals were present, especially cats.

Once she was done, we headed out. Erika's car was a 1955 Chevrolet Bel Air, painted Creamsicle-flake orange with a white roof and fins. She's had it since she was 16. It used to be a more modest color, but I cannot recall what it was. Once securely inside, the Bel Air roared to life, and we were off towards the mall on Powell. It wasn't long until we got stuck in typical San Franciscan traffic. With these small, narrow roads, it's no wonder, and it makes public transport a better option.