“That’s a shame,” she teased, going for another paint chip. “Look, this one matches my nails. You’re picking all the boring colors.”
I was staying in the steel gray and blue-gray family, wanting to do something modern and chic and masculine without veering into man-cave territory. “It’s a house of four guys. I can’t do a lemon yellow kitchen.”
“I don’t see why not. Yellow is a happy color. Are you going to put this in your design portfolio?”
“I probably should.” I hadn’t thought about it, but it was the perfect before-and-after design on a dime. “But I’m not planning to spend more than like seventy-five bucks so I’m not sure how much impact it will have.”
“Think of it as a design challenge. Let me know if you want some art. I can do something for you.” Robin was also in the design school with me, though she was focusing on visual arts. Her love was painting, but she was being practical by getting a dual degree in graphic design and art.
Nothing about my double-major was practical unless you asked my mother. I was getting degrees in both Religious Studies and Interior Design. So basically I was majoring in Future Preacher’s Wife. Their vision for me was that after graduation, I could stencil Scripture passages on the wall of my husband’s dining room for fund- raising dinner parties. But agreeing to their course of study was the only way they had been willing to let me attend a state school instead of a private Christian college.
I did love design, both interior and fashion. But it made me feel guilty because it seemed so freaking frivolous. Kylie wanted to teach grade school. Rory wanted to be a doctor. And there was me, wanting to rid the world of shit-brown carpet and spandex. Not exactly life changing. Then again, in some cases it arguably could be.
“That would be awesome,” I told her. “Something with typography. Maybe food related . . . just like a big piece that says ‘EAT,’ or ‘YUM YUM,’ that sort of thing.”
“You want me to paint YUM YUM for the kitchen wall of the Mann brothers? Now that is singularly amazing.”
I laughed. That did seem a little creeper. “Maybe EAT is a safer bet.”
“Oh, hell no. Where is the fun in that? Just let me know what colors you want and I can do it in like an hour.”
“Cool. Okay, I’m going to get these samples and then we can go.”
The reaction when Riley came home was not what I was expecting. I had painted four squares on the blank kitchen wall and was studying them as they dried, trying to decide which I liked best. Frankly, any would be better than the yellowed and dingy white walls with dozens of scuffs and stains on them.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Riley asked me, by way of greeting.
He looked sweaty and hot and tired, his nose sunburned. He was wearing a white T-shirt that was about as filthy as the kitchen walls, his tool belt in his hand. I’d never seen myself as a girl who dug a man with power tools, but there was some kind of just automatic response my body was having to the belt and the work boots. It was like an animal instinct that I knew in a zombie apocalypse I would have a better chance of survival with Riley than a marketing major.
“I’m choosing a paint color. Which one do you like best?”
“They all look the same to me. But there is no way you’re painting this kitchen. It’s fucking pointless.” He dropped his belt on the table and went to the fridge, dried mud crumbling off his boots as he walked.
“Why? It’s a very cheap way to refresh a room.”
“Thanks, Martha Stewart, but I’m not spending a dime on this house. Another six months the bank will be kicking us out. It’s a waste of money.” He pulled a beer out and popped the tab.
“Oh, and you never waste money?” I asked, looking pointedly at the beer in his hand.
His eyes narrowed before he took a long swallow. He let out a lip-smacking sound of satisfaction. “Ah, that tastes awesome. And did we get married when I wasn’t looking? Because you sound a hell of a lot like the nagging wife I swore never to have.”
He might have a point. But so did I. “Look, it’s simple psychology. Our environment affects our mood. This is a depressing environment. An investment of seventy-five dollars spread out over the six months you may still be living here is barely three dollars a week and it can have a huge impact on attitude.”
“Are you for real right now?” He shook his head. “If this is such a depressing environment you don’t have to stay here, you know. You can go climb on Nerd Boy and talk him into putting up with you.”
That stung. Wounded, I lashed back at him. “Don’t be an asshole. I’m trying to do something nice. And for the record, I wasn’t expecting you to pay for the paint, it was supposed to be a gift.”
“I don’t need your damn charity and I don’t need this kitchen painted.” Riley put down his beer, and he went over to the one blank wall where my fresh paint squares were drying. I jumped when he kicked the wall with his heel, denting the drywall. “This house should be burned to the ground. It’s a fucking cesspool, and before the bank kicks us out I’m taking a sledgehammer to everything in it.” He kicked twice more, finally succeeding in putting his heel into the wall. “This is me not giving a shit about this house.”
“Fine,” I retorted. “Do that in six months. But maybe in the meantime everyone else who lives here would like to enjoy their surroundings.”
“You don’t live here,” he said.
Like I needed reminding. Like I wanted to. “I meant Tyler, Jayden, and Easton.”
“You’re really annoying.”
“And you’re stupidly stubborn. It’s like you’re determined to be miserable.”
“What do you know about miserable, princess? What do you know about having your mother stoned out of her mind nailing you in the head with a frying pan, huh? What do you know about walking in and seeing your eight-year-old brother eating moldy bread and drinking spoiled milk?”
“Nothing,” I said, frustrated with him. Frustrated that he didn’t respond to me the way other guys did. Why couldn’t he just accept that I was trying to be nice? Why did no one think I was capable of being nice and then when I was it was rejected? “But when Rory comes over here and bakes cookies, does it make you mad?”
“No.”
“Do the boys like it?”
He bit his fingernail and looked at the floor. “Of course they like it. They’re cookies.”
“So what’s the big deal about a little home improvement? I promise it won’t be girly. It will look like four dudes live here.”
There was an enormous pause, and I waited in anxious anticipation. This was important to me, for whatever reason.
“Fine. For the boys.” His jaw worked, but he even managed to say, “Thanks.”
I grinned, relieved that he had given in. “Don’t thank me yet. I’m going to need your help. I have no freaking clue how to paint a room.”
He snorted. “So your gift is causing work for me?”
Oopsie. It was a bit of a Kylie move. “It will be worth it,” I promised. “I just need some advice, not actual man power. Though I’m determined to spend as little as possible, so I might need some minor construction help now that I think about it.” I gave him a pleading look. “Please?”
Riley shook his head. “Unbelievable. I swear, you’d test the patience of a saint.”
“If not a saint, definitely I test the patience of a preacher. Just ask my dad.”
“Your father is a preacher?”
“Yes.” It had to come out sooner or later, so I figured I should just get it over with. Let the jokes begin.
But Riley just nodded. “I guess that makes sense.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just that I can see now why you might not want to go home for the summer. It’s probably tough to deal with all those expectations. You have to be a good girl, right?”
Suspicious, I nodded. This wasn’t the normal reaction I got. Usually guys made cracks about preachers’ daughters being the most fun and how if you had sex with one it made you closer to God. The usual crude and stupid comments.
“You don’t think I’m a good girl, do you?” I asked, already knowing the answer. No one really thought I was a good girl, even though I didn’t think I was a bad girl. Where was the label for the morally ambiguous? Nothing I
