“I didn’t bring you to Tante Juliette’s.”
She snarls. “I’ve been here, like, a million times, remember?”
“Just shut up and follow me.”
For some reason, Hattie does. She follows me up the stairs. Around the third floor, I look back over my shoulder and say, “Diapers, huh?”
“And those adult-size cribs. That’s hot.”
I laugh.
There’s the quickest hint of a smile before she drops back into deadpan. “And unibrows. I like a geezer with a giant, coarse unibrow.”
I laugh again. “Oh god, Hattie.”
We pass by the purple door with the leopard-print mat. “Yeah, see, that’s definitely Tante Juliette’s door,” she says.
I lead her to mine. “And this?”
“Her stupid roof. Gen once threw my teddy bear over the edge, and a car ran over him. Sludge was never the same.”
“She did? For real?” I’m startled. I don’t remember this.
“Yeah, for real.”
I unlock the door and head up the rickety steps. “Well. Sludge is safe. I promise I’m not leading you up here to re-enact a traumatic moment from your childhood.”
“I know you wouldn’t.” I almost don’t hear her say it, it’s so quiet.
I pop open the trapdoor, and she squints into the sunlight. I reach for her hand and help her onto the roof. Her eyes widen. My unmovable, unshakable sister looks surprised by her surroundings. “Who did this?” she asks. “It’s yours, isn’t it? This looks like you.”
I’m not sure if that’s good or bad. “It’s on loan. I’ve been using it for a few years.”
Hattie whips around and narrows her eyes at me. “So Gen gave it to you? This is your place? The two of you?”
“Gen? No, Tante Juliette gave it to me sophomore year. It was a place where Kurt and I could escape from…everyone else. Gen doesn’t know about it.”
“She doesn’t?” There’s a heartbreaking note of hope in her voice. And I know that everything Sanjita said is true.
I smile gently. “Nope. It’s a secret. She doesn’t know.”
“It’s pretty,” Hattie finally says.
“Thanks. I’m glad you like it. Because it’s yours now.”
For the second time in a single minute, Hattie looks surprised. I hold out the key. She takes it slowly. “Don’t you want to give this to Kurt? Isn’t it his, too?”
“Kurt has new places to explore. And…he’s not you. He’s not my sister.”
She almost appears to be shaken. Almost.
“And, you know, you don’t have to keep any of this stuff, it’s just junk we’ve picked up over the years—”
“No! No, I like it.” She glances around, and her eyes catch on the mural, which I’ve been trying my best to ignore. “You brought Josh up here, too.”
I tuck my hands inside my coat pockets. “Yeah.”
“So was this some sort of gross sexual playground? Did you do it on top of this carousel horse-head?”
“Hattie!”
She laughs at my reddened cheeks, and after a moment, I can’t help but join in. “No,” I say. “But maybe you should wash the blanket in that trunk.”
My sister squeals with genuine horror, which only makes us both laugh harder. When we finally stop, she pulls her gaze away from mine again. She focuses on the river. “It’s cool of you to give this to me. So…thanks.”
“I’m sorry.” I take a deep breath. “For being so awful to you this year. And for blaming you for something that wasn’t your fault.”
Hattie nods. She doesn’t take her eyes off the Seine. But I know we’re okay.
I take another deep breath, and…there it is. A new and distinct smell in the air. Hattie turns her head and smiles at me as the first snowflakes of the year swirl down upon Paris. The city is cold and hushed and beautiful.
“Will you miss this next year?” she asks, and when I look at her in surprise, she adds, “Maman told me they mailed the first cheque to Dartmouth.”
I hesitate, and then I tell her the truth. “I will miss Paris. And I’ll miss New York. I’m excited and scared, but…I think I’m more excited than scared. I think,” I say again.
“You think?”
“I think.” I slide down the wall until I’m sitting down. She sits beside me. We cross our arms, shivering. “When Josh and I were in Spain, we went to this park. This really, really beautiful park. And it started these ideas in my head about how maybe I wasn’t the person that I thought I was. Maybe I’m not a city girl. Maybe I was only thinking about Paris versus New York, because nothing else seemed real, somehow. Like, everywhere else just seemed like something—”