“Maybe you’re sleepwalking. And sleeptexting. And sleepprimping.”“What’s next?” I grumbled to myself. Things were getting more out of control by the minute.“I don’t know,” she said, straightening up and tucking her phone into the waistband of her leggings. “Just don’t start sleepfucking.”

“Nothing,” she said. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Gram added. “Oh, I don’t know maybe the voodoo mind magic going on five minutes ago?” I said.”

“It doesn’t matter’, she says, her voice soft. ‘Don’t beat yourself up for not knowing all the answers. You don’t always have to know who you are. You don’t have to have the big picture, or know where you’re heading. Sometimes it’s enough just to know what you’re going to do next.”

“That’s it,” Mabel said, getting up. She tossed her napkin on the table. “No. That is not right. I don’t know what you just said, but whatever it was, I’m pretty certain it was pure hokum. I don’t want to dance. I don’t want to hear about your plans for a summer house. I am not your sister. And if I were your sister, I’d have to tell people you’d been adopted as an act of charity. Please, don’t get up.”

“Listen to me. I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t know what any of this means. But I know this much. It doesn’t matter. You’re not one of them. You never were. You’re not theirs. You’re mine.”

“Don’t you two dare say a thing,” she pointed a finger at us, straightening her skirt with the other hand. “Just bite your tongues.”“You look great, Lucinda.”“And you’re a liar and should have your mouth washed out with soap,” she tugged on the sleeves of her cardigan. “Nice pearls,” I pointed to her neck.“Didn’t I tell ya’ll to bite yer tongues,” Gram’s southern drawl became more pronounced when she was irritated.”