Color Me Pretty: A Father's Best Friend Romance

Why did she sound like she wasn’t? “Is there something wrong? I know you aren’t close to Lydia, but—”

“Oh, stop. Who says I’m not?”

My lips parted to list the amount of times she’d made it clear that her half-sister was just that. Half. As in, not her full responsibility. Lydia and my father were the closest of the three of them because he didn’t treat her different.

“You know what, don’t answer that.” Her voice was tight. She knew what she’d done to her sister over the years, I didn’t need to tell her. “So, normal time then? There’s a lot to catch up on I’m sure.”

I wanted to ask her why she never tried to get along with her sister. Half or not, they shared blood. They lived together. Lydia’s mother wasn’t alive, so she understood my life better than anybody. Sophie? Not so much, and she never tried pretending she did.

“Same time. And Sophie?”

She hummed.

I debated on asking her what I never did about Lydia and her, but I chickened out when I saw Tiffany walk out of the bathroom with her hair down and a brow arched at me. “Never mind. I’ll see you two tomorrow.”

When

I hung up, I frowned at my phone before setting it down.

“How’s the Dictator?” Tiff asked, drinking the water I’d given her.

“I wish you’d stop calling her that,” I grumbled, even if she weren’t totally wrong. “She means well. Most of the time.”

Tiffany was disbelieving, but she didn’t say anything about it. Instead, she moved on. “I think you need another makeover. At least temporarily for the night.” Making a face, I began trying to convince her otherwise when she shook her head. “It’s a night out to not think. We both might as well look good doing it.”

Scoffing, I said, “Like you have any trouble looking good even on your worst days. I remember when you came to dance with the flu and you still looked hot.”

“I looked like Rudolph.”

“A sexy Rudolph.”

She laughed. “Agree to disagree. But don’t act like you don’t look good daily either. Just because you don’t think so doesn’t mean it’s not true. Guys turn their heads when you walk into a room.”

I frowned. “Because of what happened.”

“Because you’re beautiful, Della.”

Lips parting, I debated my answer. Throat thick, I said, “We’ll agree to disagree.”

We just stared at each other.

The floral perfume was the first sign that both my aunts were already here. Lydia loved lavender and lilac and she always smelled like fresh-cut flowers and summertime. It was both her and my father’s favorite season, and my father always admitted he loved lilac which was why I’d give him candles in that scent every year for his birthday even when people poked fun of him because of it.

I saw Sophie before my absentee aunt, her body rigid in the seat, one leg crossed over the other like how she always sat. When I walked further into the room, Lydia came into view. She was the opposite of Sophie and my father—light hair like mine, light eyes like her brother, and a fuller face unlike Sophie and my father’s defined jawlines. She didn’t sit with as much tightness, but casually with her hands resting on the arms of the chair whereas Sophie’s were on her lap.

“You’re late,” Sophie stated, standing up and flattening out her dress. “The food was ready fifteen minutes ago.”

Lydia looked from her sister to me, a kind smile on her face. She didn’t wear much makeup, usually some light lipstick and mascara. “Hello, Della.”

I walked over to her as she stood and gave her a tight hug. It was like the one she’d given me before dropping me off at home after my father’s funeral. Her arms had held me as our tears soaked into the other’s shoulders. I absorbed her warmth, her floral scent, and the memories we shared as I grew up. She was around a lot more when I was younger, always bringing me presents and telling me stories about my father when they were my age.

“Hi, Aunt Lydia.” I drew back first, squeezing her hands. “I was so happy when Sophie told me you were coming. I’m sorry I’m late.” Looking at Sophie, I nodded once. “I was a bit…out of it this morning.”

Out of it. Hungover. It was all the same. Tiffany made Ren and I do two rounds of lemon drop shots at the bar before ordering our own drinks. After Kat, Sam, and Gina walked into Divers and made a point to stare at me the entire night, that turned into two more drinks, one more round of tequila shots, and one glass of water that barely helped when I woke up this morning. I was tempted to go to Denny’s for something greasy. I wasn’t sure why, but the way Kat and Sam looked at me had me uneasy the entire night, like they were talking, plotting. I debated on saying something to Kat, asking how she was, but the last encounter we had didn’t go very well and I didn’t want her bringing up her departing gift. That gift that was still buried in the inside pocket of my purse.

“I heard about your outing from Monica Anderson this morning. She just loved telling me about how close you seemed with her daughter these days.”

Tiffany’s mother? “I wasn’t aware you two talked.” Last I knew, Monica and Sophie couldn’t stand each other. Then again, Sophie didn’t get along with most of the dance moms. Or other women. I believed my father liked to describe her as ‘catty’.