“She is right. It’s gonna be pretty cold this weekend.”
Toni pouts her lip a little. “But the sweaters look better with the leggings.”
“Won’t matter if you're miserable,” Belle says. I nod in confirmation.
“Ugh.” Toni begrudgingly fishes a pair of jeans from the pile of clean clothes on her bed. This wasn’t the first time I’d seen her effortlessly extricate an item from what, to me, looked like total chaos. It’s an impressive feat. She tosses them in her bag. “There. Real pants.”
“And the sweaters?” I ask. Bell sniggers from the phone.
“I knew I never should have let the two of you talk.”
“Doll,” I lean on the door frame to take some weight off my leg, “we’re gonna be there for hardly 48 hours. You need maybe two sweaters.”
“Exactly,” Belle says.
“I just appreciate options.” Neither Belle nor I respond. “Fine.” Toni pulls a couple sweaters from her bag, bringing it to a much more reasonable level of full.
“Thank you for the support,” Belle says.
“Anytime,” I say, grinning.
“Not anytime.” Toni tosses a shirt at me. I bat it away with a laugh. “I can’t have the two of you conspiring.”
“It isn’t our fault you’re too extra for your own good sometimes,” Belle says with affection.
“I refuse to believe that,” Toni says.
“This is why you and Lucy get along so well,” I sigh.
“Because she’s a delight?”
“In case you’re curious, yes, she has always been like this,” Belle says.
I laugh. “Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.”
“Ok, enough of you two,” Toni reaches for the phone, but I pull it away.
“Oh no, I’m having far too much fun,” I tease. Belle’s answering laugh is good-natured.
Toni huffs. “Tell her to get her ass out here and she can share all my embarrassing teenage stories with you.”
“Tempting,” Belle says. I bring the phone back to eye level. “You two have fun. Good to meet you, Cillian!”
“You’re avoiding the offer!” Toni yells.
“You, too,” I say.
Toni takes the phone back. “You’re the worst,” she directs to Belle.
“That’s Toni for ‘I appreciate you,’” Belle says loudly. “She’s only half as prickly as she wants you to think.”
“Goodbye, Isabelle!”
“Bye, Antionette!” Belle’s laugh gets cut off as Toni ends the call.
“Attacked in my own home,” Toni says. She shoves the phone into the waistband of her leggings, the cropped length of her T-shirt leaving it half-exposed.
I take a seat on the edge of her bed. “Yes. You’ve been horribly victimized by people hoping you stay cozy.”
