She dropped her purse on the fifties style oval dining table that I had begrudgingly helped her drag up the stairs after she’d found it at the Brooklyn Flea. Andie had called it a ‘steal’ at $100, bragging about bartering it down from the original $200 price tag. I had noted the scratched legs and scuffs across the top but remained silent since Andie seemed to love it so much. The next day I contributed three chairs I’d found at a local furniture store, whose colors picked up the flecks in the tabletop. They elevated the vintage table and I had to admit, it had grown on me.

I rolled my eyes. ‘Of course I didn’t. I just called you five minutes ago to tell you the results were in and your very explicit threats were enough incentive to wait.’

I loved my cousin Andie and was closest to her out of everyone in our large, loud extended family. Really, we were more like sisters than cousins and being only a year apart in age meant we did everything together growing up. Her quippy, vibrant attitude was always just what I needed to make me laugh or stop me from teetering over into what Andie referred to as my ‘default serious mode.’ She frequently made fun of my more responsible nature but also appreciated the way it helped keep her out of trouble. We butted heads at times but always balanced each other well. It just made sense that when we left our respective homes in New Jersey to cross over into the bustling work hive of New York City, we would be roommates to share both the memories and the expensive rent.