38: Ripples

Jane took a cautious sip of her Glitterberry Quinn Fizz, the star beverage at Quinn's thirtieth birthday party. It had a pleasantly crisp citrus flavor despite the berries at the bottom of the glass. Jane licked away the glitter sugar left on her lips by the drink's rim and spotted Daria crossing Quinn's small and overpopulated living room, which was decorated in a style Jane thought of as "bubblegum bohemian." When Daria took her place next to her, Jane remarked, "I can't believe Quinn let you name her drink after your family's hallucinatory camping experience."

Daria smirked. "She doesn't remember anything from before they pumped her stomach."

It has been nearly two years since Ruth's funeral. The Poison Parfait had picked up a surprising number of devotees; Tom had taken a professorship at a community college after refusing to use his parents' connections to get a position at Bromwell; and Trent had perfected the properly grizzled, gray-tinged look of a community rock staple and enviably cool guitar teacher. Madeleine was crafting finger paintings her Auntie Jane considered sure precursors to master works that would shake the art world. Now it was a beautiful night in April, and the only bug in the borscht of life was Quinn's boyfriend, Spencer.

At the moment, Spencer was showing off his new Italian cufflinks to his friend Dale. Jane knew they were Italian because when she and Jane arrived at Quinn's apartment, he had told them. Repeatedly. Spencer and Dale both worked for Wickham Capital, a hedge fund staffed primarily by sociopaths. Quinn's boyfriend was about ten years older than her and very successful in his field. They had met a little over a year ago outside a Jaguar dealership, where Spencer was buying a car and Quinn had driven into a pole. They seemed crazy about each other, but Jane didn't trust him.

Suddenly, unidentified fingers were gently tapping on Daria's shoulder. She and Jane turned to see a young woman of about fifteen, her copious amounts of eyeliner partially concealed by heavy black bangs. She was wearing some kind of band t-shirt, but Jane couldn't say who they were—she rarely could, these days. The mystery girl hesitantly tucked her hair behind one ear and then did an awkward little wave. "Um," she began, "I just wanted to say that I really like your website. The Poison Parfait?"

Daria found her words before Jane. "Thanks, it's nice to know we're not the only ones clicking on it. I'm Daria, and this is my wife Jane."

Jane stuck out her hand. "Nice to meet you . . . uh . . .?"

"Alejandra." The young woman shook Jane's hand, then Daria's. She went on, seemingly unable to stop herself. "I usually go by Alex. I, um—I'm not stalking you or anything. My mom works with Quinn. At the dentist's office?" Daria and Jane both nodded encouragingly. "Anyway." She gave a nervous laugh. "I just think you're so funny, and so smart, and"—here the words tumbled out and ran together—"I-brought-this-pin-from-your-site-could-you-please-sign-it?" The last part may have been unintelligible, but for the fact that she had pulled a Poison Parfait button and permanent marker from her purse while she was talking.

A bit bewildered by this unprecedented adoration from a fan of the site, Jane mustered a kind smile and took the proffered button and marker. She signed her first name and passed them to Daria, who finished her own signature and made the hand-off to Alex. With uncharacteristic warmth, Daria said, "Hey, I'm really glad you like the site."

Alex gave a little smile and looked down at her button for a moment. Suddenly serious, she met Daria's gaze. "It helps make high school bearable. My classmates are a pack of fucking hyenas." Alex's eyes went wide as her hand shot to her mouth. Jane had been mid-sip and ended up laughing into her Glitterberry Quinn Fizz, making bubbles and nearly getting them up her nose.

Daria smiled wryly and gave a little nod. "Don't remind me." Alex laughed. She shook both their hands again, tucked the button into her purse, and headed toward her mom through the sea of unfamiliar adults.

Jane gave Daria a nudge. "So what do you think? Can we die happy now?"

"I think we're going to need a signed permission slip from Alex."

Jane heard someone call her name and looked across the crowd to see Trent and Tom approaching. Tonight, her brother's look could best be described as "coolest dad at the local school board meeting." He still clearly rocked, but somewhat more formally than normal. And Tom was wearing his usual uniform for business-casual occasions, which fairly screamed "I can't help that I was raised to dress for yachting anywhere more formal than a Chuck E. Cheese."

Trent had a hint of a smile on his face. He placed his hand over his heart, silver rings gleaming, and said, "Aw." Jane playfully biffed him on the shoulder.

Tom raised his glass in salute and finished the last of his drink. Then, swirling the ice in slow circles, he asked, "So, famous ladies, have you talked to Stacy yet?" He gestured over his shoulder at the bubbly brunette and her perpetually horny husband Charles. When they shook their heads, Tom leaned in and said conspiratorially, "She's pregnant." As he chuckled at his own theatricality, it occurred to Jane that he was a bit drunk.

Daria gave a decisive nod. "Jane, the time has come. Prepare the bunker."

Jane held up an imaginary vial and remarked dispassionately, "We'll need more cyanide. The army of Upchucks will be here before we know it, dry-humping all the furniture."

"I don't know," Trent said, tilting his head to one side and giving Tom a sideways look. "Maybe we'll get lucky, and the kid will end up with more of Stacy's sweetness and less of Chuck's flair for sexual harassment." Tom looked with affection on Trent, who gently bumped his own shoulder into his husband's and added, "You know, the way Maddy eats her cooked carrots like you instead of secretly feeding them to the dog . . . like me."

Tom pulled Trent close for a kiss on the cheek. A moment later, they heard the clinking of forks on glass and turned to see Spencer preparing to give a speech. It's a bit odd to make a public address next to a stack of romance novels on a pink fringed ottoman, thought Jane, but whatever. Spencer raked a hand through his impressively volumized, perfectly wavy blond hair and then wrapped an arm around Quinn, who was looking radiant in a backless black gown. Not only was she stunning, but she looked incredibly happy, too.

Spencer raised his glass and called out in a velvety tenor, "I'd like to propose a toast! Quinn has brought light into my dull world, and now I've asked her to brighten up my penthouse in Back Bay." Jane stole a glance at Daria, who had closed her eyes to conceal the fact that she was rolling them. "She's moving in with me in June. To Quinn!"

Jane dutifully clinked glasses with Daria, whose expression was carefully blank. She sipped her drink and took a quick survey of the room, which was filled for the most part with cheerful chatter. When her gaze fell on Tom, she saw him staring thoughtfully at Spencer's friend Dale, who was deep in conversation with an older man Jane didn't know. Daria had also noticed, and she broke his reverie with an abrupt, "Tom. If Spencer and Dale are running a weirdly sexual rich-boy fight club or trafficking endangered pangolins, tell me now."

Tom appeared to ponder this. "Not exactly. I know this will garner a fair amount of snark, but my dad plays polo"—here there was an audible groan from Jane—"with Spencer's dad. And apparently Dale was asked to leave his last hedge fund under suspicious circumstances." Tom shrugged. "That's really all I know, other than the fact that Spencer's dad has never liked Dale."

Jane glanced over at Spencer's friend, who had just realized his fly was down and was trying to zip it with one hand while holding a chip loaded with guacamole in the other. Dale dropped the chip and fumbled for it, smearing guacamole all over the front of his pants in the process. This resulted in him furiously scrubbing at his crotch with a cocktail napkin in a pantomime of frantic public masturbation.

Well, Jane thought, at least Dale won't be building an evil empire single-handedly anytime soon. Then her expression darkened as her gaze shifted to Spencer, who was holding Quinn tightly and laughing at something she had said in his ear.