Peaches

including her parents, shook their heads softly, agreeing with her, wearing amused expressions. It was this—Danay’s demeanor while telling the story, that lazy perfection—that always managed to take Leeda by surprise. Somehow Leeda always forgot it, and when she witnessed it all over again, it sank into her stomach like a lead weight. Danay could screw up (not that she did very often) and absorb it into her perfection, like it was another jewel on her sparkling aura.
    Leeda took another bite of her pastry. She’d managed to charm the waiter into bringing her the lobster claw instead of the prix fixe appetizer, pulling out her best eyelash-fluttering southern debutante look. She occasionally glanced at her mother to see if she’d say anything. She didn’t.
    Instead the entire Cawley-Smith family sitting at the table moved on to the wedding that would take place in mid-August, talking about the cake (red velvet, boring), the honeymoon (the West Indies, typical), the signature drinks (the Danayrita and the You Brighton My Life Banana Daquiri, no comment), and the wedding song (“From This Moment On,” by Shania Twain, vomit). Chewing loudly, Leeda let her attention drift across the table to Brighton, who smiled at her with his usual kiss-up-to-the-family expression. She frowned back, letting her pink puffy lips droop in disdain, then looked at the space just beyond his head. A giant acrylic painting of a miniature Shetland pony watched them eat, its big brown eyes frank and pleading. Beneath it a white banner read: Mitzie Needs Your Help.
    As usual, Leeda’s grandmom’s annual Shetland Rescue dinner was a rousing success. The Primrose Cottage Inn, a sprawlingCawley-Smith–owned B & B with enormous white porches and rooms decorated in the style of different states, was packed, despite the hefty price tag of $250 a head. Leeda surveyed the crowd, looking for one cute guy or at least one guy below fifty. One man across the room, Horatio Balmeade of the Balmeade Country Club, locked eyes with her and gave her the old triangle stare: left eye, right eye, chest. Leeda curled over herself protectively.
    “Don’t slouch, Leeda. It’s unattractive.” Her dad had temporarily looked up from his papers, which he took any opportunity to shuffle through. Leeda suspected he did it even when he didn’t have to in order to shield himself from the women he was always surrounded by. She straightened up and sighed loudly, hooking a finger into one of her blond starlet curls.
    “And honey,” her mom added stiffly, “smile.”
    Leeda smiled huge and fakely and rolled her eyes almost undetectably. It was one of her mother’s pet theories that if you smiled, even when you were pissed off or depressed, it made you actually feel happy—which Leeda thought was a load of crap. But she acted like she believed it. With her mother, Leeda acted a lot.
    Ever since she’d been little, Leeda had sensed the way her mother’s eyes lit up when Danay entered the room and how when Leeda entered, they glazed over. Leeda had pushed herself into the top of her class while Danay had landed there with ease. Leeda’d tried to develop the same style of jokes, the same fine-line walk between casual and flawless. She had never been able to wear it as well. And maybe that was why her mom never filled her end of the bargain Leeda had secretly struck between them. Lucretia never lit her eyes up any brighter for her youngestdaughter. After telling Leeda to smile, Lucretia let her eyes drift to Danay like metal to a magnet.
    Leeda scanned the room, noticing that the waiter who’d brought the lobster claw was glancing at her every so often. Leeda was generally loved by waiters. In fact, she was pretty sure she was loved by just about everyone except her mom. At school, people courted her friendship like they were paying homage to a queen. When she went out, people’s eyes lingered on her. Last summer, when the Cawley-Smiths had visited Tokyo, she’d been so loved by all the guys at the clubs, they kept asking if she was Charlize Theron.
    Leeda was like David Hasselhoff. She was loved in Japan.
    “Hey,” Danay said, tapping Leeda’s toe under the table and meeting her with a sparkling, perfect gaze of sisterly love. “What’re you doing for spring break?”
    “Camping at Tybee Beach. With Rex.”
    Danay looked at their mom. “Y’all are letting her go camping with a guy? You wouldn’t even let me go with my girlfriends!”
    Lucretia