I grinned, winking at Florence as she lit up. Anytime George was near her, she always seemed to glow a little brighter.
We were in our parents home for the first time since their death. It had been written over to us in their will, but I had already told Florence I did not want it. Neither did she. We had many memories here of growing up, but without Ma or Pa around, it wasn’t the same. I could no longer find life in the colours that bloomed through the home, or comfort in the odd objects my father had enjoyed collecting. As time went on, everything continued to collect dust and become nothing more than a sad memory.
Both of us had moved on with our lives after their passing, dealing with our grief in different ways.
I had met the world of science and parties, she had met George. They had been together just over six months, falling madly in love.
I didn’t want a love like that. He seemed to absorb her in ways I never wanted. I liked him a lot, though, and enjoyed seeing her happy. Still, I was devoted to my studies.
George’s footsteps echoed over the worn hardwoods as he came into the living room, rain sticking to his glasses. There was a second cerulean lens over one of them that allowed him to magnify words or details— and it looked rather silly to me, which made him all the more endearing.
George was the reason the New York Institute of Steampower, NYIS, had accepted me in the first place. Typically, they only allowed men through their lofty doors, but he had vouched for me and my supposed brilliance.
Regardless of if they believed him, I was there to prove them wrong. Like my father, I enjoyed creating things. To figure out how they worked, to pull them apart and put them back together again. Just last week, I had been part of a study on blimp engines and dissected one in my room. Never mind that everything had been covered with oil and grime after I had finished.
After that, I’d gotten cleaned up and made my way to one of the most anticipated parties in NYC. It had been a grand time, and I’d danced the night away in a flapper dress and heels until the sun rose, and then I did it all over again.
I prided myself on being a double edged sword; a woman of science, and a woman that knew how to have a good time. Meanwhile, Florence was getting ready to settle into a married life that would be full of children and… well, I wasn’t entirely sure what else she wanted in her life.
I pretended to continue to smooth my hair as he gave Florence a quick kiss on the cheek. “We won’t be here long, darling,” he said earnestly. “I have just met with the appraiser and he will be here first thing in the morning. I know both of you must be feeling exhausted already. Grief wears on the mind.”
Florence nodded, giving him a soft smile. “Thank you, George. Irene and I have no wish to stay here longer than necessary.”
George cupped her face tenderly for a moment. I found myself staring through the mirror. Would someone ever look at me that way?
Did I even care?
George let go, his eyes wandering around the room in awe. His dark brows raised, his moustache twisting as his lips pulled into a broad grin. “This is incredible. Thomas Ellis was a brilliant man.”
I looked away for a moment, not showing that the mention of my father’s name stung.
When our parents died, my sister and I had taken to living together in an apartment at the heart of New York City. We had been left a large sum of money that had allowed us to live a comfortable life. It had been that way for the last year, even though I barely remembered the first six months of it. The rest of the time, up until now, had been filled with studying and having fun.
“Come and sit, Irene,” Florence said, gesturing to the couch. “And drink your tea. It’s one that George bought for us to enjoy. An English breakfast from London, was it?”
My nose wrinkled. I’d never been a tea drinker, and I couldn’t force myself to be that polite. Even for George.
“Yes, it’s a nice one from London,” George said with a smile.
“I’ve been sitting all day it seems,” I said. “Just let me stand, Florence.”
Her eyes narrowed in annoyance, but I ignored her.
George paced around the living room, turning items over and inspecting them. Our father had enjoyed collecting odd objects, and it showed. There were the models of different flying machines that hung from the ceiling, and the many clocks that clung to the pastel green walls, ticking in unison. Supposedly, my father had gained his love for oddities and trinkets from his father, whom I’d never met. My grandfather had been an inventor too and his father before him. He had even made some of the objects in the house— like the bronze birdcage that sat next to the fireplace with a silent automaton dove perched within.
The room still smelled like my father. Steam, tobacco, and coffee.
I felt that greedy ache in my chest, the one that would overtake all of my other emotions if I let it. I blinked back tears, my cue that it was time to go to sleep.
“I’m going to bed,” I announced, turning to offer both of them an imitation of a brilliant smile. “I am simply exhausted and would like to rest before tomorrow. It’ll be a long day handling matters here before I have to attend a party tomorrow night, if either of you would like to join.”
“Irene,” Florence sighed. “You go to too many of those. What will the men think of you?”
I snorted, giving her a dry smile. “That I’m a capable and exciting woman. And quite honestly, Florence, I don’t care. I can drink and dance the night away and still wake up and turn in a better project to the university than they can.”
George laughed and Florence gave me a sour look.
“I don’t think we’ll join you, dear,” George said. “As wonderful as it would be.”
“It would be great! Get Florence out in the world instead of doing whatever you do.”
She rolled her eyes now. “I thought you said you were tired.”
“I am,” I said.
“Of course, dear,” George said. “Let us know if you need anything. Oh, and perhaps take the tea up with you. It should soothe any worries.”
“Thank you,” I said.
For a moment, I’d been able to stop worrying. Maybe arguing with Florence helped.
I went to the coffee table, one that had been fashioned from old boiler room pipes, and plucked the cup of tea from the tray. I paused to give Florence a peck on the cheek.
“Don’t be too unforgiving,” I teased her.
She swatted at me, but ultimately let out a little laugh that told me she wasn’t that annoyed with me.
I left the two of them and went down the familiar hall, one that had wallpaper that was peeling in some spots. The scent of tobacco, bourbon, and linseed oil lingered, an echo of my parents. Paintings hung, pieces that showed London in all of its glory. Silver blimps decorated the skies, steam blurring the suns.
My mother had been an English painter, my father an American inventor. You could tell which parts of the house were decorated by who just by walking through.
Their death had been a tragedy and still did not make sense to me. I would never forget when the inspectors had arrived to deliver the news. I’d never heard Florence cry like that.
Florence took more after our mother, and I took after him. The inventor Thomas Ellis, who had helped refine the steam engines that now ran the largest blimps in the world. I loved to create things that were helpful, to learn about the sciences. After we dealt with this business of the house, I would go back to my studies at NYIS.