“Where to, sweetheart?”

“Sweetheart, huh? Well, aren’t you the familiar one? We’ve never even met and here you are calling me sweetheart. Does that typically go well for you with the females you pick up?”

“Aw, Christ, so you’re one of those, then?”

“One of those? What does that mean, one of those? One of whom?”

“One of those broads that likes to get after men who treat them nice.”

“Oh, so you were trying to treat me nice? My bad. I couldn’t tell.”

“No, seriously,” the cab driver pressed forward, making Finnley wish she’d just kept her mouth shut to begin with. “I really wanna know.”

“Forget about it. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m just in a bad mood.”

“Okay, fine, but you did say, didn’t you? Let me answer that for you, you did. You did say, and now I want to know something.”

“Fine,” Finnley sighed, sort of amazed by how this conversation was going but seemingly helpless to make it go any way else. “Ask away.”

“Don’t mind if I do. What I want to know is, what is it with you pretty girls?”

Finnley waited, her hands balled up at her sides with the nails digging painfully in her palms to keep her from saying something stupid. She waited because it seemed to her that those words couldn’t possibly be the whole of the cab driver’s question, and if he had more to say she didn’t think that interrupting him was going to make this shitty conversation go any smoother or any quicker. She waited and even went so far as to glance at the rearview mirror to see if the guy was watching her for effect before continuing, but there was nothing. He just delivered that line and kept on driving, which left the burden of conversation all squarely on Finnley’s shoulders, which was exactly where she didn’t want it to be. Why was it that men did this kind of thing, anyway? They forced you into a conversation or a situation you didn’t want to be in, and then they left it to you to carry it in the end.

“I’m sorry to tell you, I’m not following. What do you mean, what is it with pretty girls?”

“No, I didn’t say with pretty girls, I said with you pretty girls. Ain’t no way you can take yourself outta that category. Black hair and green eyes? You gotta get hit on all of the time. You’re like a freakin’, Disney princess back there. And don’t think I’m trying to hit on you, because I’m not. I just gotta know, what is it with you ladies? You walk around with these chips on your shoulders when a man tries to pay you a compliment, or shit, even uses a word he’s used to using. That’s what I don’t get.”

“I don’t know,” Finnley answered sheepishly, feeling guilty for the way she’d behaved despite that being the last thing she would have expected after a tongue lashing from a cabbie. “I guess maybe we get tired of it. I’m sorry though. I kind of bit your head off, didn’t I?”

“Little bit, lady.”

“I guess I need to cool it a little. Sorry. Honestly, I am.”

“Don’t be. I shoulda kept my mouth shut. I don’t always do such a good job with that, but I shoulda done it. Now, why don’t we try again. You wanna tell me where you want me to take you? And I’d like to point out that I didn’t call you sweetheart that time. So I’m learning, huh?”

Incredibly, considering how tense the beginning of this cab ride had been, Finnley broke out into a great, big laugh, which neutralized any residual resentment between the two strangers. She told her driver where he would be taking her, which was one of the swanky bars she seemed to be being forced to go to these days. Once that was done and the car was actually in motion (something that had been delayed by the fight she’d immediately picked), she sat back in her seat and watched the city roll by outside of her grimy window. Fortunately for her, the cab driver didn’t appear to be one of those who felt compelled to talk to her for the entire duration of the drive, and so, she looked out of the window and considered what had gotten her to the point of being the woman who bitched out a driver for doing pretty much nothing wrong. She had never been that kind of girl, the kind to just bite a person’s head off for really no reason at all. Sure, she was a little bit rough around the edges sometimes, but that had never lapped over into the arena of bitchiness, at least not until very recently. And what had changed very recently, friends and neighbors? Anything substantial? Anything worth noting?”

“Cut it out, okay? You’re not making things any better?”

“Cut what out?” the driver asked curtly from over his shoulder, perhaps thinking about their almost argument and ready to go back to the mats. “I ain’t doing anything aside from driving, and as far as I know, that’s exactly what I’m supposed to be doing.”

“No, I’m sorry,” she said quickly, feeling her cheeks flame up and wishing she could just get out of the cab altogether and be done with it. “I wasn’t talking to you.”

“That so? Alright lady, but if you aren’t talking to me, then who the hell are you talking to? I don’t know if you noticed, but we’re the only two people in here.”

“No, I know. I was sort of talking to myself. I’ve kind of got a lot on my mind.”

“Shit, don’t we all? Little advice from me to you, though, and I’m sure you don’t want it, but I’m going to give it to you anyway. You shouldn’t make a habit of talking to yourself like that. Believe me, I’ve seen plenty of people do exactly that while in this here cab, and it ain’t never a good sign. Even for a pretty girl like you, it ain’t going to get you anywhere good.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re right. Sorry, I’ll watch my mouth.”

“Don’t gotta be sorry, like I said. Just a little tip from me to you.”

She smiled and nodded, actually starting to take a liking to this disgruntled driver. Because he was right, of course. Talking to yourself wasn’t the greatest habit to get into, even if you lived in a city like New York where plenty of people were at least borderline nuts. Talking to yourself meant that you were losing your grip on things, and Finnley would be damned if she allowed herself to get knocked into that group of people. Just because everything in her life seemed to be falling apart didn’t mean she had a legitimate excuse to turn into a complete kook.

Except that, if she was being really, uncomfortably honest with herself, she couldn’t even say that her life was falling apart. That was a pretty nasty way to look at things when what had actually happened was that things had gotten better for her two closest friends. And not just a little bit better, either. Things had gotten a whole hell of a lot better, and if she was a real friend she should be happy and excited for them. First of all, there was Elsie, who was over the moon excited about where things were heading with Caleb. Theirs had been a whirlwind romance, together for a year and a half now and living together for almost all of that time. They’d gotten together under rather unconventional circumstances, with Elsie working undercover for Caleb Grant to discover who was stealing from his company. At first, she’d just been playing his girlfriend in order to have a viable excuse for hanging around the Grant Corporation whenever she felt like it. After spending an ungodly amount of time together, however, things had switched from being just for show to the two of them actually digging each other, and after discovering it was actually Caleb’s brother, Marlin, who was behind the theft (and the subsequent attempt on Elsie’s life), Elsie had quit working with Cubed and started doing freelance computer work and basically whatever the hell she felt like. It was a freaking modern-day Cinderella story with a little bit of added violence and a hell of a lot of money.

Then there was Clara, who’d had her own almost too-outlandish-to-be-true story to tell. Clara had always been the sweetest of the three of them, something that they had joked about with some frequency. Her kindness, sometimes bordering on her being a pushover or a doormat, was part of what made it so awful when somebody started terrorizing her. First it was her old cat, Bo, whom she’d come home to find slaughtered and left in a bloody mess in her bedroom. Then it had been a collection of files left for her to find, files to show that whoever it was that was coming after her knew plenty about his intended victim. This would have been disconcerting for your average person, just the knowledge that somebody that had access to the inside of your apartment without having appeared to have actually broken in, but for Clara it was even worse. Clara had grown up in an orphanage and had never been adopted. She’s spent her formative years living with the nuns and wondering where exactly she’d come from. If the nuns knew anything, they hadn’t been willing to tell her a single fact or anecdote. All she ever heard was that she’d been dropped off on the church’s doorstep for them to care for, and after that, nobody had ever wanted to take her again. So naturally the information about her left in her room had been upsetting, and to make matters worse, when she’d gone to the cops, they hadn’t believed her. They had—in fact—scoffed at her.

All of the cops except for one, that was, a cop named Weston Daniels, who’d taken it upon himself to see her to safety—even if it cost him his job. It almost had, too, getting him suspended from the force when his partner and the captain realized that he'd disobeyed direct orders to keep away from Clara. As it turned out, it was a good thing Weston had decided to disobey because they guy who’d been after her decided he was going to kill her. He’d worked for Caleb Grant’s brother, Marlin, and the two of them were more than a little bit unhappy to find that Clara wouldn’t help them take Caleb and Elsie down. He’d taken Clara off of the street, this crazy ex-convict who went by the name of Peter Sanchez, and spirited her away to the house where he’d grown up, the house where he’d ultimately killed his own mother. He would have killed her, too, if Finnley hadn’t been able to stumble upon his information and direct Weston to that same house to save the day. After that, Clara and Weston had been every bit as inseparable as Elsie and Caleb had become after their own almost-disaster. The two of them had been together for a little over six months now, but looking at the two of them, one would have thought they’d been together for years. Finnley knew from repeated conversations that Clara had never been in a relationship with a man who she felt really got her, but it didn’t take a genius to look at her with Weston and know the two of them were made for each other, like two peas in a pod. And it was another freaking Cinderella story, too, seeing as Weston was a millionaire from things that had nothing to do with his work as a cop. Former cop, she reminded herself, Weston was a former cop as of a little more than six months ago. The captain had gone back to him and offered him his job back, had practically begged Weston to take his job back, but Weston had politely declined. His ordeal with Clara had taught him something, which was that the reason he stayed a cop was so that he could save people in place of the family members he’d lost, the ones he hadn’t been able to save no matter how badly he’d wanted to. Now that he had Clara, he didn’t need that anymore. He didn’t need to save anybody because somebody else had saved him.

“Hey! Hey, earth to the pretty lady!”

“Huh? What are you talking about?”

“What I’m talking about is we’re here, honey. Or excuse me, not honey. I’d prefer it if you didn’t bite my head off again for the term of endearment, if it’s all the same to you.”

“We’re here?”

“Yes!” the driver answered loudly, his exasperation beginning to show clearly. “Yes, we’re here. At the bar? The bar where you asked me to drive you? Or did you change your mind on that one? I can take you back to your apartment, but it’s gonna cost you just the way the drive over here did. Ain’t nothing in this world for free, am I right?”

“Right! Jesus, I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“I gotta guess.”

“Oh really? Is that so?”

“Sure, it is. Like I said, I see a whole lot of different people.”

“Alright then, tell me your guess. You seem like a pretty savvy man, not afraid to call it like you see it, anyway.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere, my dear,” the cabbie laughed, his annoyance from moments before apparently on hiatus once again, “and here’s the deal. Not like I know everything, but if I had to guess, I would say you ain’t all that interested in going inside that there bar. I wouldn’t be either, not really my kind of place with how fancy it is and all, but I think you got more of a reason than that. My guess is that whoever it is you’re meeting in there, you ain’t too keen on doing it. Am I close? Anywhere in the ballpark, maybe?”

“Maybe,” she answered sheepishly, fishing her wallet out of her purse and paying not only the price of the ride but a hefty tip on top of it to make up for what a difficult fair she’d been, “but not going in isn’t an option. Thanks though, okay? Thanks for giving it to me straight. Not everyone is willing to do that, you know?”

“Oh man!” The driver laughed, hitting the steering wheel with the palm of his hand for extra emphasis. “Sometimes I wish I could stop! Take care of yourself, alright? Don’t let the shit get you down.”

She nodded at him and then crawled out of the cab, feeling the ridiculous imminence of tears. And why in the hell should she be crying? It made no sense to do that, made no sense to burst into tears over an offhand comment made by a cab driver she would never see again. What’s more, it made no sense for her to be dreading walking into this stupid bar. Sure, she was much more of a dive bar kind of a girl ninety-nine percent of the time, but where she was shouldn’t really matter all that much. The thing that should matter was that she was going to hang out with her two best friends, her best friends in all of the world, and that—on its own—should have superseded everything else. Basically, she felt like she had no right to be feeling the way she was feeling. There was that, but there was also the fact that she couldn’t stop herself from feeling it, which only made it worse. Even as she strode through the bar’s heavy, swanky, double-glass front doors, she had half a mind to just turn around and go back the way she’d come. She’d get another cab, only this time she wouldn’t pick a fight with the driver. This time she’d just sit quietly all of the way home, where she’d slink back into her apartment and lock the doors until she felt more like herself.

“Finnley! Hey, Finnley!”

“Hey, lady, we’re over here! Don’t just stand there, come on! We’ve got a drink waiting for you and everything.”

“Coming!” Finnley called half-heartedly. “Way to be discreet, by the way. Something tells me this isn’t the kind of place that loves the yelling.”

Shit. Well, there went her chance to sneak out before she could be seen and beg off with a headache or something, which was definitely the thing she had been leaning towards. She sighed, squared her shoulders, and approached her friends. Her friends, she reminded herself vehemently. She was approaching her friends, not a firing squad or anything equally unpleasant, and she should really start to act like it. It was about time, after all. Jealousy was such an unattractive thing in a person, and Finnley knew it. She’d always hated it in other people and had no patience for it in herself. Now it would have been great if those two things could have meant she didn’t feel any, but it seemed that knowing she didn’t like something and keeping away from it were to different things entirely. So then it was just something she would have to ignore until it went away, something she certainly wasn’t going to allow her to offend her friends and their lovers. They were the most important people in her life, and she saw no reason to allow her strange feelings to get in the way of being happy with them. And maybe, just maybe, if she could manage to make herself happy with them, she could make herself happy for them. That would be a lovely thing, wouldn’t it? At the moment, she was feeling like it would be one of the loveliest things ever.

“Scoot over, Weston,” Clara chirped, using that newfound assertiveness she’d only seemed to see in herself since meeting and subsequently moving in with her ex-cop boyfriend. “Make some room.”

“There’s already room,” he protested, getting the amused expression on his face, which was reserved for the moments when she bossed him around like this. “There’s room right next to me. I don’t take up multiple seats, you know.”

“Sure, I know, but I don’t want her to sit next to you, I want her to sit next to me. Then I’ll be squished between my pseudo-sister and my real sister. Oh man, doesn’t that sound so weird? I know it’s been months and months and months, but I think it still sounds so weird. I have a sister, guys! I actually have real, live family!”

“You do indeed, sweetheart. And seeing as you’re asking with that kind of excitement, I’ll let you go ahead and boss me around.”

“Please,” Clara laughed, blushing a little as Weston kissed her on the forehead before doing as she had asked and exiting the booth so that Finnley could take his place, “you act as if you don’t always do what I ask you to.”

“Well, not always, but I guess almost always. Fine, you outed me. I’m a sucker for you, okay? Men have been called worse, I guess.”

“Amen to that, brother,” Caleb laughed, slinging his arm easily around Elsie, who was completely beaming over the mention of her newfound sisterhood. “I don’t make any of the decisions in my life anymore. Elsie definitely makes the decisions out of the two of us. She’s definitely the one who wears the pants, especially when it comes to all things Clara.”

And there it was. Situated in a booth between Clara and Weston, Finnley was forced to come face to face with the real issue, the thing that had made it so difficult for her to feel at home with her friends over the past six-odd months. It was two things, really, and while one of them was without a doubt the one that was harder for her to be around, the two did tend to vie for position in her mind as to which one was harder not to be jealous over. There it was again, that jealousy thing, the thing racing through her blood and pumping into her heart and making her feel like somebody other than herself. It made her feel like somebody she couldn’t even like, let alone identify with, but it was still there. The first thing she was struggling with was something that many women in her same position were forced to come up against at one point or another, and that was the fact that she was now essentially the permanent fifth wheel. It wasn’t like Clara and Elsie always insisted on having their significant others around, they weren’t those kind of girls (thank God), but it was more the fact that Weston and Caleb were always sort of there, even when they weren’t actually present. They were there in conversation, there in the plans Elsie and Clara did or did not make. They were just...there, and then there was Finnley, who was single and pretty sure she would always be so. It was sometimes a problem, but it was a typical problem and so it didn’t make her feel quite so out of sorts.

Then there was the second issue Finnley had to contend with, and this one was very far from typical. The second problem was one Finnley had stumbled upon herself, one she sometimes regretted telling anyone at all. This was the fact that, as completely impossible as it sounded, Clara and Elsie were actually sisters. When Clara had been going through the trauma of being constantly stalked and sometimes assaulted by the man who had turned out to be Peter Sanchez, Finnley had done a whole lot of digging. Much of it had been in places she was in no way supposed to be digging, and it had revealed a plethora of information. There had been plenty about Clara’s family, all of which Finnley would eventually tell her, but the real news had been the existence of a sister, and then the fact that said sister was none other than Elsie. It was a one in a million kind of a thing, the kind of thing that only happened in movies, except that in this case it had happened in real life. Elsie was two years older than Clara and had still been living with their mother when baby Clara had been unceremoniously dropped off on the doorsteps of the Catholic church that had become her home for many years to come. Once Clara was gone, Elsie had continued to live with their mother for two more years, two years until she’d given up and left her at the fire station. There was very little difference between their two stories, aside from the fact that Elsie had been adopted while Clara had remained in the orphanage to grow up amongst the nuns. Neither girl had known that there was another one out there. Neither one had had a clue that a missing part of their family, a missing part of their heart, was so close to them day in and day out. It had been Finnley to tell them both, Finnley who had given them their family and at the same time made herself into the kind of outsider that could never hope to be anything else. Elsie and Clara were sisters reunited, and there was nothing more important to either one. The three girls—Clara, Elsie, and Finnley—had once been a near-constant trio, and now there were two and then there was one. Finnley was happy for her friends, but at the same time it kind of sucked to be the one.

“Ehem. Excuse me, folks, if everyone could direct his or her attention to yonder approaching bartender.”

The conversation amongst the group gradually stopped, as everyone in the group did as Caleb had bid them, turning their attention to the nervous-looking young man holding a tray of glasses and a very expensive looking bottle of champagne. Finnley, not being much for partaking in the finer things in life, had no clue how much this bottle actually cost, but it didn’t take a rocket scientist to see that it was probably more than her monthly rent. She watched, astounded, as the bartender opened said bottle with shaking hands and poured half glasses for each of them. She glanced around her and saw that both Clara and Elsie looked just as confused as she was, but when she turned her sideways glance in Weston’s direction, she saw a small smile. There was something happening here, and she had a feeling Weston knew what it was.

“Babe,” Elsie said with a small frown that couldn’t quite hide her pleasure over the surprise, “what exactly are you doing? Are you about to get all mushy?”

“Perhaps. Just a little mushy, though, don’t worry. I know how much you hate the emotional stuff.”

“See?” She laughed, looking around her with support. “He knows me so well!”

“I do,” Caleb agreed, a strange look in his eyes. “At least I think I do. That’s part of what this is, I suppose. About that and about being grateful.”

“Grateful?” Elsie laughed again, her own face starting to look just a little bit uncertain. “I don’t think I get it. What’s going on with you, Caleb? You’re acting funny.”

“I guess so. I guess I am, but I’ve got a good reason for it, I promise you.”

That was when Caleb stood and shoved a hand in one of his pockets. Weston let go a low chuckle, and Clara gasped, while Elsie looked just as confused as ever. For her part, Finnley understood, all at once like a harsh slap to the face. When Caleb got down on one knee, Elsie let out a gasp and clapped her hands over her mouth. Not usually one for tears, she burst into them unapologetically, and when Caleb opened up the iconic blue box that had been lying in wait for her, she jumped up so quickly she almost knocked the table over. It was a yes, of course. As Finnley watched, one of her best friends accepted a proposal of marriage, after which they all celebrated in the manner that such an occasion called for. It was wonderful, really, the kind of night people dreamed of experiencing with their friends, but at the end of the night, Finnley got into a cab and went home by herself. Both Weston and Caleb had offered her a ride home in their respective fancy cars, but she’d declined. She loved her friends and loved their men for how happy they made them, but she just couldn’t take any more of that happiness for the night. She went home alone and curled up that way, curled up in the dark, and without truly understanding why, began to silently cry.