Not the Marrying Kind Page 2

  “Answering a few work emails,” he said just as Roxy replied, “Setting up our new sex swing.”

  There was a long pause while he blushed—predictably—and she smirked.

  I sipped my wine. “So a sex swing, huh?”

  “Anything for my queen,” he said. “Top of the line, of course.”

  “Bargain sex swings are never a smart investment.”

  He came to stand next to her, wrapping one arm around her waist and tugging her close—the pose looking easy, comfortable. Loving. Her engagement ring was a white skull with real rubies for eyes. Even after two years it was slightly unsettling to see them standing next to each other. Before Edward, my sister had only dated rough-around-the-edges bikers and musicians. In contrast, her fiancé was this eloquent, MBA-holding businessman who had put a ring on her finger within a year and would so clearly die for her.

  Roxy had never been anti-relationship or anti-wedding. My sister, deep down, was more of a romantic than she often let on, and I always knew she’d find the right man to match her vivacious spirit. It’s that I’d always had a plan to achieve that goal while Roxy’s soul mate had magically appeared out of nowhere. We spent a week celebrating after she told us they’d gotten engaged. I cried happy tears until I was dehydrated.

  But after that? I knew I had to get to work, as always.

  “I couldn’t agree more on that assessment,” he said. “Now is this a sisterly chat? Because I wouldn’t be offended if you asked me to kindly fuck off. And I do have some interesting structural work to tackle regarding that swing.”

  Her eyes slid my way, seeking clarification. “Depends on what Fi needs.”

  Wine in one hand, I fished my clipboard, a file folder, and a yellow legal pad out of my shoulder bag. “I’d like to sign a contract that holds me to a higher standard of dating moving forward. And you two can serve as my witnesses.”

  Edward cleared his throat. “How’s your understanding of contracts, Roxy darling?”

  “Given my loose respect for the law, we’ll need your help.” Her eye roll was epic, but his laughter was warm and genuine.

  “Two witnesses are better than one,” I said, sitting down at the laptop on their kitchen table. “Let me grab a template, and then, Edward, I’ll have you type and transcribe for us.”

  He shed his jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves, pausing to wink at his fiancée. I didn’t miss her uncharacteristic blush—or the way she fiddled with her many earrings to hide it.

  She took the chair next to his, and I perched on the edge of the table, surrounded by two cats and two dogs eager for my attention. “Is this about that list you made when you were a teenager?”

  “It sure is,” I said. “And in the past year I’ve dated five different men who fit my categories perfectly but who also dumped me, coincidentally, after we’d had sex. Dumped me by text or ghosted me or sent me emails saying they were going out of town for a while.”

  “Fuckwits,” she said.

  “The problem is in the pattern of behavior, and I can’t believe I didn’t notice it earlier,” I said. “But I only have eighteen months left until I turn thirty, and I won’t let another year of hard work pass me by without refining my methods. It’s only a waste of time if you don’t learn from your mistakes.”

  It was Roxy’s turn to reach over and poke me. Hard. “Or you don’t have to give in to bullshit societal pressure and be married at all. And definitely not by a certain age.”

  I poked her back. “Chase joy, don’t give a shit. This is my joy. You know that.”

  She pursed her lips and didn’t look close to agreeing with me. But this was an argument that tended to open up old wounds for me. Our parents had a cheerful attitude about their unconventional lifestyle, and in general our motto as a family was chase joy and don’t give a shit. Essentially: do what makes you happy and ignore society’s opinions on it.

  Though they believed that working as a lawyer brought me true joy, they never understood why I chose the profession in the first place or why I actively climbed a career ladder they believed shouldn’t exist.

  And while Roxy and my parents had both found once-in-a-lifetime love, they remained confused about the ways I went about finding mine. Setting goals for yourself, to me, was less about societal pressures and more about being organized.

  “You and Edward are lucky,” I continued. “Mom and Dad are lucky. The four of you found each other while I’m still alone.”

  The truth slid out before I could take it back, so I took a long gulp of wine to hide my own grimace.

  It was easier not to mention how often I felt like the odd one out.

  She reached for my hand immediately, but I wasn’t here for sympathy. I was here for action. I gave her my best, hyper-exaggerated puppy-dog look until her lips twitched. “You’re such a weirdo,” she said.

  “But I’m your favorite weirdo.” I tapped the laptop. “Now will you help me maximize my fucking efficiency already?”

  She finally smiled. “Yes, okay, fine.”

  Edward began typing. “The court will now hear opening arguments from Ms. Quinn regarding her marriage goals.”

  I pulled out my legal pad where I’d scribbled some notes on the cab ride over. “I, Fiona Lennox Quinn, hereby commit to finding my soul mate and being married to him within eighteen months of the signing date. I will not engage in any physical affection, including but not limited to kissing, hand-holding, and, of course, sex until I can guarantee his commitment.”

  “Wait,” she said. “This is a no fucking contract?”

  “I’ll be fine with a little light celibacy,” I said. “It won’t kill me. And once I’ve found my future husband, I’m sure he’ll fuck me six ways from Sunday.”

  Edward grinned from behind the screen. “I’ve always known the Quinn sisters to be true paragons of virtue.”

  “Virtue has never been my strong suit.” Roxy shrugged.

  “Nor mine,” I said. “And I believe sexual chemistry is as vital to marriage as anything else, and I’m not knocking sleeping around for fun. I just can’t think of another way to control this outcome.”

  Besides, it wasn’t like any of the sex I’d been having this past year was especially memorable.

  I ignored my sister’s eyebrow raise at the words control this outcome. “Edward, can you add this list of red flags?”

  “Happily.”

  “I’ll be avoiding dating men who prioritize sex over emotional connection and intimacy. I’ll definitely be avoiding men who lie.”

  He typed quickly. “And do you want a list of what you are looking for in a soul mate to be included? Knowing you, Fi, I’m sure you’ve got one.”

  I swirled the wine in my glass. “Career-driven. Wants to put down roots and build a home with me in New York City. Wants to get married, of course.”

  His brow furrowed. “But what kind of person are they? For example, when I first met Roxy, I loved that I was terrified of her. And I never would have guessed that’s what I secretly wanted.”

  She tossed her hair and gave him a kiss on the cheek that still somehow seemed filthy.

  “I’m not looking for someone who will fear me,” I said, smiling over my glass. “I’m looking for the three things I told you.”

  “Seriously,” he said. “Nothing else to add?”

  My mind went shockingly blank at my attempt to gather a few more details to answer Edward’s question. But what else was there? When Roxy and Edward were—briefly—broken up, I’d spent weeks with her, trying to get her to see that the mistakes they’d both made weren’t the end of a relationship I could tell was the one. Their deep and instant connection was easy to see, but not obvious to describe, and I’d never doubted it. It fit my sister’s wild, edgy outlook on life.

  It made sense to me that my soul mate journey would be much more linear. A clear path from point A to point B. Like all the work I’d had to put in to make valedictorian. And the way I’d graduated with honors from Columbia Law
School and passed the notoriously difficult New York Bar exam. I was used to being the expert in the room, so I didn’t love that Edward’s words wanted to take root in my subconscious.

  I was confident that I understood the mysteries of the human heart.

  I shook my head. “No, sir. I’m ready now.”

  I caught the look they exchanged but chose to ignore it. A minute later, he placed the printed contract in my hand with a fancy pen. “I’ll need you to sign, date, and initial of course.”

  I scanned the words, found them to be exact. I was a big believer in fixing problems with the tools at hand, and the words on this piece of paper felt like miniature hammers and screwdrivers. “Thank you. I know it’s only a symbol, but it’s important to me. And I know you’ll help if you can.”

  “I’ll round up all the single lads in the office.” Edward nodded.

  Roxy gave me a soft nudge. “Of course, Fi. We’re here for you, always. Especially if you’re ever feeling… lonely.”

  “I’m not,” I said quickly. “I’m very motivated.”

  I signed my name and initials with a flourish. Edward signed it next before handing the pen to Roxy, who tilted her head and said, “Can I talk with my sister alone for a sec?”

  “Of course,” he said, squeezing my arm with a soft smile before whistling for Matilda to follow him back into the bedroom. My big sister held the pen in her hand and gave me a devious look.

  “Am I about to hate what you have to say?”

  She held up the contract. “I’m all in on helping you maximize your outcomes, babe. But where’s the fun in this? The excitement, the passion? Falling in love isn’t a numbers game.”

  I swallowed a sigh of impatience. This all work, no play concern of my family irritated me the longer they harped on it. What had been cute and exasperating a few years ago was starting to grate on my nerves. “I think being married sounds like a lot of fun and full of exciting passion. I just need to get there first.”

  She bit her lip. “I felt pretty out of control the whole time Edward and I were dating. Sometimes it almost scared me. It wasn’t fear in a bad way, but that sense of leaping and trusting the other person will be there to catch you. Do you know that feeling?”

  I didn’t. And frankly, it sounded terrible.

  “Sure,” I said, hoping I hid the lie. “This doesn’t exclude those falling-in-love feelings. At all. It’s just…” I swallowed hard. “I write things down. I hang them up. It’s how my mind works. This contract is like a more legal-sounding motivational poster.” I crossed my arms and gave her a rebellious stare I absolutely learned from her growing up. “Are you going to sign on the goddamn line or what?”

  She signed with a secret smile before handing the page back to me. A sigh of relief released through my entire body as I clutched the legal document to my chest. “Thank you,” I said. “For going along with this even if you don’t entirely agree.”

  She softened her posture. “I’m always team Fiona, which means I’ll go along with almost anything. It’s just that I haven’t really seen you a lot recently. I know you took on some big clients this year, and all the dating is time-consuming—”

  “I need some time to focus on me, Roc,” I said. “I can’t always do the punk rock lifestyle with you guys, as much as I love you.”

  “Not even Friday morning pancake breakfasts?” Her tone was light, but I caught the edge there.

  “Your shop opens at ten, and Mom and Dad don’t have an office. I’ve got clients on Friday mornings and it’s always hell making it out to Queens and back before seeing them.”

  “Yeah, I know,” she said, tapping her combat boots against the table leg. “We miss you, is all. I miss you.”

  “Of course, I miss you,” I said. “You’ve got Edward now, and Mom and Dad are always on tour or doing shows in the city. I’m working on filling my life with as much joy as the three of you have been lucky enough to find.”

  And sometimes it was, honestly, easier to balance work and dating without having to add in the Quinn family’s demand for twice weekly hangouts. I always bent my hectic schedule to meet theirs, not the other way around.

  She tapped her chin and gave me a fake scowl. “I shall accept your meager excuses for the time being.”

  I pinched her arm, and she swatted my hand away. “Besides, don’t we have to go wedding dress shopping soon?”

  “I told Edward I refuse to wear white. My dress will be black.”

  “And I’m here for it,” I said. “But we’re still going shopping. And I’m bringing champagne and forcing you to hold up a sign that says I said yes to the dress.”

  “Never.”

  “Oh, it’s happening, sis. You want to hang out with me or not?”

  She arched one eyebrow and pretended to mull it over. “Fine. But you owe me a night dancing at The Red Room then.”

  I had a monster of a work week, but I knew when to accept defeat in the face of sisterly fortitude. And I did, in fact, miss our nights out dancing together, much as I struggled to admit it. “Deal. But you will owe me shots.”

  “Is Bad Fiona coming out to play?” Roxy sang, shaking my shoulders. I laughed and shoved her back playfully.

  “Only if you’re lucky,” I warned. “Besides, the last time I was Bad Fiona with you, I had to leave a morning meeting with an extremely wealthy client to throw up in a trashcan.”

  “Worth it,” she sighed.

  I stood to pack my things, already mentally jumping ahead to my inbox, my meetings tomorrow, what my day would look like. Apple tried to climb into my work bag, but I rescued her at the last minute.

  When I was packed and finally ready to go, I glanced up to find Roxy staring at me with a mysterious expression.

  “Are you thinking about your sex swing?”

  She snorted, touching my contract before sliding it back over to me. “I’m wondering… what if there’s a flaw in your system?”

  “Trust me. There’s not,” I said, chin lifted. “I don’t create flawed systems. I’m a bastion of proven success.”

  “I mean,” she continued. “What if you fall head-over-heels in love with a man… and he doesn’t want a committed relationship?”

  I shook my head. “The system will prevail. The goal is commitment. The goal is marriage.”

  “Shouldn’t the goal be falling in love?” she asked.

  I shoved the contract into my bag. “What’s the point of falling in love with the wrong guy?”

  Her laugh was light and affectionate. The sound of it drew Edward from the bedroom, where he leaned against the door and watched her devotedly. “Are you implying I was the wrong guy, Roxy darling?”

  She looked over her shoulder, grin half-cocked. “You know you were.” To me, she said, “Sometimes the guy you think is wrong is your fucking soul mate. Pretty sure you told me that half a dozen times when I was pretending not to be falling in love with Edward.”

  I reached down to hug Busy Bee one last time. “Don’t you worry. My soul mate will fit every single attribute on this list.”

  “And what if he doesn’t?” She asked.

  “That, my dear sister, is an impossibility.”

  3

  Max

  I propped my boot against the brick wall of the shop and took a moment to enjoy the gorgeous view. My mom had been right. Bar Harbor was fucking beautiful. Even the bike shop where I’d landed a fast-and-easy mechanic’s job faced the ocean.

  I grinned, passed a hand over my mouth. Caught the eye of a cute woman walking her dog across the street. She gave me a shy, slightly flirtatious wave.

  I winked back and enjoyed the flush that rose in her cheeks. She kept on walking. But the look she tossed me over her shoulder made me guess she’d be back for my number by the end of the day. I’d be happy to give it to her.

  Bar Harbor, Maine, had been my temporary home for two months now, and I could see the appeal. My job was straightforward and no bullshit. The shop was the usual blend of grumpy mecha
nics who reminded me of Pop and never asked too many personal questions. Not that I minded—I was an open goddamn book, all things considered. But during the day, the shop was filled with the sounds of classic rock on the radio, of tools and engines and grunts from my coworkers.

  My favorite kind of job. Easy. Fun. No frills.

  I ran a hand through my hair before taking out my phone. I swiped past a few text messages from a woman I’d met at the bar last week. She knew I could be counted on for a night of no-strings-attached sex. Then I blinked in surprise and almost dropped the thing when it started vibrating with a call while I was holding it.

  It was my dad.

  Glancing over my shoulder to make sure my boss wasn’t looking for me, I took the call and smiled. “Hey, Pop. Whatdya want?”

  My father grumbled a bit in greeting. I was an expert translator of my gruff father’s not-entirely-verbal responses. “Hey back.”

  “You okay?” I asked, squinting into the sun. Had it been… shit… three weeks since our last call? I shrugged off something like guilt and stared back at the ocean.

  “Kinda,” he said. His voice was rough from years of cigarette smoke and the physical toll of running The Red Room, one of the oldest punk rock clubs in New York City. “You got a second to talk, Maxy?”

  I glanced back over my shoulder then moved further away from the door. Pop only used my childhood nickname when it was bad. “Yeah, just tell me what’s up.”

  There was a long, uncomfortable pause. It had only been seven years since I’d been back to the city. It was easy in my mind to picture Pop the last time I’d really seen him, waving to me from the front door of The Red Room as I roared off on my motorcycle to my first of—many—new homes and new jobs. The day I’d come home with my first motorcycle—when I was all of nineteen years old—he’d nodded and clapped me once on the shoulder.

  Even then, he’d known which parent I was most like.

  I won’t be gone for long, I’d said when I officially left New York City at 21. You’ll see. Five years from now and you won’t be able to get rid of me, old man.