“You picked up the eyeshadow first. Let me get the liquid liner. I can highlight everything well so it’ll be complimentary with the eyeholes of your mask, and match the blue rims to the blue on your eyes.”
I laughed too as I took my seat. “Makes me think of how superhero movies put all that kohl or black gunk on the actors’ eyes before they put on the mask.”
“Nothing that dramatic, and only so you’ll look awesome when you and Dad get a private moment and he can appreciate you, and what a mistake he made not letting you know about the ball.”
“Well, he’s not completely wrong. If my dad finds out about this, he’ll definitely murder Cal and send me to some nunnery till I’m ninety.”
“I don’t think becoming a sister works like that.” Symone took the eye liner and held it up to the rim of my left eye. “Now don’t blink or you’re going to look like a royal blue raccoon, which I’m pretty sure is not your goal.”
“Well, it’s hard when there’s a big old marker near my eye.”
“Tell me anything you want. Are you really that into business?”
“I think I could be good at it, maybe. I mean, it’s a family tradition or so my father says. I don’t like it, but my brother is kind of like the family screw up, and someone has to step up and be the adult. That always means me.”
Symone shook her head and then brought her liner to my other eye. “But you sound like you’d rather have a root canal. I get it. I love teaching history. It’s why I’m working through my Ph.D. If you don’t love business or have that shark killer instinct, then it’s a hard slog.”
“Or you’ll just fuck up the company too,” I said, letting her do the rest of the routine—the powder and rouge on my cheeks as well as the lip liner and lipstick I needed.
Symone had a delicate touch. She could have done this whole thing for a salon or for a little boutique at the mall, not that Ireland had the same types of homages to capitalism we did back in the States. Oh, tons of shops, just not massive mega-malls in the Dublin city limits.
“Is that why you don’t want to take up the family mantle? You seem really not into business the way you talk about it, how flat your voice is.”
I waited a minute for her to finish lining my lips fully. “I just can’t imagine making the wrong choice. My father built that company for decades; he created it from scratch and moved himself up from a completely different class and upbringing. I could make it crumble by one bone-headed move. It’s clear business is like breathing for him. He just knows. The only thing I just know is the best stanza meter for a poem.”
“Ooh,” she said, settling on a nice, dusty plum color for my lipstick. “Dad didn’t say you were a writer.”
“I’m not, not really. I just dabble in my notebook. It’s silly.”
“I don’t think anything you like doing is silly.” She smiled and turned to rummage through her closet. “I know I’m lucky that Dad understood what I really wanted and didn’t stand in my way. I get that not every rich kid can avoid being drafted and groomed for the family business. I had so many friends in prep school that looked like they carried the weight of the world on their shoulders at seventeen. No one deserves that.”
“Tell me about it.” I wrung my hands in my lap. “It’s hard to feel like you’re letting your father down no matter what you do. Maybe that’s a little bit of how Cal and I got together. No, it’s not some rebel thing, but I know nothing I do is going to make my father happy. Sometimes, I get so tired of trying to please everyone and leaving nothing for myself.”
Symone nodded. “That’s the thing I think is attracting Dad to you. Mom was like that.”
“Like what? A doormat?”
“No, and you’re not either.”
“You don’t even know me.”
“I can tell you’re actually taking your life in your hands right now, doing what you want, and working against unfair rules. That was always like my mom. She was a good person, but if something was unjust, you can believe she was going to grill you about it.”
Symone set a pasteboard box, one aged almost yellow from who knew how many years in her closet. “I think you’ll also be the belle of the ball—if you’ll pardon the expression, lass—while you’re wearing this.”
I pulled up the top and gasped at the gorgeous mask below. Tracing my hand over the delicate design, I slid it over my eyes and then fastened it behind my head. Symone had been right, the colors she was rimming my eyes with would highlight the areas where the mask didn’t completely cover or where you could see through to my cheeks and the rims of my eyes as well.
“It’s beautiful.”
“It was my mother’s.”
Instantly, I started yanking at the mask. “I can’t do that. It’s too much to ask of you. I don’t want to take her place!”
“And it’s only been a few weeks. I know you’re not soulmates. I’m twenty-five, not twelve. Besides, that’s not a real thing. I just know that Mom had a great collection of masks for these types of balls, and this was one of her favorites. You need a way to go without tipping off the paparazzi, and it’s perfect.” She helped retie the straps on my face. “Trust me, if I felt like you were overstepping, I’d let you know. I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but we O’Briens can be very honest.”
“You’re a candid bunch, no, really?”
She laughed and patted my shoulder. “Oh good, you’re sarcastic too. It means you’ll survive in this family.”