![]() ![]() An estate is a big house I guess, and Grandmère’s house is the biggest I’ve ever seen in real life, stretching out across acres and acres of thick green grass. “Home” when we go to Connecticut is the hotel six miles from Grandmère’s house, which is an estate. But Mom always looks a little afraid every time we leave Portland to go to Connecticut. She watches, and sometimes she waves with her hand cupped like she’s a queen, the big diamonds on her necklace sparkling across the lawn, and Robin and I go around and around until we’re dizzy and Mom yells at tell us it’s time to go home. They’re here because she loves us, and she wants us to have fun. ![]() Grandmère watches us from the veranda as we ride. They prance and they fly a little, just a foot or two, and they’re blue and pink and green and purple, and their horns shine in the sun like candy canes, like candy canes after you’ve licked off all the red and made them white and sharp with your tongue. ![]() You could ride the unicorns for hours and hours. It’s not like ice cream, where it’ll give you a stomachache if you have too much. Riding the unicorns is the most fun a person could have, and I don’t know why we can’t do it every day. We only go once or twice a year, and it’s never enough. ![]() We go to Grandmère’s house to ride the unicorns. ![]()
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