Page 106 of Sexting the Pakhan

Mila twirls once and says, “We’re not outfit twins.”

Nadia adjusts her cardigan and says, “We’re genetically twins, not fashion twins.”

I point the brush at her. “You have got to stop saying things that make you sound like my accountant.”

Nadia frowns. “We don’t have an accountant.”

“Exactly,” I say. “That’s why it’s unsettling.”

Mila climbs onto the shoe bench and says, “Mama, my hair needs more sparkle.”

“Your hair has four clips, two butterfly pins, and something I’m pretty sure came from a birthday cake decoration,” I say.

Mila pats her curls carefully. “So one more sparkle.”

“No,” I say.

Mila presses both hands to her chest. “For the welcome ceremony.”

Nadia says, “It’s not a welcome ceremony anymore. We’re already welcomed. Miss Elena said it’s a family evening program.”

Mila says, “That’s too many words.”

Nadia says, “It’s the correct name.”

Mila looks at me. “Mama, can I call it a welcome thingy?”

“You may call it whatever gets us into the car in the next three minutes,” I say.

That finally moves them. Sort of.

Mila remembers she needs her “stage stone,” which is actually a shiny pebble she found near the bus stop and has decided is lucky. Nadia announces she cannot perform without the purple water bottle because her “throat may become dry from publicspeaking,” though her speaking part is one sentence and mostly involves saying,Welcome, families.

By the time I lock the apartment door, I’m sweating through a blouse I chose because it looked like something a responsible mother would wear.

Karina is waiting by the elevator with a paper cup of coffee in one hand and an expression that says she has already judged me lovingly. “You look like you fought a closet and lost with dignity.”

I look down at my blouse. “This is my parent-event blouse.”

Karina looks at the girls and says, “And you two look incredible.”

Mila beams. “I’m sparkly.”

Nadia nods. “I’m appropriate.”

Karina says, “Both vital energies.”

I lock the door twice because old habits, single motherhood, and six years of pretending I don’t check locks like a paranoid raccoon have made me who I am.

Karina notices, of course. “You okay?”

I smile too quickly. “Yes.”

She doesn’t believe me, but she knows better than to ask in front of the girls.

The ride down is full of Mila practicing her song at full volume, Nadia correcting her pronunciation, and Karina whispering to me, “Do they know it’s a school event and not a parliamentary hearing?”

I whisper back, “Nadia does.”