April said, trying to remain diplomatic. Trying not to unleash a torrent of words all over her sister’s head. “The dresses are yellow, Kristin. Yellow. It’s not like pink clashes with it, so who cares?” Her sister’s almond-shaped eyes narrowed to resemble hot, burned pumpkin seeds. April had never seen eyes shrink and change that fast. Clearly one of them cared. “Who cares? Doesn’t matter?” Her sister’s arms flew upward, automatically tossing the volume of her voice higher with it. “I asked the wedding coordinator to keep the color pink out of this wedding, and I meant out of it. It’s so cliché. It’s so overdone. It’s so generic.” April didn’t think now was the time to point out that all those words meant exactly the same thing. She bit her lip and commanded the grammar nerd inside her to shut up. “When we were little, pink was your favorite color, so maybe it’s a sign.”
