“Right.” She winked it out. “But I can do it, that’s the point. I can take care of myself. I’m going to buy a car, then when I want to drive around, I’ll drive my own damn self. I’ve got power and purpose. I don’t need a man.”
“If we’re to be Amazons, we’ll just use them for sex or whatever else comes to mind, then cast them out or kill them.”
Iona nodded at Meara. “Let’s do that. Not the killing, it’s a little extreme. But the sex and whatever. I really like sex.”
“Here’s to it.” Meara lifted her glass, drank, then glanced at Branna.
“Aren’t you drinking to sex?”
“I’ll drink to it, as that’s the closest I’ve come to it in some time.”
Iona sighed, a little bit drunkenly. “You could have sex with anybody. You’re so gorgeous.”
“Thanks very much, but anybody doesn’t appeal to me at this time.”
“She’s particular about the matter,” Meara added.
“Me, too, or I have been. I think I’ll stop doing that. Sex with Boyle was spectacular.”
“Do tell,” Meara commented. “And I mean do. I’ve all the time in the world.”
With a laugh, Iona sipped more wine. “Hot and wild and sweaty. Like the world was going to end any minute and you had to have each other first.”
“Ah well, I haven’t come close to that particular brand in some time myself.”
“Done now.” Iona swiped a hand through the air. “It’s time for a good dose of cynicism because love sucks. Who needs it when you’ve got pizza and ice cream and girls, and lots of wine?”
“I’ve always figured it was the frosting.”
Now Iona stabbed a finger toward Meara. “Frosting’s fattening and gives you cavities.”
“There’s the risk of that to be sure, but . . . Well, you’ve got to bake the cake, don’t you? Bake it well so it satisfies yourself. And maybe you decide to add frosting, maybe you don’t.”
“Love as a choice?” No, Iona thought. No. Love just picked you up and tossed you in. “But how do you choose? You’ve baked your cake, and there it is, and you’re thinking that’s a pretty good cake, that’s good enough for me. Then you blink and all this wonderful frosting just plops down on it out of nowhere.”
Meara shrugged. “You could scrape it off.”
“You can,” Branna agreed. “But it takes some of the cake with it, and you never get all the frosting gone.”
“That’s sad. It sounds true,” Iona murmured, “and sad. We can’t be sad. I refuse it. We need music,” she decided. “Would you play, Branna? I love to hear you play.”
“Why not?” Branna stood. “I’m in the mood to play. I’ll get my fiddle, and Meara, you tune up your pipes.”
Iona got up to stir the fire when Branna went out. “I know Branna’s answer because I’ve seen her and Fin, and heard the story. But have you ever been in love?”
“Well, sticking with the theme, I’ve dipped my finger in the bowl of frosting and had a small sample or two, but nothing more.” From her own corner of the couch, Meara shifted. “I want to say, Boyle can be a idjit.”
“Branna called him a gobdaw.”
“And that as well, as can most men. And I’m sorry to say our side as well has moments of grand stupidity. I want to say as well, I’ve known him a good long time, and I’ve never seen him look at another woman the way he looks at you.”
She believed that. She’d felt that. But. “I wish it could be enough. My problem is I always want more.”
“Why is that a problem?”
“It’s a problem when you don’t get it.”
She plopped down again as Branna came back with her violin case. “He’s out there,” Branna said.