I’m not sure what I did to make them hate me, but I’ve learned to do my job and make myself scarce. As more time passed, their confusing resentment toward me only grew. Only when a stiff wind almost knocked me off did I realize they were lying. When I was a child, they told me I could bring our parents back from the dead if I plucked a flower from the highest cliff on the island. I tend to keep to myself, but not by choice. My sisters have always been best friends…with each other. My sisters turn wide eyes on each other and laugh gleefully. I gasp when Constance unties my apron and tosses it aside, then begins hiking up my skirt to an indecent length. “Yes, the businessmen, Nova.” Constance exaggerates the words, as if I’m a simpleton. “Did you see the men we were speaking with?” Raquel asks. “Like what?” I whisper, getting the urge to run. “We have far more important things to discuss.” “Yes,” Constance pulls the rubber band out of my long, blonde hair and fluffs it with a discerning eye. “The food can wait,” says my oldest sister, Raquel. Normally they never enter the kitchen unless it’s to yell about the food taking too long. “Order up!” calls Marcel, eyeing my sisters suspiciously. When they reach my sides, each of them takes an elbow and hustle me into the kitchen, shoving me toward the small alcove where we store supplies. My feet are frozen in cement as my sisters approach me with a sense of urgency. One of them lets out a low whistle, shaking his hand like he’s been burned and the other nods enthusiastically. Then they trade a sly glance with each other.Ī sense of foreboding settles in my belly when they point me out to the men. On cue, both of my sisters turn and pin me with a look. Something a lot more important than breakfast. But these two seem to be discussing something important with my sisters. Tommy Bahama shirts, loafers, expensive sunglasses. They give off an air of importance, like a lot of the businessmen who come to our exclusive island on vacation. I set down the plates in front of two sunburned college kids, hoping I can get back to the kitchen before the song ends-Sundays should be for dancing!-but I’m brought up short when I see my sisters talking to some men at the hostess station. His blush sends me into the bustling dining room with a giggle. “Looks incredible, Marcel.” I pick up the plates, pirouette toward the door and blow him a kiss.

It might just be me and my two older sisters now running the restaurant our parents opened as newlyweds, but I have to be grateful for what I’ve got. The vision weaves my happiness through with melancholy, but I force my smile to stay in place, even as I replace the mop against the wall.

Important Reasons for Having Mirrors in Elevators

The Perfect Gift by Jessa Kane