(Mira)
Party planning looked glamorous in theory and ridiculous in practice. Nobody talked about that part when they suggested events and smiling photos and memories people would pretend happened naturally. Mostly it was boxes, opinions, and women threatening each other over fabric. I was learning fast.
Cassidy stood at the long table with both hands braced on the wood like she was preparing for war. Harlow held two ribbon samples in the air and kept changing which one she liked every thirty seconds. Beth was writing lists nobody would follow while Marie opened boxes and complained about dust like it had insulted her personally.
“The cream one,” I said.
Harlow frowned at me.
“You only said that because I was holding it in my left hand.”
“I said it because the gold one looks tacky.”
