I glare at my best friend before turning it to my sister.
We aren’t identical—her long, tight curls to my straight, shoulder-length hair, her golden tanned skin to my deeper undertones, her coffee-brown eyes to my onyx—but there’s no mistaking we’re sisters.
And where she’s soft curves in that femme fatale kind of way, I’m lean and edgy in a switchblade kind of way.
I’d sent her a text after this morning’s impromptu visit from my ex-husband.
Me
Did Patton move into the house in front of mine because of you? I swear to God, Sarina, I will go back in time and eat you in the womb so that Mom never had twins.
Her response made me want to strangle her even more.
Sarina Arora
OMG, calm down, Hannibal Lecter. I just innocently told Troy to let Patton know that the house was for sale, and that you could often be seen watering your precious plants wearing your tiny shorts from its front windows. How were Troy and I supposed to know Patton would actually buy the damn house?
“Don’t even think I’ve forgotten that this is all your fault,” I say to my sister, who pretends to hide behind her wineglass. “You’re the reason I’m going to be wary every time I open my front door.”
Sarina’s shoulders shake as she tries to conceal her laughter. “But what if it’s his dog peeing on one of your marigolds or something?”
Oh, this little shit is asking for it today.
It’s no surprise my friends and sister had a field day, bowling over with laughter, when I told them about the lovely greeting from Patton’s dog this morning. How he’d urinated on my plant, then proceeded to sniff me like I was hiding narcotics inside my vagina.
I also told them about how Patton had shown up to thedojangthe night before.
And because none of them are questioning my accusation of my sister, I have a strong suspicion they all knew she’d crafted this plan.
“Firstly,” I mock seethe, “if you think I’d waste my soil on budget seasonals like marigolds, then you don’t know me at all. Secondly, I hope that dog and his owner like surprise showers, because I’m going to be installing a motion-triggered sprinkler system around my plants.”
“But doesn’t that mean anyone on your porch would get wet?” Bella asks, clearly over-analyzing my half-baked plan. “Like, a legitimate delivery guy or an unsuspecting Bible thumper?”
I take another sip of my favorite cocktail, relishing its sweetness. “It’s like that old saying: one dog’s overactive bladder ruins it for the entire neighborhood.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard that say?—”
“Now you have,” I state. “It was a proverb born from pain around 500 B.C. when a floriculturist in Mesopotamia lost his prized mulberry tree to an obnoxious donkey named Walter. He cried for a few days, then he invented the fence.”
“You just made that shit up, didn’t you?” Bella blinks. “You’re both brilliant and weird.”
“I made it relevant, Bells. History was written by the emotionally damaged and fiercely vengeful.”
Piper cackles, walking to the large bar area behind the sectional. “I think I’m going to need that embroidered on a sweatshirt.”
Sarina smirks. “Have I mentioned my sister has a curated playlist called ‘Crying in My Car’?”
Kavi nearly spits out her beer. “No! It’sactuallycalled ‘Crying in My Car’?”
I shoot my sister another one of my famous death glares. “Don’t you dare . . .”
“Yes,” Sarina answers delightfully. “It’s all sad-girl anthems and breakup ballads. The first time I heard it, I thought someone had died.”
“Shut up. It’s a good playlist.”
“Babe, it’s almost entirely made up of Adele’s rage songs.”
I shrug. “She gets meandmy rage.”
