Vesta got up early and cabbed to Manhattan. In no time she was at Auntie’s in-home office, the elder up to her elbows in work already. “Auntie, if the offer is still on the table, I’d like to talk about it.” Auntie smiled and hung up the phone, “Sit down, dear. There isn’t much to talk about.”
“Here, I know you like your coffee strong and black…” Auntie looked up and winked at Vesta. They giggled. She poured. “Having no children of my own has afforded me a luxurious and perhaps selfish life. Rather, I have loved being your aunt and your friend. You know I’ve been anxious to get the hell out of this city and take up gin — both gins! The cards and the drinks! Even at my age, I’m sure I could learn.” More giggles.
Each of the women in Vesta’s generation had been born to the wrong sister in her mother’s large family. But that meant that each girl had a confidant in the family, and a dear family friend. “You’ll take the furniture and replace it over time. I will retain my rooms on the second floor as long as I am alive. I’ll have Mr. Dow draw up the papers transferring ownership tomorrow, and you tell the girls all about it. We’ll have a big celebratory dinner here. Tomorrow night at 7; don’t be late, dear.” Vesta hoped the other girls didn’t think she was pushy.