“You really shouldn’t be around the fumes,” I add. “If you want us to change anything, we will. We won’t leave until it’s exactly what you want.”
“She knows. That’s why she wanted to be sure you would be here. You and Kendall don’t know how to allow imperfections.”
Kendall and Abby hug beside me, saying something that I can’t hear because Jesse’s words are replaying through my head. I feel like I am one giant imperfection that has made one imperfect decision after another over the past year.
My focus is brought to attention by Kendall clapping a couple of times and moving forward, followed by Abby and Jesse.
“So you’ve already painted?” Kendall’s eyebrows are scrunched with confusion.
“Only the base color for the three pink walls.” It’s my turn to be confused as I look to Abby for further information. “I changed my mind about the solid pink with the gray bottom and white stripe where they meet. I decided I want to do a gray wall, and then the pink walls will be striped.”
“Striped gray and pink?” Kendall’s tone shows how unfavorable she finds this idea.
“No. They’re going to be pink stripes. It’s nearly the same shade, but one is flat and the other glossy.”
I look over to Kendall and see that her eyes have gone slightly wider. Neither of us knows anything about painting. Kyle having worked in construction from the time he was eighteen, has always taken care of that, or referred a painting contractor if he didn’t have availability and my mom wasn’t feeling patient. She apparently doesn’t want to confess this to Abby, sensing her already unsteady mood.
“So we need to use tape, right? Painters tape?” Abby’s eyes move to Kendall, and her smile brightens.
“Yes. Jesse already painted the flat color, so you guys will help him apply the glossy pink.” She leads us into the nursery where three of the four walls are a soft baby pink, just as she’d explained. The floors are covered with tarps, and the single window is outlined with bright blue tape. The room isn’t very big. We can do this.
An hour goes by as we discuss the benefits of horizontal and vertical stripes. It’s another two hours until we finish measuring and marking the walls. We’re applying our second line of tape to the wall when Abby changes her mind and decides she prefers vertical stripes. Kendall’s eyes close, and I feel my head fall back on my shoulders, but Jesse releases a deep breath and nods.
“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.