Cassandra got out of bed first. Sylvie, sans iced Americano and nursing her now-bandaged thumb, refused to budge. Finally: “You go,” she commanded Cassandra. “You go drag the table down to the corner and start setting up. I’ll join you.” Drag the table? Drag the table on her own? This was not, so far, a promising start to the day. But I have to do it, she told herself regretfully. I promised Sylvie I would help. So Cassandra dragged the table all the way down DeKalb Avenue, until she got to the corner of Fort Greene Park. She set up the table and draped one of Sylvie’s vintage tablecloths over it. The tablecloth was gray velveteen laced with a pattern of coral-colored roses and, the girls had agreed, very chic. Some time passed, and Sylvie appeared struggling with untold numbers of Whole Foods tote bags. For such a small person, Cassandra never failed to marvel at how much stuff she could carry. “Let me decorate,” said Sylvie, budging Cassandra out of the way and beginning to readjust the tablecloth.
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