After shopping at the records store, we toured the rest of Fremont Street. Most establishments were now open. Thankfully, a wide cloud passed overhead, hiding us from the sun for several minutes. When the clouds left, blown away by the wind, the sun greeted us with a vengeance. Well, it wasn’t really that hot. Like, I wasn’t feeling temperatures in the same way when I was still human. But it was uncomfortable. And humid.

Deen steered us to a café she spotted. “A short break from the sun,” she said. “And to get a drink. I think Erind wants a shake.”

I rolled my eyes. “Oh, you’re ordering for me now?”

“I know you’d like something sweet,” Deen said.

“Erind does have a very sweet tooth,” Mom said. “It’s a miracle she doesn’t have any rotten teeth. Don’t forget to brush your teeth, dear.”

“Mom, I’m not a kid anymore,” I grumbled, wondering if an Adumbrae could have rotten teeth. No way, right? That meant I could eat as much sweets as I wanted. Well, there was the issue of calories. Could I remove my own fat, like literally rip off parts of my belly, if I gained too much weight?   

“We’ll go with strawberry,” Deen said, breaking my thoughts of self-liposuction. She pointed at the menu above the cashier.

“When did you start liking strawberry flavor?” I asked her. “And you’re ordering a shake too? Forgetting about your diet?”

“You like strawberry. I’m ambivalent about it. We’ll share the shake because they only sell large cups.” Deen turned to my mom before I could process what she just said. “Mrs. Hartwell, what drink would you like?”

This fucking bitch! I held my tongue even though I could already see Deen’s plan. I was helpless to stop it. But I did like strawberry shake, so I’d just go with the flow.

While waiting for our orders, we chatted about where to go next. Deen had an evil twinkle in her eye and a very noticeable smirk. She kept glancing at me with a raised brow. I wanted to hold up a middle finger at her, but Mom was around, so I had to be prim and proper. We decided we’d go to the Mob Museum, and then perhaps the Museum of Natural Science, or whatever it was called. Time to be a cultured and learned lady today.

The number for our order was called—one strawberry shake for Deen and me, and a double shot of espresso for Mom. Deen quickly stood up to get it like some eager beaver. I watched her purposely leave one straw behind the counter. Noticing my stare, Deen winked at me. She didn’t return to our table, instead heading to the door, beckoning us to follow with a nudge of her head.

“Erind, I think they made a mistake,” Deen said as we exited the café. “They gave us only one straw. Should I return inside to ask for another?”

“You should,” I said with a death stare.

“But the line’s too long.”

“It’ll get longer if you don’t get moving.”

“That’s a hassle, Erind dear,” Mom said. “We shouldn’t waste our precious time together in lines. Come. The Mob Museum is just a few blocks away.”

“Erind was just messing with me, Mrs. Hartwell,” Deen said, linking our arms and presenting the pink shake with a straw pointing invitingly at me. “I don’t mind sharing a straw—I’m not a germophobe—neither does Erind.”

“Sure, whatever,” I curtly replied before wrapping my lips around the end of the straw. The sweet and cool slush filling my mouth pumped me full of happiness. I hoped my superpower was turning everything into sugar, or, better yet all sorts of pastries. I’d transform Deen into a chocolate croissant and eat her.

Wait, what? I shouldn’t be influenced by Deen’s degeneracy.

Deen took a sip from the shake next. Or pretended to. I observed the level of the pink slush and it didn’t move. She offered me back the straw. Sipping on it, I tasted… nothing. Just saliva. Her saliva. I sighed in exasperation. This was why we couldn’t have world peace. Because of people ruining my precious time enjoying sweets.

I didn’t say anything to Deen yet, just sucking the saliva out of the straw to reach the sweet treasure I wanted. We passed the shake a few more times, with Deen not drinking any of it. I should’ve stopped her from ordering at the cafe. No way she’d drink a shake because of the calories. Or I should’ve gotten my separate drink.

This was becoming old. I slowed my pace, pulling Deen with me. I let Mom walk a few feet ahead of us so she wouldn’t hear us. “Deen, can you stop it?” I angrily said in hushed tones. “I can barely taste the strawberry.”

“Stop what, little sis?” She bent her knee and tilted her head sideways to press our cheeks together.

“You know what I’m talking about,” I said, leaning away from her. “And it's super disgusting what you’re doing. Have you no manners?”

Deen giggled. “You’re only finding it disgusting now? We’ve exchanged saliva many times before.”

“I thought we promised each other to behave today?” I countered. “This isn’t behaving.”

“Why not? Isn’t this normal between us now?”

The Mob Museum appeared in view. Mom stopped walking and looked over her shoulder to check on us. “What are you girls gossiping about there that you don’t want me to hear? Hurry up,” she called. Then she held up her hand. “Or wait a moment. Hold it right there.” She took out her phone and poised to take a picture of Deen and me. “You two look so adorable together. Smile!”

Deen unlinked our arms and snaked her hand around my hips, pulling me close to her. She pressed our faces together. I felt her cheeks move up in a big smile. I had no choice but to smile as well.

“May we see the picture, Mrs. Hartwell?” Deen dragged me along and forced me to look at the photo. I thought I had a good smile going on but it looked as if I was holding in diarrhea. “You look so funny, Erind.”

“Erind always had a problem with getting her picture taken,” Mom explained to Deen. “She’s just shy.”

“You shouldn’t be shy with me, Erind,” Deen said. “I’m your best friend. Just relax and smile. We’ll have more pictures to take. I hope we can dress up as mobsters in the museum.”

The real reason I hated my picture taken was that it left proof of a face that might contradict a future face. Same with not posting on social media. The more crumbs of an old face I left behind, the more chances of breaking my own Rule of keeping a new face true to the person I was presenting it to. Picture-taking was the part of a vacation I hated the most. And it seemed there was more of it to come.

At least, the Mob Museum was pretty interesting. Normally, I wouldn’t say I liked museums unless they were about animals.

What organized crime was up to decades past was more engaging than, let us say, the planets of a solar system. There was a sense of relatability too. I was a criminal. These were my people. Heck, I had killed way more people than these people. I wasn’t organized though. I was up to very destructive and very disorganized crime.

Besides just touring the museum, there were other activities we could do as well, addons to our ticket. Deen thought it’d be useful to attend a sort of crime lab lecture for half an hour. Museum staff taught us basic forensics and how some famous mob crimes were solved. I supposed it was informative in a way. I was especially sloppy cleaning up my mess.

“The distillery tour is next,” Mom said, looking at signages. “That was a fun activity. Right, girls?”

“It was, Mrs. Hartwell,” Deen said. “I feel like a kid again on a field trip.” I doubted Deen ever experienced that. “You’re having fun too, aren’t you, Erind?”

I took a deep breath. “Yeah, yeah. Very fun.”

“Another picture!” Mom posed us next to portraits of mobsters. Then she checked the picture she had taken. “Smile. You two look like sisters.”

“No, we don’t,” I quickly said.

“Yeah, you wished you looked related to me,” Deen whispered, flashing me a mischievous grin.

I slapped Deen’s breast. Hard. The smack was satisfying. This time, Deen stopped herself from yelping. Still, the smack made Mom look up from her phone.

“What was that?” Mom asked.

“There was a mosquito on Deen’s arm and I killed it,” I answered without missing a beat. I raised a brow at Deen, daring her to retaliate. I knew she let herself get hit. Her Guardian Angel would’ve warned her to avoid a slightly forceful strike like that. And yet she didn’t do anything.

Deen knew that I knew what she was thinking about. Blushing like the strawberry shake from earlier, she ushered Mom and me to the next attraction. It was about the Prohibition Era, and we got to taste some bootleg drinks from that period. None were good. I wasn’t a drinking person. Deen finished her shot glasses with a straight face. Probably showing off.

There was another attraction about firearms, but Mom didn’t want us to do it. Instead, we took a cab to the Museum of Natural History. “I hear they have an Adumbrae exhibit there,” Mom said. “You’ll find it interesting.”