“Okay, well, you don't have to take any of it. I just pulled some things out for you. Mom gave me the idea.”
Annie is walking up the stairs with us, the other Rough ladies following: Lemon, Abby, Plum. We climb two sets of stairs to get to Fig’s attic bedroom.
I catch my breath as we enter the room. “Wow,” I say, taking in the space. Fig’s room is something out of a fairy tale.
“I know, right?” she says. “Dad converted it for me a few years ago, and it's basically the best room in the house.”
“Basically,” Lemon says. “I shared with Fig all growing up and then I leave and she gets her own bedroom.”
Abby smiles playfully. “Oh, poor Lemon. She had to grow up in a gorgeous mansion with a loving mother and father.”
I laugh at that. “Where did you grow up?” I ask Abby.
Lemon jumps in, speaking dramatically, “She grew up travelling the country, sleeping under the stars.”
Abby snorts, and it is clear they love one another by how well they tease each other. “I grew up in a traveling circus. My family was crazy.” She looks right at me. “I think you and I can relate on our lives being a little more bonkers than the Roughs’.”
“I’m so sorry, Abby,” I say.
She just smiles. “But look at where I am now.” She takes Plum’s hand and twirls the little girl around the magical bedroom. It all feels too good to be true.
Annie begins going through Fig’s things that she set aside on a bed. “There's some really nice pieces here, Fig,” she says. “Sweetie! You never did wear this sweater. There's still tags on it. I think I got you this for last Christmas.”
“Yeah, Mom. I look terrible in yellow.”
Annie laughs. “Well, it looks like it might be Prairie’s favorite color.”
I look down at the sweater I'm wearing. It's a golden hue, and I nod. “Yellow is my favorite.”
“Perfect,” Fig says with a wide smile.
Lemon and Fig begin working through the pile of clothes, handing me jackets and jeans, complimenting me on how things might fit or look on me. Abby is braiding Plum’s hair and keeping her entertained.
“What size of shoe are you?” Lemon asks.
“I'm a seven and a half,” I say.
“Oh shoot,” Fig says. “I'm an eight and a half.”
We sit on the bed and they keep giving me clothes to try on. If I was self-conscious, well, it's gone by the time we finish sorting through Fig’s items. “This is really generous of you,” I say to Rye’s little sister.
She waves her hand in the air. “I'm trying to be more generous, you know? I'm almost a grown up.”
“When do you turn 18?” I ask her.
“Next month,” she says, “and I graduate a few months after that.”
“Wow,” I say, “do you have any big plans?”
She shrugs. “Not exactly.”
Annie, though, questions that. “No big plans? I thought we were going on a trip to California for spring break? A mother-daughter trip. That seems like a big plan.”
I smile. “That seems like a lovely plan.”
“Have you ever been to California?” Plum asks me.
I shake my head. “No, I've never traveled far. I’ve only ever been in Washington.”