“Well, I guess I’ll just Wikipedia soccer later tonight. Practice starts at 3:45 tomorrow?” Sadie said.

He nodded. “Seriously though, thank you, Sadie. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it. I think these last few weeks of soccer practice have given me even more gray hairs.”

He scraped a hand over his head and smiled down at the two women who were smiling up at him. His squint lines deepened, and Via realized that she was letting her eyes wander all over his face. Via cleared her throat and took a step back.

Time to go.

“DO YOU THINK I’m judgy?” Via asked Serafine as the two of them lounged on the balcony of Fin’s apartment the next night. She had a partial view of Prospect Park, and both of them liked the glimpse of the newly changing leaves.

This was the same place that they’d lived together up until last year, but Fin had made it completely hers since Via had moved out. Crystals and sage, the walls painted in deep jewel tones and hung with mosaics and local art. An old Victorian-looking sofa sat in one corner, and she’d separated the large living room into two rooms with nothing more than three gilded hanging mirrors.

“You?” Fin’s dark brows slashed across her pale forehead as she raised them up to her hairline. “God, no. You’re the least judgmental person I know.”

Via humphed and took a sip of the cheap red wine that neither of them minded drinking out of juice glasses. They’d just gorged on Indian food, and the cool early fall breeze was heaven on Earth as they sat with their feet up on the rail.

“I’ve been feeling judgy lately, and I don’t like it. First with Evan and then with this guy at work, Sebastian.”

“You mean because Evan quit his job with no notice and no backup plan? I think that one deserved to be judged, sister.” Serafine set her wine aside to braid her wavy black hair, her many rings catching the light from a streetlamp and giving the illusion that she was sort of sparkling with energy.

Via frowned at her tone. “I don’t know. He really wasn’t being treated well there.”

“Most people don’t like their job, Violetta.” She used Via’s full name only when she was trying to infuse some love into whatever bitter medicine she was about to spoon over. “But most people aren’t comfortable with hitting up their parents for money when they’re willingly unemployed.”

Via frowned into her wine. She was about to defend something that she kind of didn’t want to defend. But he was her boyfriend, and they loved each other. “It’s not his fault his parents have money. And why shouldn’t he take it if they want to give it?”

Serafine sighed and tipped her head back toward the sky. When she spoke again, her Louisiana accent was syrupy smooth and threaded out into the night like smoke from the end of a cigarette. “There’s nothing wrong with that, Via, really. I’m not judging him for having a different kind of family than we had. I’m just saying that quitting his job with very little thought and then relying on his parents to fill in the gaps isn’t something that I thought you’d ever be attracted to.”