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　　BASH

　　The chilly air wraps my skin as soon as I step out of my family’s private jet. I inhale deeply the smell of New York City—the city that never sleeps.

　　Welcome Back, Bash!

　　It’s good to be back!

　　The skyline buildings, the noises, the lights, and the New Yorkers—I miss all of them. I get inside of the black Rolls Royce of my Grandpa Mike. My stomach churns at the thought of being back.

　　When I think I get myself prepared for this, but I am wrong, and the anxiousness starts crawling in my skin. Now that I’m here, I want to go back to London and stay there for the rest of my entire life.

　　But I promised my family that once I finished college, I will be back—that’s one of the two reasons why I’m here.

　　“Welcome back, Sir Bash!” The family driver of early forties greets me with courtesy; he turns to me and nods from the driver's seat. “I’m Edmund Russell. Your driver, Mr. Hughes.” He extends his hand, and I immediately grip it for a handshake.

　　“Thank you, Edmund. Please, call me Bash if you would like to stay as my driver.”

　　“Sure, Bash,” he says with hesitation, “when your family is not around,” he adds with a salute.

　　I chuckle. “Good. Now, let’s head home.”

　　“Yes, sir,” he replies with enthusiasm.

　　I glance at him one more time before I smile. I can’t help but amaze at the astounding city lights of array colors as we pass by, the colossal skyline buildings that stand tall from afar, the neon lights that flicker in different colors, and billboards flash with advertisements that blur through the car window.

　　My emotions start to swirl in my belly. There’s something about New York that you can’t find in any place in the world. It’s maybe because I still consider this my home?

　　New Yorkers are still busy even at this past midnight hour. Indeed this city never sleeps. The yellow cabs and the chaotic traffic remind me that I’m finally back in New York.

　　“Bash, your parents directed me to send you to your Penthouse, but first, I will drive you to Hughes’s mansion.” His deep voice bashes me out of my thoughts.

　　“Sure. Like you can say no to my dad.”

　　He chuckles, “That’s actually from Mrs. Hughes. Your mom, Bash.”

　　I roll my eyes. “Of course. Her baby boy is back.”

　　In my twenty-one years, she treats me like a nine-year-old boy. I can’t blame her, though. I’m her only son, and she almost died giving birth to me. She got into complications during the labor that resulted in her not getting pregnant again. Her doctors had to remove her uterus.

　　“Let’s go then. I had a long flight, Edmund. I hope we won’t stay long.”

　　“Sure,” he responses shortly.

　　I lean my head back when Edmund plays a 90’s song. I can’t help but hum as the song plays softly above my head.

　　“Bash, are you sure you know how to braid?” Trinity asks, looking up at me. She’s sitting on the floor in her room while I’m on her pink bed. I start separating her tangled curly red hair into two sections, then twist up the second section, and secure it with a hair clip.

　　“You don’t trust me, Tri? I watched it many times on YouTube. So you don’t have to worry. Lizzy won’t let me try it on her hair though,” I say, separating the first section into three sections, then twist it and cross it as it is shown on the video.

　　She lets her arms drape on my thighs. “I trust you, Bash. But make sure you do it fast. You still have to help me choose my dress for the Prom.” She tilts her head to look at me.

　　I push her head down. “Stay still if you want me to finish this fast.” I try to be focused on what I am doing.

　　“Ouch. Easy there, tiger!” She whines, hitting me on my leg.

　　I laugh. “It was not strong, goldfish,” I say between laughs. I do the first braid perfectly. “Look at this, Tri. It’s perfect!” She looks at her braided hair.

　　Her face lights up. Her eyes glimmer as she looks at me. “It’s perfect, Bash. Thanks!” she chirps, hugging my right leg.

　　***

　　I’ve been sitting patiently in the dress boutique for almost thirty minutes. Trinity has chosen three dresses she likes. I cross my legs and tap my fingers on my knee. I forget to bring my Airpods with me, so I have to hum some songs in my head.

　　Trinity emerges from the fitting room, wearing a baby blue ankle-length dress.

　　She smiles at me. “What do you think of this?”

　　I look at her without expression on my face. I shake my head.

　　“But it’s blue.” Her shoulders slump.

　　“Trinity, I’m not color-blind,” I snap, rolling my eyes.

　　“But we like blue,” she insists.

　　I take a deep breath.