Joey peered over her mother’s shoulder. The Grant topper had a man bun with his tux, and the Joey topper had brunette waves, a party of multiple tiny earrings, and her bell-sleeved, boho dress.

“You’re always talking about Grant’s man bun.” Bea handed them to her.

“They’re great.” Joey set the toppers on the white marble console. “Thanks for them,” she managed to add.

At the sound of Lily traipsing downstairs, Joey untied her cork wedges. Her sister now descended on the right side of the Tara-replicated double staircase that Joey considered to have been a ridiculous renovation. Lily pointed her foot dramatically like the ballerina she was not as she leaped from the bottom step. She wore a white button-down shirt that looked like she’d borrowed it from their father, but she’d buttoned it crookedly and one side draped off a shoulder. The shirt was front-tucked into tattered jean cutoffs and complemented by Lily’s hair slicked back in one of those pop-star ponytails, with harsh slashes of bronze on her eyelids.

“Hey, Lil.”

“Hey, Jo.” The sisters embraced quickly.

“You’re not wearing that to meet Edith, are you?” Lily asked.

“Umm…yes. I am.” Joey glanced down at her moody purple floral boho dress that she’d bought in her law days, even though it hadn’t meshed one iota with her then-polished, fancy life. She’d known she’d wear it someday; every time she’d seen it in her closet it had been some soothing glimpse of a future self she could still become. Now it was a mainstay in her wardrobe. Her power dress.

“Yes, JoJo, let Lily help style you,” said Bea.

“I think Rei Kawakubo sent me something too big,” said Lily.

Joey had no clue who that was and wasn’t about to ask. “No thanks. I’m quite capable of picking my own outfits. This dress is MISA, by the way. You’re not the only Abrams who appreciates fashion. I’m an artist, remember?” Joey felt herself growing more affronted than Lily’s comment really warranted.

“Are you joining us for lunch, Lil?” asked Bea.

“I can’t.” Lily heaved a sigh worthy of a president on the brink of initiating nuclear war. “We need to put the inaugural issue to bed, and I haven’t finalized the piece about genital mutilation in China. It’s a nightmare, with all their internet blockades.”

“Wow, so the magazine’s happening?” Joey recalled vague conversations about a feminist fashion magazine for teens that Lily was launching.

“It’s definitely happening,” said Bea. “It’s the next Vogue. Not even. It’s the Vogue that Vogue wishes it could be.”

“That makes no sense.” Joey winced at the spite in her words. “But that’s awesome, Lil.”

“It is,” said Bea. “Victoria’s the guest editor too.”

“Victoria?” Joey shook her head. Bea made a motion like she was swinging a tennis racket.