Humming to herself, Katriina digs out the Post-it pad she found the day before and starts to make a list.

2:30 p.m.

Katriina had forgotten how fun it is to furnish a house. Her own house, the one she lives in with Shawn and Tommy and Petey, was furnished almost exclusively with wedding presents – smaller items chosen from Katriina’s carefully curated gift registry; larger ones purchased by Katriina herself with the money given to her by her parents. Walter and Kate had offered to buy them a couch, but Katriina had politely declined, knowing that they couldn’t possibly afford the couch she wanted, and not wanting to put anyone in an awkward position. It’s not that she didn’t appreciate the homey comfort of Victor Street, it just wasn’t something she wanted for her own home. Even before the wedding, she spent months poring over home decor magazines, trying to figure out her and Shawn’s style personality, trying to put together the perfect collection of things to adorn their new lives together. She would never admit this to anyone, but she can’t recall anything she has done since that has made her quite as happy.

At The Brick she feels like a newlywed again, choosing bedroom sets and small appliances as though she is arranging a set for a magazine shoot. This time, she doesn’t need months of prep time – she has years’ worth of scrutinizing other people’s houses, picking out all the things she would have done differently. For the Paulsson house – her house – in cozy, quaint Westfort, she has decided to go simple country chic, with a lot of whitewashed wood, cotton fabric in lavender and cornflower blue. Everything fresh and clean, and likely to stay that way with no sticky-fingered kids around, no hurricane of a husband. She buys everything off the floor, so she won’t have to wait – she wants everything as soon as possible, so that she can embark on her new marketing campaign right away.

“The only thing we can deliver today is the couch.” The salesman, Jeff, is a young guy, early twenties, with over-styled hair and an awkward-fitting suit who has probably been selling furniture for as long as Katriina has owned the Paulsson house. He has been sweating profusely the entire time he has been helping her, probably from the adrenaline of what is likely the sale of a lifetime. She knows that feeling, the euphoria of impending greatness, the near-paralyzing fear of making that one wrong move that will screw it all up. “We can get everything else to you by Wednesday,” he says, spitting the words out as quickly as he can, hurling them at her and then stepping back – if this is the wrong move, he wants to get it over with.