“I do like pink but I don’t want a pink bathroom.” She flicked one of the strips and it skidded to the floor. “I hate that yellow. I hate yellow in general.”
“What!” Arden gasped. “Yellow is the happiest color!”
“Maybe that’s why.”
“Oh, sorry. Should we have gotten black?”
“Nowthatwould be cool.”
I rolled my eyes and cut in, pointing to one of the deeper shades of green. “What do we think of this one? Too much?”
“It’s a little dark,” Arden said. Phoebe lifted her chin defiantly.
“I like it.”
“Do you actually like it or are you just screwing with Arden?”
She took a closer look at the swatch. “Nah. It’s a little dark.”
Arden threw up her hands. “Devil child!”
We went back and forth, flicking rejected samples away until we were left with a strip of light blues and grays. I could tell by the look on Phoebe’s face that she didn’t like either option much, and I could tell by Arden’s that she was mentally prepping for another trip to the hardware store.
“What about wallpaper?” I suggested. Arden clapped her hands to her cheeks, eyes lighting up.
“I love that idea.”
“Less boring than paint, much worse to apply,” Phoebe said thoughtfully. “I’m in.”
“Great.” I collected the swatches and handed them off to Arden to squirrel away in her hidden stash. I said to my sister, “Find a couple you like and order samples.”
“Aye, aye,” Phoebe said with a salute and dove over the side of the coach, landing with a groan. “Fuck. I mean fudge. My laptop. Ow.”
“Is it broken?”
“I’mfine, thanks for asking.”
Arden grinned at me, eyes screaming with pride. She’d said the words so many times since we returned from Oregon, I had to tell her to rein it in. Now, it simply radiated off her whenever we were together.I’m so proud of you, over and over.
I’m proud of me too, I thought, and I didn’t even have to fake it.
Noah arrived half an hour later, armed with two tote bags of groceries and we got to work on dinner. I’d offhandedly mentioned wanting to start cooking again, and he jumped at the chance to help, despite his bloated schedule—rather than our regular take-out nights, he’d suggested we make something from scratch. More often than not, it wasn’t a disaster. Phoebe even joined in on occasion.
Tonight, we tried our hand at personal pizzas. And not to toot my own horn or anything, but Antonio had nothing on my cheese-to-sauce ratio.
“Oh, hey,” Noah said once we were seated around the living room with plates balanced on our laps. A dining table was next on the list. “You guys are officially invited to our engagement party.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Is it official if it’s a verbal invitation?”
“Sure.”
“You guys are having an engagement party?” Phoebe asked.
Arden nodded into a bite of pepperoni. “My mom’s idea. She’s planning the whole thing.”
“How many prewedding parties are there? Do we have to get you a gift?”
“I don’t think so.”
