Not the Marrying Kind Page 26

  The back door opened, and Rafael strolled in, arms full of food.

  “I’ll go help him,” Max said, squeezing my fingers one last time. The second he was out of earshot, I caught Mateo’s eye. He grimaced, like he knew what was coming.

  “I know you’ve got a slightly different opinion of his mom,” I said softly. Mateo crossed his arms over his chest and let out a long breath.

  “Barbara is… a lot to handle,” he said. “She’s charming, big personality, magnetic. Max worshiped her when we were in school. It was easy to do. She was never around, so he only knew the fun parts of her, the wild adventure parts.” He lowered his voice, stepped close. “I might sound like an asshole here, but Barb doesn’t usually show up for things. She blew off his damn graduation ceremony.”

  I winced, feeling a sharp pinch above my heart. I hated thinking about Max being left like that. “You don’t think she’s coming tonight?”

  He lifted a shoulder. “I’ve spent a lot of time watching that woman disappoint my best friend. He’s like a puppy with a shitty owner around her. I want to be wrong, for Max’s sake. But she’s never been that kind of mother, that kind of person.”

  I thought about the night on the fire escape, Max’s firm declaration that he never stayed, never put down roots. Wasn’t the marrying kind. He’d modeled his entire life after his mother’s choices.

  “What kind of person is that?” I asked. My stomach hollowed.

  “The kind of person who shows up for her loved ones. Who cares,” Mateo said. “The kind of person who sticks around.”

  I hid my own frown behind my coffee cup. We both watched Max and Rafael, laughing at some joke, as they set up a spread of delicious-smelling breakfast food. Seeing the way Max had opened himself up to his community again had been a magical thing. It had been one of the deciding factors for me, opening myself up to the chaos of this new relationship and all of its terrifying unknowns.

  Max wasn’t his mom.

  But I found myself hoping—for Max’s sake and my own—that she’d follow through on her commitments tonight.

  That those itchy feet of hers would find reason to stay. Even for just a short while.

  37

  Fiona

  Hours later, I watched as Max, Mateo, and Rafael pulled at once, raising a giant, red neon sign above the stage.

  “A little bit higher,” I called. “Like an inch.”

  They all grunted but complied. I stepped back, examined their handiwork.

  Perfection.

  “It’s fucking beautiful,” I yelled, clapping as I pictured what it would look like. As promised, Mateo backed up, almost to the ledge. Clicked a button.

  Bold red lettering spelled out Save The Red Room! It was punk rock and new wave inspired, designed and donated by Mateo, and seeing it up there made my heart grow three sizes in the space of three minutes.

  Three bands walked by, waving at me as they did so. I waved back, then checked them off my list. The morning and afternoon of setup had flown by. Doors were opening in less than an hour, and every band had rotated through a sound check and a warm-up. Max and Mateo had covered the walls in Mateo’s posters, and Rafael and I had strung red Christmas lights across the ceiling. The room thrummed with magic. And we were expecting all 350 ticketholders to show.

  In a nod to my Quinn heritage, I’d changed out of my workout clothes and into my old Blondie shirt and best ripped jeans plus Roxy-inspired boots that I could use to kill a man if I wanted. The sister in question was with Edward and Pop, up in the office, putting the final touches on a draft revenue plan. It was early, early stages—and they’d be meeting consistently months from now—but my sister understood that the sooner these plans started to take shape, the better the long-term outcome could be.

  Standing here, surrounded by energy and music and amps and instruments and electric, neon lights made me feel so goddamn invincible I wanted to cry. I felt this way the day I graduated from law school. I felt this way when I got the call from Cooper Peterson Stackhouse. I felt this way while dancing with my sister and singing along to good music and watching my parents tease each other while warming up in the back. I was trying hard these past five days not to overanalyze as much, so I made a real attempt not to read into the sensations rippling from my heart.

  They were sensations that made me think of home. That made me think of identity and family and nostalgia.

  And then Max walked up to me with that infamous grin, kissing me on the cheek, and my heart entered a whole other stage of intensity.

  “You look stunning, princess,” he said.

  I arched one brow. “Should have brought my tiara.”

  His grin was wicked. “And I’m still available to sneak into that bed of yours.” There were a few shouts from the back. Max raised a hand, nodded, began walking backwards towards the stage. “I’m gonna circle up with the bands, check in with everyone. Doors open in thirty.”

  And I hate to break it to ya, but I really don’t think we’re friends anymore.”

  I gazed at his retreating back longingly, wondering where on earth his mom was. Because she hadn’t shown yet.

  “I can’t believe you thought that guy wasn’t going to be the one to destroy your pledge of light celibacy.” Roxy appeared out of nowhere with a smug look.

  I scowled at my sister. “Did you just come here to talk shit?”

  “Mom and Dad want to say hi for a second,” she said, linking our arms together. “They’re partying it up with a few other musicians scheduled to play tonight who are, conservatively, forty years younger than they are.”

  “Wonderful,” I drawled. “What are they drinking back there? I could use some.”

  “You could. You are doing an extraordinary job, Fi.”

  I dropped my head to her shoulder. “I’m exhausted but extraordinarily happy. We’re going to have so much fun tonight.”

  “It might even be a stage-diving night.”

  “What?” I laughed. “God, no. I’ve done a lot of brave things this week, but I don’t need to be risking my life at this show.”

  My sister was silent and then stopped me before we got to the warm-up area. “How have things been with Max the past few days? Have you seen each other at all?”

  Seen each other was the understatement of the century.

  “We’re not at sex swing levels,” I said, dropping my voice. “But I can say that I’ve gone to work every day with a smile on my face and an inability to sit properly.”

  She looked back over at Max in a completely approving way. “I always thought Max Devlin was a fucking freak.”

  “You are accurate.”

  We shared a sisterly smirk before her expression grew cautious. “Any more conversations about California? What you’re going to do?”

  I bit my lip and didn’t try to hide my concern. This was my sister, after all. I knew she’d understand. “No, and I am… low-key worried.”

  She nodded. “Totally normal.”

  “He wants to keep dating. and I absolutely want to keep dating. Having a new relationship basically start off long distance with no idea of when, or if, he’d ever move back is…” I trailed off, pictured my contract. All those clear deliverables. “Well, I can’t tell if it’s scary in a positive way or a negative way.”

  Her brow furrowed. “Have you been clear with what you want?”

  “Yes?” I said. “And also, no? I feel like allowing myself to really experience this relationship means not putting the kind of restraints and labels on it that the old me wants to do. I’m letting Max take the lead a little, which I think is good for me. Plus, asking him to change his entire life around because we’ve been dating each other for a grand total of seven days seems too reckless.” I chewed on my lip. “Right?”

  Roxy tracked the movements of her handsome fiancé, who looked dashing in his tailored suit and perfectly styled hair as he walked through the crowds. “It’s a tough call. If Edward had to move back to London right after we’d s
tarted dating, I would have done anything to keep us together. Long distance, long visits. Moving there.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t want to leave this city. My life, my job, my family. That’s not the plan.”

  “I know.” She hugged me close. “I don’t want you to leave either. But it sounds like, regardless of what’s next for you both, it’s going to feature a whole lot of communication and compromise.”

  “I can do that,” I said—hoping a confidence I did not really feel shone through. Roxy looked like she didn’t buy it but was compassionate enough not to press.

  “Come on,” she said. “Let’s enjoy the hell out of tonight. I have faith you and Max will work it out.”

  I nodded, followed her into the back, but not before catching Max in the crowd. He was staring at his phone, looking uncharacteristically worried. Then he stared at the front door, craning his neck to see around another band walking in with their instruments.

  I slipped through the door and into The Red Room’s backstage area—a series of rooms I knew as intimately as my neighborhood. Roxy gave me a secretive smile, and then my parents and the bands were standing to clap.

  I spun around, but Roxy tugged my hand. “For you, Fi.”

  My parents came over with outstretched arms.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  They pulled me in for a tight hug. “We wanted to celebrate your good work, your fierce heart, and your dedication to a place that means so much to so many of us,” Mom said.

  “Oh.” I squeezed them back. “You do not need to thank me. This was a huge team effort, as you all know.”

  My dad patted my arm with a knowing look. “Of course, it was. But we all know your special Fiona skills pulled everything together and made sure this show will go off without a hitch. That’s because of you.”

  “We’re Quinns. We fight back,” I said—to a rousing cheer from the bands in the back.

  My mom nodded, pressing her hand to my cheek. “Yes, of course, dear. But you are Fiona. And you did this because you are a tremendous human being. We had not a thing to do with it.”

  “I’m always proud to know I have a David for a daughter,” Dad said. “Makes me extra excited to keep fighting against the Goliaths.”

  I was—almost unbearably—touched. It had been a long time since my parents had celebrated something this specific and real about my life. They connected so easily with Roxy’s job and art. I’d watched my sister tattoo our parents herself. It wasn’t like I could have them hang out at the firm while I was working with clients to update the medical directives on their estate documents. There was no entry point into my career for them. And that always felt like a loss to me, especially since Roxy was always so happy to have them at her shop.

  So this was more appreciated than I could express at the moment, especially given my exhaustion, my worries about California, and the fact that my feet hadn’t touched the ground since my first kiss with Max.

  I was a little discombobulated, to say the least.

  “Aw, you guys,” I said, “I don’t even know what to say to this.”

  “Don’t say anything.” Roxy handed me a shot glass. “Just drink with us.”

  “Gladly.” And then I clinked my shot glass against my sister’s and against my aging, punk rock parents’—with their blue hair and ripped jeans and endless desire to do what made them happy, even when it was scary. I couldn’t quiet the voice of doubt creeping in—not-so-gently suggesting that I needed to be firmer with Max on my fears. Or needed to evaluate what a new, long-distance relationship three time zones away would be like for a lawyer that worked 60 hours a week.

  So instead of quieting it, I did the next best thing. Tossed back a shot of whiskey with my family, threw my arm in the air, and let out a loud, energizing whoop. Roxy did the same, getting into position for one of our favorite things to do as kids. She bent down, arms outstretched, and I swung myself into her waiting arms.

  Roxy spun me around as my dad played a spontaneous guitar solo and my mom cheered.

  I was completely and utterly out of control with my emotions. I couldn’t even begin to think about the contract I’d written with my sister and Edward all of two weeks ago. It felt like a lifetime. It didn’t feel like me. I was currently plan-free, goal-free, and dating a bad boy about to move to the West Coast.

  But I was a fucking Quinn, after all.

  What was stopping me from chasing that joy?

  38

  Max

  I stood on the fire escape with Mateo and Rafael, twenty minutes before doors were about to open. We peered down, saw the long, long lines of people crowding the street. The white marquee was lit up with black block letters that read Save The Red Room!

  It was a sight to behold.

  And my mom still hadn’t shown up.

  Or, even more concerning, answered any of my calls or texts.

  Mateo and Rafael were being extra nice about it.

  “She’ll show up,” Rafael said. I caught Mateo give him a look of warning, which tied my stomach into knots. I’d been nervous to introduce her to Fiona tonight but nervous in a good way. I’d never done the whole introduce a girl to your parents thing before, but now I understood the motivation behind it.

  I was proud of Fiona, proud to show off how amazing she was.

  My mom was—possibly—bailing.

  And I’d allowed myself to hope for something different again.

  “It doesn’t matter.” I shrugged, raising my beer to my lips. “What does matter is me, planning your bachelor parties. You sure you want to do Las Vegas?”

  Rafael threw his arm around Mateo and laughed. “Let’s fucking do it up. Casinos, shows, drinking until dawn. I want to make, like, a lot of really bad decisions.”

  Mateo shrugged. “You heard the man, Max. If my baby wants to get fucked up in Vegas, then that’s what we’re going to do.”

  I rubbed my hands together. “Your mom will kill me if something happens to you.”

  “Hermano, she’s going to kill you for taking me there. Even if it is our decision.”

  “I’m screwed either way, so I might as well die while being black-out drunk at a casino.”

  There was a rousing cheer from down below. All three of us glanced down, chuckling. “So, uh, did you also place bets with any of these fine people about me and Fiona?”

  Mateo stifled a laugh. “I made bets with half this neighborhood. You were probably fucking toast the second you guys re-met on this damn fire escape.”

  “Toast is about right.”

  I thought about my mom again, how carelessly she’d spoken about her breakup with Frank. Maybe it wasn’t some super intense connection, like the kind Fiona and I had. But she talked about him like he was an annoyance. A pest instead of a partner.

  It was making me uneasy, seeing her flaws more clearly. Because I was about to hightail it out of here. What if I got to L.A. and all of my old habits came back?

  “You’re going to do great, Max.”

  I turned to Rafael, who was staring right at me.

  “With what? The job?”

  He shook his head. “Dating Fiona. I can feel your anxiety from here, bro.”

  I let out a frustrated sigh. “I didn’t use to have anxiety until I let myself feel all this stuff.”

  “But without those feelings, you wouldn’t have Fiona,” Mateo said.

  True. Even now I smiled at her name, gazing up at the lights of the city around us. The past five days at Fiona’s apartment had been intense on a level I didn’t know was possible.

  I’d thought I was a little, sorta, kinda obsessed with her before. But now I’d spent five fucking nights in her bed, having the hottest sex of my life with a woman I couldn’t wait to talk to every day. Feeding her, taking care of her, wondering about her day and if she was stressed or needed me… it was all I cared about.

  And I was boarding a plane tomorrow night.

  A woman with long gray hair came walking down th
e block. I narrowed my eyes, trying to see her face.

  Then realized it wasn’t Mom. I rubbed the back of my neck. When I’d told Pop she was coming tonight, he’d grumbled about her missing all of my birthday parties and then stomped out of the office.

  “Max.”

  I turned at Mateo’s serious tone.

  “You’re not your mom,” he said.

  I jammed my hands in my pockets. “Didn’t I fuck around and not call you two the whole time I was gone?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, you did. And you were a real dick about it. But I knew that you’d at least listen to me. Straighten your shit out and be a better man. That’s who you are. I know it’s hard to hear, but your mother doesn’t take responsibility for any of her choices in life. You do.”

  I let the words—all the years of Mateo and Rafael watching me be disappointed by her—sink in without trying to soften the blow. For the first time in a while, I wasn’t in the mood to defend her.

  I checked my phone again. Nothing.

  “I want to be the guy that shows up for Fiona.”

  I can be that, right?

  “You will,” Mateo said—right as she climbed through the window again, causing butterflies to explode in my stomach. I was desperate to touch her, scooping her against my chest for a sloppy hug.

  “Um, hi,” she said, laughing. “I have really, really good news if you want to come join me in the office? We’re ten minutes out to doors opening.”

  “Let’s do this,” Mateo said, giving me a knowing glance over Fiona’s head. I nodded, held her tight.

  “Hell yeah.” I forced a little enthusiasm into the words. Followed the three of them through the window and towards the office. The floors were shaking with music already, the energy starting to pound in the walls.

  “Is your mom here yet?” Fiona asked.

  “Uh… no. Not yet. But I need to give her a call. She might have confused the time.”

  She was silent but squeezed my fingers. In the office, Pop was rubbing his bald head, looking flustered. Angela was there, and we shared a conspiratorial look. I’d seen a lot of her these past few days—and so far, I knew she was kind-hearted, smart, funny, and understood instantly what Pop was about.