“No, I won’t be fucking them,” I admitted. “But maybe I need to pay better attention to sexual chemistry in general. None of those guys last year gave me any sparks. Not out to dinner. Not while having sex.”
Since graduating high school, I’d achieved so much. The day I passed the Bar exam for New York I sank down onto my parent’s couch and cried tears of pure joy and relief. My milestones had been many, and the emotions for me had always been there. Happiness, pride, confidence, gratitude—I was focused, but I wasn’t some robot.
That spark, though—the one Roxy talked about, the one my parents and my friends and love songs mentioned almost carelessly—that had never happened for me. And I was starting to think it never would.
“You’ll get it, Fi,” she said softly. “I promise.”
“You can’t predict the future,” I teased.
She hummed a little. “But I can say that the fabulous Fiona Quinn won’t end up with some boring-ass guy who’s bad in bed and bland in conversation. That is not your destiny, babe.”
I fluttered my eyes open, and Roxy turned me around to the mirror. She’d given me an edgy smoky eye I couldn’t even pretend to be annoyed by. “Damn, girl.”
“You’d think I’m some kind of artist.”
A lightbulb flashed in my brain. “Hold up.”
“Whatever it is, I already don’t want to do it.”
The smile I gave her was pure sisterly evil. “When you and Edward got engaged, I began prepping for the inevitable arrival of your bachelorette party.”
Her own smoky eyes narrowed. “That will be in, like, a year.”
I opened my highly organized closet and pulled out a Tupperware container with a label that said Roxy’s Wedding. I skimmed through it until I found what I was looking for, wrapped in pink tissue paper. “I’ll go with you tonight, but we’re wearing these.”
She reached forward for the sparkly, diamond-encrusted tiara. Held it up like it was a fucking viper, mere seconds away from sinking its fangs into her hand. “Did I ever tell you I always wanted a little brother?”
“Shut up,” I laughed. “Come on. Edward would love to see you in diamonds, dahling.” I’d perfected my posh Edward impression over the past year. “Be a princess with me.”
She grumbled but complied, smiling just a little when she saw our matching appearance caught in the mirror. Hers was lopsided due to her half-shaved-head situation. But mine sat perfectly in the middle, every single strand of hair in place.
I glanced back at my laptop and the neat stack of files. She must have caught my look of longing because she gave me a slight shove toward the door. “Uh-uh. I’ve got you now. I’m even wearing a fucking tiara. The night is young, Fi.”
And she was right, of course. The second we stepped outside onto the busy, people-filled street, the night glittering with lights and sound, my heart sped up into a rhythm I recognized. I raised my arm to hail a cab and grabbed Roxy’s hand. Maybe this was what it was like to balance two strong commitments at the same time—a commitment to the chaos of being a punk-rock wild child and a commitment to my relationship goals that felt integral to my personal happiness.
I was Fiona Lennox Quinn, dammit, and I was prepared to have it all.
No more bad dates.
No more useless men.
It was true love or bust.
6
Fiona
Roxy pulled me through the crowd and up on stage, where The Hand Grenades were getting set up to perform their weekly slot. My mom turned around from her drum set, saw the two of us, and squealed in surprise. Dad followed suit and yelled “Holy shit, my daughters are here!” And then I was being crushed.
I laughed and negotiated their various safety-pins and piercings and decorative spikes. “So you’re both doing purple hair now?”
“Roxy said it’s all the rage,” Mom said. I cast a glance over at my sister, who was smiling at us—a big, sincere smile. Guilt slid through me, and I hugged them a little tighter, until my dad said, “Even the fanciest of lawyers make time to see their parents once in a while.”
I swallowed a sigh but raised an eyebrow their way. “Fancy lawyers have a lot of fancy lawyering to do at the times you’re available to see me.”
“It’s barely ten! The night is made for music and for people to come alive!” He ended this sentence by handing Mom her drumsticks with a flourish. Adorable as they were, I didn’t miss the subtext: If we’re here, you should be here too.
Lately their endless teasing and confusion over my different life choices made me feel like I had to assert my independence from them. Made me feel like the choice was either corporate lawyer who adhered to the rules of society or punk rock wild child who lit shit on fire.
Or but never and. That duality had seemed effortless when I was younger. But now every assertion of my identity felt vital even as it separated me from the people I loved the most.
So I switched tactics, went with humor over vulnerability. “This is the kind of greeting your cherished daughter gets?”
Mom shook her head and hugged me again, the top of her purple hair barely coming past my shoulders. “We miss you, Fi.”
“It’s been hell at work,” I said, softening my tone a little. “And I’ve been extra busy trying to snag myself a decent boyfriend.”
Dad’s eyebrows shot up. “And?”
“Bad news I’m afraid. They were all atrocious.”
Mom turned around and thumbed the back of her vest, where she’d stitched a giant patch that said Smash the Patriarchy. “Most men are, dear. But there’s nothing you can’t accomplish in this world. It’s what makes you so terrifyingly successful.”
I laughed. “What a compliment.”
“And true,” Dad said. “Both of my daughters are truly terrifying. Even with tiaras. Very God Save the Queen, very Ramones.”
I nudged my sister. “See? The whole vibe works.”
“Our reputation precedes us,” she said with a sardonic grin. “Especially here. We can’t forget that summer Fiona and I crowd-surfed every night for a week. Pop told me the old-time punks were scared shitless at the sight. And then after, believed us to be the baddest bitches in the whole joint.”
“The old-timers speak the truth.” I shrugged, glancing out over the crowd, filling the space. Like most older venues, The Red Room wasn’t anything fancy or special on the inside. The walls were painted black, the paint was peeling, the floor was sticky. The drinks were cheap and strong, the music was loud and boisterous, and the audience was packed with real fans who’d been coming for decades. An actual second home for the city’s music lovers. And absolutely a second home for my parents.
Mom reached out and squeezed my hand. “These atrocious men. Do I need to have a visit with them?”
“I’m already over it,” I promised. “I’ve got paperwork, spreadsheets, and a brand-new system to assist me in achieving my biggest goals. I’ll be fine.”
She gave me a maternal look that said yeah, sure, if you say so, but I was quick to ignore it. “I’m chasing my joy, I promise.”