Sunday, April 12, 2015

Aleea Davidson Week 145: Catching Up

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Aleea Davidson’s Picture Choice: One

Title: Catching Up

Late October chill hangs heavy in the air. Why Genevieve insisted on an outdoor cafe, Gwen doesn't know, but it's always best to humor her irascible sister. At least the espresso is good.

She sips from the dainty cup, the liberally sweetened yet still bitter brew is a delicious explosion of heat and flavor in her mouth. She ghosts a gloved finger lightly over the tarnished silver of her newest treasure. The Victorian era hand-mirror was an exciting find; one she didn't expect to discover at the tiny second-hand shop Genevieve dragged her into.

"I can't believe you bought that old thing." Genevieve sniffs disdainfully, ever the critic. If it isn't modern, she simply won't have it. One of many differences that exist between them. Blood they may share, but little else seems to bind them.

Gwen sighs, knowing the futility of explaining the visceral appeal such items hold, and turns her attention to the sidewalk. Hustle and bustle accompanied by the click of heels and the thud-scuff of boots mingles with snatches of conversations. Busy, busy. Life is always so busy. She misses their tiny hometown and a simpler life. The roaring twenties in a brimming city can't compete.

"'s the jazz age, after all."

Realizing she's lost the thread of her sister's chatter, Gwen attempts a nod.

"Oh, do pay attention, Gwenie," Genevieve snaps, tapping her cigarette ash to the ground. "Really. Always off in your head somewhere." She exhales a plume of smoke then suddenly smiles, her expression sly.

"What?" Gwen asks, alarmed by the look.

"I like that shade of lipstick on you," Genevieve replies, then, apropos of nothing, "New man in your life?"

Blushing, Gwen drops her gaze.

Genevieve laughs, scooping up the mirror and examining her chic hair in the reflective surface that bears only a few deep scratches. "Good. It's about time, sister dear. I worry you'll turn into an old maid with how picky you are."

Smiling shyly, Gwen shakes her head. "He's just a boy. You know I'm holding out for a man who'll move mountains for me, Gen-Gen."

Genevieve smiles, surprisingly tolerant, perhaps warming to the use of her childhood nickname. She places the mirror down and reaches for Gwen's hand, squeezing her fingers gently in a rare sign of affection.

"All right. Tell me all about this 'boy' then. I do love a diversion." She winks and Gwen laughs, a rush of love for her sister doing more to warm her than the espresso coursing it's caffeinated magic through her body.

"My little sister, the inexhaustible romantic." Genevieve sighs, laughs, and flags the waiter. "I believe we're going to need cocktails."

Gwen finds herself agreeing. It's an odd mixture - espresso, cocktails, antique mirrors, and her and Genevieve. Somehow, it all works.


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Aleea lives in her imagination most of the time. It's an interesting place to be... Occasionally she can be coaxed out to chat on Twitter, though she finds it akin to torture to stick to that absurd 140 character limit. (@Aleeab4u)


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