The cold air of the Zurich train station nipped at Penny's freshly glossed lips as she stood in a bubble of pink amidst a sea of grays and neutrals. If anyone had doubts about who the foreigner was, Penny made it painfully obvious. She wore a pink faux-fur-sprinkled jacket that shimmered with rhinestone snowflakes, a pleated micro Mimi skirt in hot pink that had no business existing in this kind of weather, and her thigh-high blush boots clicked dramatically every time she shifted her weight. Her matching pink purse had fur trim and gold chains, and her equally pink suitcase gleamed like a patent leather dream.
She stood out like a couture flamingo in a field of pigeons.
Phone pressed to her ear, she clutched it with her gloved fingers like it was her lifeline to civilization.
"Tiff, I'm telling you, the AIR here is different. It smells like... like responsibility and boiled cabbage," she complained, glancing around with a curled lip.
Tiffany, her best friend and emotional support chaos buddy, gasped through the phone. "Ew! Is it gray? Like that soul-crushing 'concrete chic' you see in dystopian movies?"
"Worse," Penny sniffed. "Everyone's wearing hiking boots. Like, on purpose. I saw a woman in actual fleece. FLEECE, Tiffany. I don't even think they believe in dry shampoo here."
"You're in the wilderness, babe. It's giving... National Geographic: Rich Girl Survival Edition."
Penny groaned, loud enough to make a Swiss businessman look over. "And you should've seen the plane food. They served something called vegetable medley. I almost cried."
Suddenly, a voice cut through the air, warm and matter-of-fact.
"Penny Evelyn Beaumont?"
Penny turned, phone still in hand, and there stood Aunt Marlene. Tall, confident, and wrapped in a belted wool coat with her salt-and-pepper hair tucked neatly beneath a beret. She had the air of someone who paid her taxes early and knew the name of her pharmacist.
With her stood a girl about Penny's age, sixteen or somewhere there, wearing a practical jacket, jeans, and the facial expression of someone who had just been assigned a group project with a pink glitter tornado.
"Penny," Marlene smiled, reaching out. "Welcome to Switzerland, darling."
Penny blinked and slowly lowered her phone. "Aunt Marlene," she said, her tone cautious but polite. She leaned in for a careful, distant hug—careful not to crush the faux fur.
Marlene gestured to the girl beside her. "And this is my daughter, Lina. Your cousin."
Lina offered a small wave. "Hi."
Penny blinked again and scanned her from head to toe. Sensible shoes. A ponytail. An actual canvas tote bag. She looked like she volunteered for things.
"Wow," Penny said softly, turning back to the station. "Even the air here feels... cheap."
Lina's eye twitched. Marlene cleared her throat sharply.
"I mean," Penny backpedaled, "not like bargain bin cheap. Just... like... aggressively minimalist." She offered a strained smile, flipping her hair over her shoulder.
"Right," Lina murmured under her breath, deciding then and there she was not going to like this cousin.
They walked out of the station to the taxi line. Penny trailed behind, her suitcase wheels squeaking on the cobblestone like they were protesting the entire trip.
When the cab pulled up, Penny stopped mid-step. It was a faded yellow sedan with a cracked side mirror, scratches along the door, and an interior that had definitely seen better decades. The seats creaked when Lina slid in. The driver had a mullet, a neon orange puffer, and not a single visible care for fashion.
"Um. Is this... the Uber Black?" Penny asked, frozen on the sidewalk.
"This is Switzerland," Lina said flatly. "That is luxury."
Penny made a wounded sound. "Oh no. This is not happening. This seat fabric looks like it's been through three world wars and a toddler's snack time."
But she got in anyway, slowly, like someone preparing for a medical procedure. The seat creaked beneath her. She winced and pulled a mini bottle of lavender spray from her purse, spritzing the air around her with dramatic flair.
"It's like sitting in a thrift store bin," she whispered to Tiffany, who was still on the line. "Pray for me."
The driver looked in the rearview mirror, unimpressed. "Phone call, no speaker," he grunted.
Penny clicked off dramatically. "Tiff, I must survive this in silence. I love you. Tell my skincare fridge I'll never forget it."
She hung up, crossed her legs, and clutched her purse like it might run away.
Lina stared out the window, jaw clenched. Marlene simply sighed and offered her daughter a knowing glance that said patience,dear. Just imagine her without Wi-Fi.
The cab pulled away from the station and onto the quiet Swiss streets, winding past tidy buildings and snow-covered rooftops. Penny sat in the back seat, shoulders high, nose scrunched, as though she were physically allergic to anything not labeled "luxury."