world。　I’ve　been　waiting　two　years—over　two　years—for　this
  trip；　and　now　I　can’t　go。　The　irony　of　this　is　painful—you
  realize　that；　don’t　you？”
  “Of　course　I　do！　It’s　one　giant　cliché：　this　trip　is　your　sole
  reason　for　living　and　it’s　the　bane　of　my　existence；　yet　I’m
  going　and　you’re　not。　life　is　funny；　huh？　I’m　laughing　so　hard
  I　can　barely　stop；”　I　deadpanned；　sounding　not　the　least　bit
  amused。
  “Yeah；　well；　I　think　it　sucks；　too；　but　what　can　you　do？　I
  already　called　Jeffy　to　tell　him　to　start　calling　in　clothes
  for　you。　You’ll　have　to　bring　a　ton　since　you’ll　need
  different　outfits　for　each　of　the　shows　you　attend；　any
  dinners；　and；　of　course；　for　Miranda’s　party　at　the　Hotel
  Costes。　Allison　will　help　you　out　with　makeup。　Talk　to　Stef　in
  accessories　for　bags　and　shoes　and　jewelry。　You　only　have　a
  week；　so　get　on　it　first　thing　tomorrow；　OK？”
  “I　still　don’t　really　believe　she　expects　me　to　do　this。”
  “Well；　believe　it；　because　she　sure　wasn’t　kidding。　Since　I’m
  not　going　to　be　able　to　e　to　the　office　at　all　this　week；
  you’re　also　going　to—”
  “What？　You’re　not　even　going　to　e　into　theoffice　？”　I　might
  not　have　taken　a　sick　day　or　spent　a　single　hour　outside　the
  office　while　Miranda　was　there；　but　Emily　hadn’t；　either。　The
  one　time　it　had　been　close—when　her　great…grandfather　had
  died—she’d　managed　to　get　Home　to　Philadelphia；　attend　the
  funeral；　and　be　back　at　her　desk　without　missing　a　minute　of
  work。　This　was　how　things　worked。　Period。　Short　of　death
  （immediate　family　only）；　dismemberment　（your　own）；　or　nuclear
  war　（only　if　confirmed　by　the　U。S。　government　to　be　directly
  affecting　Manhattan）；　one　was　to　be　present。　This　would　be　a
  watershed　moment　in　the　Priestly　regime。
  “Andrea；　I　have　mononucleosis。　I’m　highly　infectious。　It’s
  really　serious。　I’m　not　supposed　to　leave　my　apartment　for　a
  cup　of　Coffee；　never　mind　go　to　work　for　the　day。　Miranda
  understands　that；　and　so　you’ll　need　to　pick　up　the　slack。
  There　will　be　a　lot　to　do　to　get　both　of　you　ready　for　Paris。
  Miranda　leaves　on　Wednesday　for　Milan；　and　then　you’ll　be
  leaving　to　meet　her　in　Paris　the　following　Tuesday。”
  “She　understands　that？　C’mon！　Tell　me　what　she　really　said。”　I
  refused　to　believe　that　she’d　accepted　something　as　mundane　as
  mono　for　an　excuse　to　not　be　available。　“Just　give　me　that
  small　pleasure。　After　all；　my　life　will　be　hell　for　the　next
  few　weeks。”
  Emily　sighed；　and　I　could　feel　her　eyes　roll　over　the　phone。
  “Well；　she　wasn’t　thrilled。　I　didn’t　actually　talk　to　her；　you
  see；　but　my　doctor　said　she　kept　asking　if　mono　is　a　‘real’
  disease。　But　when　he　assured　her　that　it　was；　she　was　very
  understanding。”
  I　laughed　out　loud。　“I’m　sure　she　was；　Em；　I’m　sure　she　was。
  Don’t　worry　about　a　thing；　OK？　You　just　concentrate　on　feeling
  better；　and　I’ll　take　care　of　everything　else。”
  “I’ll　e…mail　you　a　checklist；　just　so　you　don’t　forget
  anything。”
  “I　won’t　forget　anything。　She’s　been　to　Europe　four　times　in
  the　past　year。　I’ve　got　it　down。　I’ll　get　the　cash　from　the
  basement　bank；　change　a　few　grand　into　euros；　buy　a　few　more
  grand’s　worth　of　traveler’s　checks；　and　triple　confirm　all　of
  her　hair　and　makeup　appointments　while　she’s　there。　What　else？
  Oh；　I’ll　make　sure　the　Ritz　gives　her　the　right　Cell　Phone
  this　time；　and　I’ll　speak　to　the　drivers　ahead　of　time　to　make
  sure　they　know　they　can’t　ever　leave　her　waiting。　I’m　already
  thinking　of　all　the　people　who’ll　need　copies　of　her
  itinerary—which　I’ll　type　up；　no　problem—and　I’ll　see　to　it
  that　it　gets　passed　around。　And　of　course　she’ll　have　a
  detailed　itinerary　as　to　the　twins’　classes；　lessons；
  practices；　and　play　dates；　and　full　listings　of　the　entire
  household　staff’s　work　schedules。　See！　You　don’t　have　to
  worry—I’ve　got　it　all　under　control。”
  “Don’t　forget　about　the　velvet；”　she　chided；　singing　the　last
  couple　words　as　if　on　autopilot。　“Or　the　scarves！”
  “Of　course　not！　They’re　already　on　my　list。”　Before　Miranda
  packed　for　anything—or　rather；　had　her　housekeeper　pack
  her—either　Emily　or　I　would　purchase　massive　rolls　of　velvet
  at　a　fabric　store　and　bring　them　to　Miranda’s　apartment。
  There；　we’d　work　with　the　housekeeper　to　cut　them　in　the　exact
  shape　and　size　of　every　article　of　clothing　she　was　planning
  to　bring；　and　individually　wrap　each　item　in　the　plush
  material。　The　velvet　packages　were　then　neatly　stacked　in
  dozens　of　Louis　Vuitton　suitcases；　with　plenty　of　extra　pieces
  included　for　when　she　inevitably　threw　the　first　batch　out
  upon　unpacking　in　Paris。　In　addition；　usually　one　half　of　a
  suitcase　was　occupied　by　a　couple　dozen　orange　Hermès　boxes；
  each　containing　a　single　white　scarf　just　waiting　to　be　lost；
  forgotten；　misplaced；　or　simply　discarded。
  I　hung　up　with　Emily　after　making　a　good　effort　to　sound
  sincerely　sympathetic　and　found　Lily　stretched　out　on　the
  couch；　smoking　a　cigarette　and　sipping　a　clear　liquid　that　was
  definitely　not　water　from　a　cocktail　glass。
  “I　thought　we　weren’t　allowed　to　smoke　in　here；”　I　said；
  flopping　down　next　to　her　and　immediately　putting　my　feet　on
  the　scuffed　wooden　Coffee　table　my　parents　had　handed　down　to
  us。　“Not　that　I　care；　but　that　wasyour　rule。”　Lily　wasn’t　a
  full…time；　mitted　smoker　like　yours　truly；　she　usually
  smoked　only　when　she　drank　and　wasn’t　one　to　even　buy　packs。　A
  brand…new　box　of　Camel　Special　Lights　peeked　out　of　the　chest
  pocket　of　her　oversize　button…down。　I　nudged　her　thigh　with　my
  slippered　foot　and　nodded　toward　the　cigarettes。　She　handed
  them　over　with　a　lighter。
  “I　knew　you　wouldn’t　care；”　she　said；　taking　a　leisurely　drag
  off　her　cigarette。　“I’m　procrastinating　and　it　helps　me
  concentrate。”
  “What　do　you　have　due？”　I　asked；　lighting　my　own　cigarette　and
  tossing　back　the　lighter。　She　was　taking　seventeen　credits
  this　semester　in　an　effort　to　pull　up　her　GPA　after　last
  spring’s　mediocre　showing。　I　watched　as　she　took　another　drag
  and　washed　it　down　with　a　healthy　gulp　of　her　nonwater
  beverage。　It　didn’t　appear　that　she　was　on　the　right　track。
  She　sighed　heavily；　meaningfully；　and　let　the　cigarette　hang
  suspended　from　the　corner　of　her　mouth　as　she　spoke。　It
  flapped　up　and　down；　threatening　to　fall　at　any　moment　and；
  bined　with　her　wild；　unwashed　hair　and　smeared　eye　makeup；
  made　her　look—just　for　a　moment—like　a　defendant　onJudge　Judy
  （or　maybe　a　plaintiff；　since　they　always　looked　the　same—lack
  of　teeth；　greasy　hair；　dull　eyes；　and　propensity　for　using　the
  double　negative）。　“An　article　for　some　totally　random；
  esoteric　academic　journal　that　no　one　will　ever　read　but　I
  still　have　to　write；　just　so　I　can　say　I’m　published。”
  “That’s　annoying。　When’s　it　due？”
  “Tomorrow。”　Total　nonchalance。　She　looked　pletely　unfazed。
  “Tomorrow？　For　real？”
  She　shot　me　a　warning　look；　a　quick　reminder　that　I　was
  supposed　to　be　on　her　team。　“Yes。　Tomorrow。　It　really　blows；
  considering　that　Freudian　Boy　is　the　one　who’s　assigned　to
  edit　it。　No　one　seems　to　care　that　he’s　a　candidate　in　psych；
  not　Russian　lit—they’re　just　short　copy　editors；　so　he’s　mine。
  There’s　noway　I’m　getting　that　to　him　on　time。　Screw　him。”
  Once　again；　she　poured　some　of　the　liquid　down　her　throat；
  making　an　obvious　effort　not　to　taste　it；　and　grimaced。
  “Lil；　what　happened？　Granted；　it’s　been　a　few　months；　but　last
  I　heard；　you　were　taking　things　slow　and　he　was　perfect。　Of
  course；　that　was　before　that；　thatthing　you　dragged　Home；　but
  。　。　。”
  Another　warning　look；　this　time　followed　by　a　glare。　I’d　tried
  to　talk　to　her　about　the　whole　Freak　Boy　incident　a　few　dozen
  times；　but　it　seemed　like　we　were　never　really　alone　and
  neither　of　us　had　much　time　lately　for　heart…to…hearts。　She
  immediately　changed　the　subject　whenever　I　brought　it　up。　I
  could　tell　that　more　than　anything　she　was　embarrassed；　she
  had　acknowledged　that　he　was　vile；　but　she　wouldn’t
  participate　in　any　discussion　whatsoever　about　the　excessive
  drinking　that　was　responsible　for　the　whole　episode。
  “Yes；　well；　apparently　at　some　point　that　night　I　called　him
  from　Au　Bar　and　begged　him　to　e　meet　me；”　she　said；
  avoiding　eye　contact；　instead　concentrating　intently　on　using
  the　remote　control　to　switch　tracks　on　the　mournful　Jeff
  Buckley　CD　that　seemed　to　be　on　permanent　replay　in　the
  apartment。
  “So？　Did　he　e　and　see　you　talking　to；　uh；　to　someone　else？”
  I　was　trying　not　to　push　her　away　even　mo