Page 70 of The Parent Trap

He laughs, grabs me by the hand and hauls me in. “Yes, uh-huh, yes way.”

I have nice things. I do treat myself once in a while, but never anything crazy. My most expensive purse is a Louis Vuitton.

A Birkin is…not even on the same planet.

Yet here they are, in all their glory.

Oh god.

He grins at me. “Pick one, or I’ll pick for you and then you’ll be stuck with the one I picked.”

I grin. “This was your idea, and I’m not comfortable with you buying me freakingBirkin, so you pick. If I hate it, I’ll tell you…” I look around. “But pro-tip, you can’t go wrong.”

He peruses. He’s followed by a store clerk, and there’s a flurried exchange of whispers, and then the clerk vanishes. Returns with a bag in hand. I only get a brief glimpse of it—

This is no ordinary Birkin. This one…

Oh my.

It probably costs more than a nice car.

There are waiting lists.

Celebrities can’t just go get one.

This one was in the back, and is clearly…

Thai eyes me, and his smile goes megawatt. He hands the clerk a heavy-looking black card, and the clerk whisks away before I can really examine the bag any further.

“Thai, what the hell?” I whisper. “This is crazy.”

“It really is,” he agrees. “That was a moment of extreme serendipity. Some A-list celebrity reserved that bag—she wouldn’t say who, but implied it was someone I’d definitely know—but on seeing it, decided she didn’t like it all that much—and it’s, like, some one-off, custom, there will never be another like it ever kind of bag. It literally just happened, minutes before we walked in, and she guaranteed me it’d be gone by end of day.”

“That’s not what I mean, Thai.”

He waves me off. Winks. “Having fun yet?”

“Paupering you? Yeah, it’s a blast.”

He just laughs. “Paupering me. Good one.” He wiggles his phone. “Wanna go buy a Bugatti? I know a guy.”

The clerk comes back with a discreet little folder and a Mont Blanc pen, and Thai scribbles something like a signature, and then I’m holding an elaborately wrapped package which contains not just a Birkin, but a one-of-a-kind Birkin.

I’m dizzy.

Faint.

I want to rip it out of the wrapping and just hold it.

Instead, Thai leads me back to the Rolls Royce, and we’re off again.

He stops by a liquor store and comes out with a single bottle of wine, two glasses, and a corkscrew. Pops them in the back seat.

Drives on.

It’s evening, now, sunset.

He drives us across the bridge. It’s quiet, and the sun is brilliant orange and bathes the world golden. We don’t talk, this time, and I’m fine with it.