In Another Life

“Bryn, if you don’t pick up the phone, so help me god, I will show up on your doorstep and strangle you—”

“Hello Liv,” I smile into the receiver, knowing full well that the girl on the other end is making empty threats.

Olivia Watson heaves a relieved sigh. “It’s about time you picked up, Bry. I’ve only been calling your mobile for the past hour.”

“Have you?” I ask in an offhand voice, using my shoulder to keep my house phone up to my ear as I begin to sort through my mail. “It’s on vibrate and it’s in my bedroom, I think. I’ve not been in to check it in a few hours,” I glance over at the coffee table in my living room that’s littered with thick texts and worn notebooks. The reason why I've been ignoring my cell phone for the past couple of hours.

“What is the point of you even having a mobile phone if you never check it?” Olivia asks before she sputters indignantly. “Don’t distract me! I have the world’s biggest favor to ask of you. And before you say no, just remember that I am your favorite cousin and you owe me.”

“Liv, you’re my only cousin,” I point out, pushing the junk mail straight into the trash bin and moving towards my coursework. “And besides, don’t you owe me? Why is it that whenever you need something, I somehow end up being the one who owes you a favor?”

“Because it’s just the way things work,” She replies brightly. “Just listen to what I have to say and then decide whether or not you want to help me. Please,” She adds on like an afterthought.

I sink down onto the sofa and glance down at the highlighted notebook lying next to me. As if sitting too close to me is a personal insult, I edge the spiral off the cushion with my index finger and listen for the soft thump as it hits the ground. “Okay, what is it?”

“Philip has to go into work this afternoon because some American businessman has flown into town suddenly and apparently tonight’s the only free night he has,” Olivia hurries through her sentence so much so that her words are slurring together. I have to bite down on my lower lip to hide my smile at her hyperactive nerves. “So he’ll be gone for the rest of the day and I need someone to come with me this afternoon.”

“Go with you where?” I question, propping my feet up on a textbook and slouching back against the sofa cushions.

Olivia hesitates and I raise an eyebrow at her pause, knowing that she’s normally fearless in the face of asking favors. “To a polo match,” She mumbles, knowing of my intense hatred for sporting events of any kind. “But we’ve already bought two tickets—we bought them ages ago—and I got a new hat and everything! And if you say no, then I won’t have anyone to go with and I don’t want to go by myself.”

“Olivia,” I groan, covering my face with my free hand. “No, I’m not going to a polo match. I hate—”

“I know you do, but before you say no for real, I promise that I will never ask you for another favor for as long as I live,” She throws her words at me, proud of herself for coming up with a big enough incentive.

For some reason, I seem to remember a strikingly similar conversation occurring when Liv wanted me to come with her to visit Philip’s family the first time she met them. And again when Liv needed to tell her parents that she was dropping out of university to marry Philip.

It’s not that I don’t like helping out my cousin. I do like helping her out and I love her—she’s family, of course I do. But attending a polo match is not my cup of tea at all. I barely understand the concept of the game and it gets so boring watching egotistical athletes ride about on their horses.

“It’s for charity,” Olivia speaks up suddenly. “For some children’s orphanage in Africa, I think. It’s for a good cause, Bry! You can’t say no to that.”

I close my eyes and repress the groan that threatens to escape. “Fine.”

“All of the proceeds go straight to the children and there will be champagne and food and—wait, what did you say?”

“I’ll go with you,” I smile, glancing down at my fingernails and wondering to myself if I had enough time to paint them before I needed to leave. “What time does it start?”

Olivia shrieks a bit and then claps her hands happily. “Thank you so much, Bryn! You’ve no idea what this means to me. Okay, I’ll leave now and get to your apartment in an hour or so—ooh, I’m so excited now! Do you have something to wear?”

“I’m sure I can find a dress somewhere,” I reply dryly, sitting up and looking at the tiny digital clock that rests on top of my television. “I’m going to get into the shower now, so I’ll see you in an hour then?”

“Yes, I’ll be there. Thanks so much, love,” She coos down the phone before clicking off.

I slowly bring the receiver away from my face and then hit the power button before I look up at the ceiling of my flat and pull a face. Why do I even agree to do these things? I never end up having a great time and Olivia tries so hard to fit in with her new friends.

Because Olivia is family and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep family happy.

It takes a bit of effort to pull myself up off the sofa, but I manage in the end. I move into my bedroom and start up the shower before I throw open my wardrobe and glance over my selection of dresses quickly. What does one wear to a charity polo match exactly?

My dresses are either too dressy for such an event or they’re not nearly formal enough. I don’t seem to have anything that fits in the middle. I rack my brain trying to remember if I’d ever seen a woman wear dress pants to a polo match, before I abandon my clothing search for the time being.

It takes me twenty minutes to have a shower and then another twenty to blow-dry and flat-iron my hair. As I run my brush through the straight blonde curtain that ends just past my shoulders, I find myself wondering what sort of makeup would be appropriate for tonight.

The only polo matches I’ve ever been to are the ones played by the neighborhood boys back home in Essex. I’d watch with my parents as my brother played with his friends. And then afterwards someone always hosted a big potluck dinner and we’d all eat and hang out until the sun went to sleep and the stars lit our way home.

Obviously in that situation, we’d never bothered with formalities or frills. I could get away with wearing cut off shorts and a tanktop and even showing up barefoot. But somehow I don’t think it would go over well if I showed up to this specific polo match without shoes on my feet.

Just as I finish the last coat of fingernail polish on my left thumb, there’s a buzzing noise that resonates through the entire apartment and I realize that it must be Olivia. I'm not expecting anyone else. Not bothering with a robe, I walk to the front door, well aware of the fact that I’m in just my underwear and a bra.

I undo the set of locks and then slide the chain back before I open the door and peer around the wood. My eyes light up when I see my cousin standing on the front stoop, dressed immaculately in a pink sundress and towering nude heels.

“I brought some hats,” She holds up several milliner boxes and I realize that both of her hands are full. “I figured you wouldn’t have any. Hats are required, by the way.” She sails into my apartment and heads immediately for my bedroom. “Have you decided what you’re wearing?”

I shake my head, even though she can’t see me, and trail after her. “It’s either too dressy or not dressy enough. Can I wear pants?” I ask, sitting down on my bed as I watch her start to root around in my wardrobe.

She pauses long enough to throw me a look and I know that I’ve just asked a stupid question. “You can’t wear trousers to something like this, Bryn. There’ll be photographers there. What about this?” She pulls out a white sundress with a swell of black dots dancing around the hem. “Too much?” She ponders aloud, running an experienced hand across the tight fitted bodice. She seems to answer her own question though, because she hangs the dress back up and continues on her quest.

Quickly growing bored of her search, I wander into my bathroom and start to apply my makeup. It doesn’t take long—I’ve never been one for painting my face heavily nor do I have the expert hand. I do well enough with a bit of concealer, foundation and eyeliner. It’s never led me astray before, so it’ll have to do today.

“Where did you get this?” Olivia’s reflection appears in the mirror and she holds up a buttercup yellow dress that I’d purchased nearly a year ago. “I’ve never seen you wear it.”

“A friend got married,” I reply, focusing on my mascara. “And that was her bridesmaids dress. I’ve only worn it the once,” I cap the tube and peer at myself in the mirror. “Do you think that’ll be good enough?”

Olivia nods, walking back towards my bed where she’s deposited her numerous hat boxes. “I have a black straw hat that would look good with this,” She rummages through the boxes. “We can use the sash as a ribbon for the hat to tie it together. Do you have black heels?”

I nod as I take the dress off of the hanger and step into it. The satin puddles around my feet attractively and it makes me think of what the sun might look like if it melted. I pull the dress up around my chest and turn around so that Liv can fasten the clasp in the back.

She zips the dress together and smoothes the material down before I take a step towards the mirror to examine my reflection. I seem to remember myself hating the dress when I had to wear it for the wedding. But without the sash and the horrifying garland of flowers I’d been required to wear, the dress doesn’t seem as ugly to me.

“And the pièce de résistance,” Olivia places the straw hat on my head and grins toothily at our reflections. “I think you’re ready for your first polo match in London.” She glances down at my milky white bare feet. “After you put some shoes on, that is.”

I laugh and push her away lightly before I pull a pair of black pumps out of my closet. I pop my feet into them and wobble around my room for a few steps until I get my sense of balance back. And then I return to my mirror to look at the final product.

The girl looking back at me doesn’t look like me, to be honest. She looks more elegant, refined, polished. She looks like the kind of girl who’d fit seamlessly into London’s busy lifestyle and not the frightened girl from Essex who’d shown up nearly three years previously.

“Are you ready?”

I jump, startled by the sudden conversation, and then offer a smile to my cousin. “Yeah, I’m ready. What time does it start?”

“6:15,” Olivia replies, preening herself one last time in the mirror before she turns to me with a broad smile. “Which means we should be out at 7:30, 8 o’clock at the very latest. I love you so much for doing this, Bry. You don’t understand how much this means to me.”

“I think I have an idea,” I grin as I pick up my handbag and turn off my bathroom light. “Also, I would like it to be known that you, in fact, now owe me the favor. I cancelled important plans tonight in order to help you out.”

Olivia snorts attractively and then turns so she can look at me knowingly. “I saw the textbooks on the table, Bryn, and I know you were only studying. Was your hot date with a certain Chinese delivery boy?”

I flush at her words and fidget awkwardly with the straps of my purse. “No.”

But my answer is too abrupt and sharp, so Olivia knows that I’m lying. She touches my arm lightly before leading the way out of my apartment. “You obviously have the better deal going on now—I mean, I’m eons better looking than the delivery boy.”

I pull my front door shut tightly behind me and then use my keys to lock it up. I test to make sure the locks clicked before I tuck my keys into an inside pocket. “How do you even know what the delivery boy looks like?”

“Because the last time I was over here, we ordered in Chinese and watched movies,” Olivia answers, stepping off of the stoop and walking towards the pearly white sedan that’s parked neatly at the curb. The driver immediately hurries around the front of the car and opens the door for Olivia.

I hurriedly scan the contents of my purse, making sure that I have everything important: mobile, wallet, keys, ID. Only once I’m sure I have everything do I hurry towards the car and duck into the backseat, sliding into place comfortably next to my cousin.

Sometimes I forget just how wealthy Olivia’s husband Philip is—it’s so odd to be driven by a chauffeur. Especially when I’m used to walking all over London or taking the tube or the train. And on the rare occasion that I’m even in a car, it’s never up to these standards. This is one of the newest models from the Lincoln town car series and I know for a fact that Philip had it flown in from America.

I shudder to think about how much this cost.

“Now Bryn, darling, love of my life,” Olivia begins as we pull away from the curb and start to drive down the narrow road. “Polo matches here are a bit different from the ones back home. The spectators do more mingling and networking then they do actually watching the game.”

“Good, because I wasn’t going to watch the game either,” I smile, catching the driver’s amused eyes in the rearview mirror.

Olivia smiles gently and then sobers up again. “It’s just—I don’t want you to be overwhelmed with it all, okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” I assure her, shooting her a lopsided smile. “But after all of this is over, we’re ordering in pizza and you’re paying.”