And just like that, #summerofsisters is over. She arrived in London this morning, triumphant that they served her wine with dinner (well, it is British Airways and it is legal there), and I won’t see her again ‘til Thanksgiving. Yesterday, Zoe and I saw her off with an America, fuck yeah kind of meal: cheeseburger spring rolls, lobster and bacon sliders, and Korean beef and spinach salad (thanks, Dad).

This summer was more than I could have ever hoped for.

I mean, we didn’t even fight ONCE.

If you have a sister, you know what kind of a feat that is. 

…ok, ok, that wasn’t entirely accurate.

We got in one fight on Friday, the product, I’m sure, of departure-and-packing-induced stress and one innocent but ill-advised comment I made about her hair. (Again, if you have a sister, you are feeling every word I’m saying. The first rule of Sister Club is we do not talk about each other’s hair.)

I may be left with a wounded foot (told ya that was a wild night), but das Boot will be off in, fingers crossed, two weeks, and these memories will last forever: 

Happy hour at Mermaid Inn like every other day

Creepy animal masks and hanging out with our middle sister at Tales

Starlit picnic on a Brooklyn rooftop

Taking the A train to Coney Island (nope, try again)

Celebrating Katie’s baby, Andrea’s bachelorette, and Chelsea’s engagement

Chilling all day errday with Zoe and Wilkes, who will miss her as much as I will

Dinners on the terrace, lunches at Lafayette, bloody marys at Saxon, frozen margaritas at Mary Ann’s, late-night cocktails at ECC….

Picking out the same necklaces and same entrees over and over again, 'cause you know what? We’re sisters

Feeling a little annoyed at how much better she looks in my clothes

Pretending to be 24 again at PS1 Warm-Up

Getting to know her friends and their bottle service antics 

(Related: feeling old and being ok with that)

And most of all, getting to know her all over again, as a grown-up (almost), as a friend, as the best sister in the whole damn world.

I love ya, Gena. Let’s do it again next summer.

Last night I was 20.

I drank a third of a bottle of rum. We did (mini) shots of mezcal. I threw my phone (did not drop, mind you. threw it like it was a disgusting piece of trash which I guess I thought it was?). I made friends with a spoken word poet on the PATH who recited a poem in her sonorous voice and we all shouted good riddance to every bad boyfriend ever.

We saw the Killers but they were meh (nothing can compare to this night at the Highline. Remember that night, Tumblr??).

Point was I was 20, with my 20-year-old sister and her 21-year-old best friend with their rocking bodies and black eyeshadow and gigantic heels.

Speaking of, I think I sprained my foot. Not joking.

I was a little stupid and a little crazy and totally, utterly 20. (They assured me I absolutely looked 26.)

It was awesome.


Summer of Sisters: The First Weekend. In which we learn that Coney Island is NOT in the Rockaways, and in fact is not even close. In which we learn that maybe Big Sister should listen to Little Sister every once in awhile (“the F train goes to Coney Island,” she repeated, to no avail). In which we drink our brunch and eat our dinners (lobster twice in two days, nothin’ but the best for this one). In which we spend lots of QT on the BK waterfront with ZoZo Pup, great friends, and another fabulous sister duo.

In which it’s only just begun….