Mom and Soph spent the rest of the afternoon getting ready in my mom and dad’s bedroom. Mom’s dressing table was covered in jars of brushes, boxes of nail polish, palettes and palettes of eye shadows, containers of bronzers and highlighters, and who knows what else. The hair dryer and curling iron were plugged in and ready to roll (ha-ha), and sparkly dresses were hanging on the closet doors. Ten pairs of heels were sprawled across the floor, and they had all been tried on, not only by my mom and Sophia to see which ones matched their dresses best, but also by Eleni and me, just for the fun of it.

Mom and Soph always got dressed up like this. They could go to the Oscars and look like they were supposed to be there. They even got dressed up for funerals, which I know about now, because I’ve seen them at one. Unfortunately. But we’ll get to the funeral later. Now, we were getting ready for a party.

Eleni and I sat propped up on pillows on the bed, watching. Mom was wearing a white satin bathrobe with Japanese writing on it, and she smelled of lychee or mango or something fruity, thanks to her luxury after-spa body cream. Her long dark hair was wound in red hair rollers, and she had an arch of gold glitter just above the thick black flick of her eyeliner. Eleni thought she looked glamorous. I thought she looked like an alien.

Long strips of toilet paper were laced between Mom’s toes to separate them because she’d just painted her toenails Baby Poo Cappuccino (or at least that was what Eleni and I called it). Aunt Soph sat on a stool, hunched over, stroking stripes of shiny red polish on to my mom’s fingers. Mom can’t paint her right hand: Aunt Soph always does it for her. Meanwhile, Eleni and I were naming the new nail polish.

“Looks like a thick lick of blood,” I whispered to Eleni, and then I paused. “Blood Lick?”

Eleni squinted. “Blood-Stained Vampire Lick.”

My eyes widened. It was good. But not quite right. “Neck Blood Vamp Lick.”

Fresh Blood Vamp Lick.”

I raised my hand, we high-fived, and I wrote it in the notebook before we forgot. Fresh Blood Vamp Lick it was. Nice.

“This is mine,” Mom said, picking up a dark-brown nail varnish. She looked at Aunt Soph. “Why’s it in your nail polish box?”

“Borrowed it,” Aunt Soph said, “for that work function.”

“Tut. Why d’you always steal my stuff? My furry jacket, my sofa blanket, and now this. I looked everywhere for that sofa blanket.”

Aunt Soph laughed. “We left late! Eleni was cold. I wrapped her in it.”

“So bring it back! Your house is full of my stuff!”

“Eleni was cold!” Aunt Soph yelled, but she was grinning. “I’ll bring it back tomorrow.”

Mom took the nail polish out of Aunt Soph’s box and put it on her dressing table, saying, “And I’ll take that back, thank you.”

Eleni and I wanted to get our nails painted too, but we had to wait. Aunt Soph had put curlers in our hair, and while she painted Mom’s nails, Eleni and I were choosing the best colors in an eye shadow palette. Not to wear. Just for fun.

“Midnight Blue,” I said. “And Midas Gold.”

“Heavy Metal,” Eleni said. “And Unicorn Poop.”

“That’s not what it’s called. It’s called Pretty in Pink.”

“Looks like unicorn poop. I’ve renamed it.”

I grinned. Eleni and I loved times like these. We were going to wear dresses that looked like cloud puffs, eat kataifi until we felt sick, and stay up late. And because it was a family function, Anastasia wasn’t going to be there.

The world was a happy place again.

On top of that, Uncle Dimitri was getting married! MARRIED! Even though he was old! My parents got married when they were twenty-two. Uncle Dimitri had gray hair and Christina still wanted to marry him!

Weird.

Dad was watching soccer on TV with Uncle Christos, but he knew better than to come upstairs at times like these. He’d end up with his eyebrows plucked and his hair blow-dried, so he stayed downstairs, making jokes no one except Uncle C laughed at, while Uncle C did a commentary the whole way through that drove everyone wild, including Dad.

When we’d finished choosing the best eye shadows, we opened a magazine and started playing “I’m her” until Mom said, “Girls, cut it out will you? What color nail polish d’you want?”

“Dead Princess Milkshake!” we yelled at the same time and pointed toward the pink.