There was a king who had twelve beautiful daughters. They slept in twelve beds all in one room; and when they went to bed, the doors were shut and locked up; but in the morning their shoes were found to be quite worn through as if they had been danced in all night; and yet nobody could find out how it happened, or where they had been…

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I shifted to my left side, careful not to let any cold air through the quilt. Six beds lay ahead of me. The closest bed held my sister, Marianne. Poor Marianne was stuck on the verge of womanhood. Too young to go out and party, but too old to stay at home and take care of her four smaller sisters. Following her, was an empty bed, a lost sister. Then Mirea, who was fourteen, Linea, who was eleven, Charlie who was six, and Sarah, who was only four. Behind me was five more beds, all empty except one.

Closest to me and still sleeping was my sister Xan. She was twenty one, and worked at a Starbucks to help Dad pay the mortgage. She was also my twin. After her bed were two empty cots. Two sisters who got married, made families, and gracefully abandoned the rest of us. Then there was Lula and Alda. Lula was twenty six, and usually woke up with someone else in her bed. Lula was beyond hope for marriage, but she worked at a novelty sex shop in South Banter. Dad didn’t know, but he liked the money that came in to help pay the bills so he never looked into it.

Then Alda. She hit the thirty mark two months ago, and Dad’s been trying to marry her off ever since she turned sixteen. In fact, there’s going to be a ‘very nice young gentleman’ coming to dinner tonight.

I slowly uncurled from sleep and animated my limbs to take me downstairs. There, Dad sat reading the Wednesday paper.

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