Reluctant Desires

Fiona’s POV I sat on the edge of my bed, staring blankly at the email on my laptop screen. The words blurred together, but one figure stood out in bold—€500. "Five hundred?!" I muttered under my breath, gripping my curls in frustration. "What the hell am I supposed to do with this? Buy air?" Amy, my best friend, sat cross-legged on the floor, scrolling through her phone like she hadn’t just ruined my life. "Look, I know it's not what you expected, but at least it's something." I turned to her so fast she nearly dropped her phone. "Something? Amy, I have a degree from York. A distinction! I literally just finished my masters in supply chain management! And you think 'something' is good enough?" She sighed, rubbing her temples. "I just thought… I thought stability would be good for you." "Stability?" I let out a bitter laugh. "You mean prison. A nine-to-five, reporting to some arrogant boss who probably doesn’t even know what a supply chain is? That’s not me, Amy! You know it’s not me!" She opened her mouth, probably to throw another argument at me, but I wasn’t done. "I should’ve stuck to crocheting. I was making money. I was making a name for myself. People respected my work!" "Crocheting is great," she admitted, "but it’s not a career." I shot up from my bed, my body buzzing with frustration. "Says who? You? The same person who pushed me into attending that god-awful interview? You should've been there, Amy. The interviewer—if you can even call him that—was a walking red flag. Smirking at me the entire time like I was some piece of meat. Asking me irrelevant, personal questions. And after all that humiliation, he offers me five hundred euros. Five. Hundred." Amy winced. "Okay, I admit, that’s messed up." "Yeah, no kidding!" I threw my hands up. "And I have you to thank for it!" She pursed her lips, looking genuinely guilty for the first time. "I just wanted you to have something solid." I sighed, shaking my head. "Amy, I don’t want 'solid.' I want success. On my terms." She gave me a long look before nodding. "Then do it. Go all in on your crochet business. Show them they were wrong." A slow smirk curled on my lips. "Oh, I will. And when I make it, remind me to send that company a crocheted middle finger." I walked out of my room, Amy trailing behind me, as I made my way to the kitchen. Dinner needed to be ready before Finnete got back from school. If I were a few years older, people would probably think I gave birth to her—our bond was that strong. But no, I was just her 24-year-old, stressed-out older sister, doing my best to keep things together after our dad passed away. Raising an 11-year-old while juggling life wasn’t easy, but Finnete made it bearable. She was a little angel—well, most of the time. I had just set a pot on the stove when I heard the front door swing open. Before I could even turn around, an excited squeal rang through the apartment. “AMYYYYY!” I rolled my eyes and turned to see my precious little sister completely bypassing me—her flesh and blood—to leap straight into my best friend’s arms. "Wow. Hello to you too, Finnete," I said, feigning offense. She waved me off, not even sparing me a glance. "Hi, hi, yeah, whatever—Amy, you will NOT believe what happened today." Amy, playing along, gasped dramatically. "Spill it, bestie. Did you finally punch that annoying boy in your class?" "No, but I wanted to!" Finnete huffed, crossing her arms. "Oh, so it’s not about your little boyfriend?" I teased, wiggling my eyebrows. That got her attention. Her eyes widened, and she shot a glare at Amy. "YOU TOLD HER?!" I cackled. "Oh, she did. And the betrayal? Unbelievable." Amy threw her hands up defensively. "Look, in my defense, she dragged it out of me! You know she’s scary when she wants information." Finnete groaned, dramatically flopping onto the couch. "I trusted you." "Yeah, yeah, betrayal, heartbreak—now get up and set the table," I said, turning back to the stove. "Dinner’s almost ready." Once we sat down with plates of mac and cheese and juice, I pulled out my laptop. "Alright, quick update—I got a bunch of orders for Adorne Crochet, but I ran out of stock from my last collection. Meaning—I have work to do." Finnete perked up immediately. "I’ll help!" Amy, on the other hand, scrunched her nose. "I’ll supervise." I smirked. "By ‘supervise,’ you mean sit there and do absolutely nothing?" "Exactly." Finnete rolled her eyes. "You’re useless." "Excuse me, Miss Eleven-Year-Old," Amy shot back, pointing her fork at her. "Did I or did I not build that fancy website for Adorne Crochet?" "She’s got a point," I admitted. Finnete grumbled. "Fine. But you still suck at crocheting." Amy gasped, clutching her chest. "That was uncalled for." "It's just facts." I laughed, shaking my head. "Alright, enough roasting. Finnete, since you’re the only competent one here, you can help me with the mittens and head warmers. Finnete beamed proudly, while Amy sighed in relief. "Thank God. That yarn gives me nightmares. "Yeah, yeah, go sit in your ‘tech zone’ while the real workers get things done," I teased. As we cleared our plates, Finnete suddenly leaned toward Amy and whispered something. They both giggled. I narrowed my eyes. "What was that?" "Nothing." I groaned. "You two are planning something again, aren’t you?" Amy smirked. "Wouldn’t you like to know?" Finnete winked. "Let’s just say… you’ll find out soon." I sighed dramatically, shaking my head. Raising one child was hard enough—why did I feel like I had two? As I loaded the last plate into the dishwasher, Finnete disappeared into her room to work on her assignments. I barely had time to revel in the rare silence before I felt it—Amy’s stare drilling into my back. I sighed. "Just say it already." She didn’t even pretend to play coy. "You’re doing a really good job with her, you know?" I turned to face her, a small smile tugging at my lips. "I know. But I also know that no matter what I do, I can’t fill the gap Dad left." Amy nodded solemnly. "Yeah, but you’re trying. That’s all that matters." For a second, we stood in rare peaceful contemplation—until, of course, Amy ruined it. She suddenly clapped her hands together and gasped. "Why did the air in here just turn all solemn? Jesus Christ, I thought I was about to get repented!" I rolled my eyes. "Oh, please." She grinned. "But don’t you think having a man in your life would be a good thing?" I groaned. "Not again." "Oh, yes again," she sang. Here we go. I could already predict the speech. “Fiona, get a life! Fiona, get a man! Fiona, have fun while you’re still young! Fiona, Fiona, Fiona!” I mimicked her voice in a high-pitched whine, waving my hands dramatically. She crossed her arms. “Wow. The disrespect. But I will have my say.” I sighed, bracing myself. Amy took a deep breath. “Fiona, you are 24 years old, and not once—not even once—has a man ever walked through that door for you. What are you?! A stone?” I snorted. “A very content stone.” She ignored me. “Don’t you ever feel the need to be touched down there? As for me, the longest I can go without some action is three weeks before I feel like I’m dying—but you? You, my dear, have been single since birth!” I tried (and failed) to suppress my laughter. “And what exactly is your point?” “My point, you hopeless, stubborn woman, is that the cobwebs down there could probably supply Spider-Man and his future children with webbing for life!” That was it. I howled with laughter. Amy wasn’t done. She threw her hands in the air dramatically. “I mean, come on! Yarns and crocheting pins won’t crochet you a man, Fiona!” “Are you sure? Because I could definitely try,” I teased, smirking. Amy looked like she wanted to pull her hair out. “I swear, one day, I’ll drag you to a blind date myself.” I smiled victoriously. “And my answer will still be no.” She groaned loudly, flopping onto the couch in frustration. I had won this round. But later that night, as I sat with my crochet pieces, her words echoed in my mind. Maybe she was right. Maybe I should get a life outside of crocheting. Not that I was about to admit that to her.