And Our Parents

Part 1 ( Ironic )

Upon her arrival at Logan Airport, Becky has no family waiting to pick her up; instead, she calls herself a ride to her friend Bill's apartment, where he was graciously letting her stay for the time being. She wants to avoid staying at home at any cost. Not just because she's grown up now – after all, Kenny still lives at home while he works through his PhD at MIT, but even with him as a buffer, Becky knows sparks will fly between her and Carolyn if they spend much more time together than necessary. For this reason, Bill's pull-out couch is infinitely more appealing to her than her old childhood bedroom.

It isn't a long stop at Bill's, though; she only says a quick hello and drops her suitcase before immediately heading out to grab a bite of non-airport food, and then it's off to the club. Bill doesn't judge, only gives a knowing wink and a "Good luck". He knows Becky well enough to know that she needs a self-indulgent night to prepare for tomorrow's family drama, when she will meet her soon-to-be stepfather for the first time over brunch.

Even though she's tired and stiff from the flight, she's still on LA time, so the night is young. Her discomfort gives way to a tingle of excitement as she enters the club and is greeted by the pounding music, the pulsing bodies, and the flashing of red lights to the beat. The song pumping through the subwoofers is unrecognizable to her, but nonetheless a welcome distraction from the pity party she'd been throwing herself all day.

Becky is between jobs, between apartments, and forty is approaching faster than ever. Then, in case she didn't feel like enough of a disaster already, her mother had to go and get engaged before her.

She makes a beeline for the bar, where there's a crowd about three deep of strongarmed Bostonians and clueless tourists – Becky isn't sure which group is more irritating. Dusting off her born-and-bred New England assertiveness, Becky shoves her way to the first row, but then it's yet another battle to get the bartender's attention, as he seems to want to serve every fake-ID-holding college student before her. Hello, she wants to scream, Real adult here with real adult problems, get a drink in my hand before I snap.

Right as she's contemplating murdering the twenty year old in a polo who ordered half a dozen drinks for all his friends, one of the bartenders makes sweet, delicious eye contact with her. Becky opens her mouth to hoarsely shout her order – Long Island Iced Tea, and don't you judge me because it's been a fucking day – when she hears a voice from behind her say, "Two Negronis", and the bartender nods dutifully.

Whoever is behind me better have good health insurance, Becky thinks as she whirls around to confront the offender, but the sight that greets her immediately makes her budding hometown trash-talk evaporate.

Standing behind her, only an inch or two away in this pulsing crowd, is the most attractive woman Becky has ever seen. Blonde hair with a slight wave cascading down her shoulders. A gray pinstriped blazer open over a low-cut peach tank top. Sleek trousers that look like they could be from the men's section, and yet don't hide any of her feminine figure. She looks like the richest dude on Wall Street stumbled out of work and got hit with a fairy-tale curse to turn him into a woman, then he looked down, shrugged, and decided to hit the club anyway.

Becky can't help but stare, transfixed. At some point she realizes her mouth is open and it takes all of her power of will just to close it again. The woman is staring back at her shamelessly, as if to say, yes, I did just steal that bartender from you, and what are you going to do about it? Just as Becky is starting to recover her wits, and preparing to throw hands, the bartender returns with two chilled highball glasses filled with deep scarlet liquid and garnished with an orange peel. The blonde woman says, "Put it on my tab." What is that accent? Thai? Then she scoops up both glasses from the counter and offers one to Becky.