The Seven Year Slip by Ashley Poston EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: Ashley Poston
- Language: English
- Genre: Women’s Friendship Fiction
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 3 MB
- Price: Free
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MY AUNT USED TO say, if you don’t fit in, fool everyone until you do.
She also said to keep your passport renewed, to pair red wines with meats
and whites with everything else, to find work that is fulfilling to your heart as
well as your head, to never forget to fall in love whenever you can find it
because love is nothing if not a matter of timing, and to chase the moon.
Always, always chase the moon.
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It must have worked for her, because it never mattered where she was in
the world, she was home. She waltzed through life like she belonged at every
party she was never invited to, fell in love with every lonely heart she found,
and found luck in every adventure. She had that air about her—tourists asked
her for directions when she went abroad, servers asked her opinion on wines
and fine whiskeys, celebrities asked her about her life.
Once, when we were at the Tower of London, my aunt and I accidentally
found ourselves at an exclusive party at the Chapel Royal of St. Peter ad
Vincula and managed to stay with a well-placed compliment and a knockoff
statement necklace. There, we met a prince of Wales, or Norway or
somewhere, moonlighting as the DJ. I didn’t remember much of the rest of
that night since I overestimated my tolerance for too-expensive scotch.
But every adventure with my aunt was like that. She was the master of
belonging.
If you aren’t sure which fork to use at a fancy dinner? Go along with the
person beside you. Lost in a city you’ve lived in for most of your life?
Pretend you’re a tourist. Listening to an opera after never hearing one ever
before? Nod and comment on the chilling vibrato. Sitting in a Michelinstarred restaurant drinking a bottle of red wine that costs more than your
monthly apartment rent? Comment on the body and act like you’ve tasted
better.
Which, in this case, I had.
The two-dollar bottle of wine from Trader Joe’s tasted better than this, but
the delicious small plates made up for it. Bacon-wrapped dates and fried goat
cheese drizzled in lavender honey and smoked trout fritters that melted in
your mouth. All the while sitting in a charming little restaurant with soft
yellow lightning, the front windows open to let in the sounds of the city,
vines of pothos plants and evergreen ferns hanging from the sconces above
us, as central air brushed across our shoulders. The walls were trimmed in
mahogany, the booths a supple leather that, in this early June heat, would
peel the skin off my thighs if I wasn’t careful. The place was intimate, the
tables spaced just far enough apart that we couldn’t hear the hushed
conversations of anyone else in the restaurant over the constant soft murmur
from the kitchen.
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