“It’s quite literally his job,” she interrupts. I ignore her.
“And he thinks he’s far superior than I, a little hobby baker.”
“Theyaretwo different calibers of food.”
I eye her over my glass. “Whose side are you on?”
She sighs, crossing her legs as she gets comfy on the countertop. “I’m always on your side, but you always make me look at other perspectives, so I’m trying to do the same.”
“It’s not as fun on this side of it.”
“You’re telling me,” she says, taking a sip of wine.
“Yeah, but you got a great boyfriend and a booming dream career out of my advice.”
“Yeah yeah,” she says. “So the planning party.”
“Well, he said he’d cater, I said I’d bring dessert, he scoffed at that, we got into a battle of egos, and now we’re betting on who will bring the better food to the couple’s shower.”
“You are a good baker.”
“Thank you. That’s much better.”
“But, again, his job is literally to cook food.”
I glare at her half-heartedly. “I will call Kai and have him come pick you up if you don’t pick a side right now.”
She laughs softly, then reaches a hand out to pat my arm. “I’m on your side. Let me know when you’re baking and I’ll come and help.”
“I’m getting you an apron that says ‘pastry sous chef.’”
“Love it.”
I lean back against the counter, sipping my wine and thinking about Kate and the pressure I feel to make sure this wedding and everything associated with it is perfect for her. We may have drifted slightly over the years, but the twins and I were always incredibly close growing up. When they were little, they looked up to me, and as I got older, I always had the instinct to look out for them.
They may have grown out of looking up to me, but my instincts to protect them never went away.
“It just needs to be perfect. All of it.”
“It will be.” Lola’s voice is gentle, encouraging. I tilt my head to look at her. She gives me a soft smile. “You do anything for those two. I’m sure you’ll go above and beyond for them. And to prove Reid wrong,” she adds on in a teasing lilt.
The worries about perfection for my sister melt away into pure competitive drive. I feel like I need to go put on a sweatband and take a motivational jog like I’m inRockyor something.
“I just need him to know he’s not always right. And he’s not as good as he thinks. He needs to be humbled. He’s such an arrogant, egotistical?—”
My insult is cut off by my blaring ringtone, so loud that Lola and I both jump. An old photo of me and Kate in a tight hug on a family vacation five years ago lights up my screen. I give myself the usual. 0.5 seconds to smile at the photo, the warm fuzzy nostalgia from that family beach vacation coming back to me before I accept the call.
“Hey, Kate.”
“Hey, what are you up to tomorrow?”
“Um . . .” I look at Lola, hoping something in her expression will help me think of cooler plans. But when nothing comes to me, I finally admit, “Doing laundry and finishing a puzzle.”
She snorts. “Of course you are.”
I lean back, the bottom of my upper cabinets digging into my shoulder blades. We really should go sit on the couch. This isn’t ideal. “What do you mean ‘of course’?”
“You have such granny hobbies.”
