Chanel knows how to make an entrance. The children are her opening act, crashing into the room like lightning. She follows at an elegant pace, her chin held high, as if to say, “I’m raising eight kids. What have you done lately?” There is Aunt Margo, arms flung wide. She is unquestionably Chanel’s favorite aunt. At fifty-six, Margo still looks like a doll, with thick lashes, cherry lipstick, and flowing ringlets. It used to be Joanie who greeted guests with a booming “Hellooo!” but since her death, Margo is filling in. Her pregnant granddaughter, Justina, circles the room in red flats and a
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