“Sure, babe. Vertical it is.”

“It took us forever to measure the wall and figure out the spacing,” Kendall whines quietly to the two of us.

“Welcome to my world. You should try going to dinner with her and see how many places you pull up to before she picks one. Or crib shopping. That was fun.” Jesse grabs the end of the painters tape and pulls it free from the wall. It’s amazing how it takes only a second to undo what had taken us a couple of hours.

“We need Jameson,” I admit. “This should be simple, and yet I keep forgetting what side of the line the tape goes on, and I feel like every time we measure the wall we get another number.”

“He’s supposed to be off early today. They had some retreat this morning, so they’re only working a half day.”

“Call him!” Jesse exclaims, looking relieved by the prospect.

Kendall digs in her pocket and retrieves her phone. I start erasing pencil marks as she quickly sends out the world’s longest text.

“Should we paint the last wall gray while we wait?” As I ask, I head over to the white wall that has four patches of gray painted in large splotches.

“Yeah, that’s a good idea. Let me just check with her first, make sure she hasn’t changed her mind again.”

Painting this small of a wall isn’t grueling or strenuous, but I feel nervous and flustered about every detail. We had started without adequate paint on our rollers, which required us to go over them with an extra coat. Then we overcompensated to make sure we didn’t make the same mistake and learned it causes drips. The open window makes one section dry faster and the paint there is lightening, so now it looks like a completely different color.

“How did you guys get so much paint on yourselves?” My head turns toward the door at Jameson’s voice, and my breath catches. Max is beside him wearing the same pair of old shorts he mowed the lawn in Sunday morning, and a shirt that says Jameson Whiskey across the front. Max’s eyes are on me, his lips turned slightly upward with a relaxed grin.

Kendall’s hand lands firmly on my butt, and she releases a laugh. I turn at the waist to see her gray handprint.

“You know these are your shorts, right?”

“That’s even better. My own handprint on my ass.”

I shake my head and put down my roller before turning to the wall to inspect our work once more. “Do you guys think it looks even? I feel like the right corner is darker.”

“The paint looks the wettest there. We have to wait until it’s all dry,” Jameson says, stepping closer inspecting our work. “You guys did pretty good. I’m impressed.”

“Jesse got called in to work right when we got started,” Kendall explains. “I’m glad you guys could come because this wall took us forever. Two perfectionists that don’t know what they’re doing is the exact recipe for an anxiety attack.”

Jameson smiles, taking a step closer to Kendall. His thumb follows a gray streak of paint running down her temple. “You guys did great, babe. Abby is going to love it.”

Kendall’s body relaxes against his, and he brushes a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. I turn back to the gray wall as he leans forward to kiss her. This couldn’t be any more awkward.

“So she wants vertical stripes, huh?”

“Spaced four inches apart,” Kendall answers Jameson.

He blows a low whistle as he looks around. “Max, you want to help me measure and mark while the girls tape?”

“Let’s do it.” Max’s answer is that simple, like he doesn’t find this arrangement uncomfortable. Am I the only one struggling to know what is a memory and what is reality? Unable to always decipher if Max is truly relaxed and smiling, or if I just want him to be.

Max and Jameson move and work seamlessly with one another. Each knows what the other needs or expects without verbalizing it. I briefly wonder if that’s what it’s like to watch my sisters and me when we’re doing something familiar. If so, it’s kind of beautiful.

Kendall and me taping however is not beautiful. Multiple times we have to pull a piece off the wall after realizing we started on the wrong side of a pencil mark again, or because we have a crease from trying to straighten a line.

“Ace, what are you doing?” I look up at Jameson from where I’m lying on my belly, scrutinizing the wall for a marker.

“I can’t find where the dot is.”

“Why are you laying down to tape?”

“Because when I stand up, I keep applying it so that it leans right.”

“And laying down helps that?”

“Kendall suggested it.” My eyes turn to see my smiling sister.

“And after twenty-one years, you still fall for her brilliant ideas?” Jameson grins and shakes his head. “This is you two TP’ing that house all over again.”

I push off the ground with my hands. “Not even close. We’re completely sober and doing something to help,” I object.

“And dressed,” Jameson adds.

Max turns away and coughs. His palm hits his chest a few times and his head shakes. I wonder if he’s trying to forget the memory, or if I’m just being selfish thinking his reaction has anything to do with the conversation at hand. It’s possible he only took a breath in wrong.

“This nothing,” Kendall says, smiling mischievously. “Your birthday last year, when I convinced her to go skinny dipping in the lake was noteworthy, this is just mildly amusing.” Her eyes quickly dart to Max and then return to the wall.

“The bear, that’s right.” Jameson’s head shakes and the tape measure snaps as it contracts. He climbs down the ladder and gets on his knees beside me and runs the tape along the trim.

“You mean the perverts,” Kendall corrects him.

Jameson’s lips tug up into a grin as he leans forward and marks the wall. “Landon was telling Wes that story when we were out last weekend.”

“For what purpose?” Kendall sounds slightly indignant.

I reach toward the wall with the tape and Jameson stops me by placing a hand on my wrist. “Other side.”

“It’s a good thing my brain understands science.” Jameson smiles too broadly for my lame excuse and then turns to Kendall.

“I don’t know. I came in on the tail end of it.” He sits back on his heels and watches me hand the tape over to Kendall, already on the step ladder to run it to the ceiling. “You guys are doing really good, but you should try going floor to ceiling this time.”

I laugh and my face heats. I don’t know if we’re excusing common sense because we’ve never done this and are so intent on making it perfect, or because the guys have us distracted. I’m fairly certain it’s the latter, at least for me.

We’re moving to open the gallon of satin pink paint, when Abby walks in. “I ordered pizza. Max, do you mind picking them up?” She runs a hand along her stomach.

“Out!” Kendall demands. “We just had this conversation!” It’s been over an hour, but we’ve had to remind her to stay out repeatedly all afternoon.

“I’m hungry though,” she whines in reply.

“Sure, I’ll go. Where’d you put in the order?” Max rubs his hands across his stained shorts, leaving a smear of light pink paint.

“Antonio’s of course. You probably need some help. Ace, you should go too.” Abby’s implication is so blatant I would laugh if it wasn’t me she was putting on the spot. Instead, my chin juts forward and my eyes widen.

“That’s a good idea. Your seats are slick and it would suck to get pizza sauce all over.” My mouth opens to protest at Jameson’s comment. He has been spending WAY too much time with Kendall.

“We’ll see you guys in a few. Don’t worry; we’ll wait until you’re back to paint.” Kendall smiles, portraying a false illusion of charm and innocence.

“Oh, and no caffeine.” Abby’s hands wrap around my shoulders. She walks me toward the doorway where Max is standing rigid, his hand gripping his keys, and eyes wide with uncertainty. I think we’re both fearful that if we keep spending time together, things are going to blow up.