"I know. It was painful. And I still think she's better than Fiona Apple—"
"Not possible," I say.
"But I figured you'd like this." She motions to the speakers. The song is familiar. Feist.
"Patrick didn't veto it?"
"Oh, has he forced you to listen to classic rock yet?" She sticks her tongue out. "And I thought my boyfriend had bad taste."
"Oh?"
"Grunge." She shakes her head. "And not the good part, the riot grrrl part. Nirvana. And Pearl Jam. Like they can be deep with a name that means semen."
Yuck.
"Oh… what are you doing this weekend?" she asks.
"Studying."
"Summer school?"
I nod.
"If you want a break—" She looks to Patrick. "I'm having a welcome home party for Oliver and Holden. And I could really use some support on the music."
"What are we talking?"
"Mostly Hole and Garbage. He's not exactly adventurous. But, hey, it sounds like grunge and my adoring audience wants it."
"So Regina Spektor is out of the question?"
"Ah, that's your type?"
"My type?"
"The confessional female artists with a unique style."
"It's not the only thing I like."
"Olivia Rodrigo?"
"She's no Fiona Apple, but I appreciate the attempt."
"Hole?" she asks.
"Of course."
"Michelle Branch?" she asks.
"You're going way back."
"Oh yeah. That's where the good stuff is, when pop-rock was still trying to assert itself."
"Are there any pop-rock artists getting radio play?"
"Only on the 'rock' stations!" She shakes her headridiculous. "I wish you controlled our music. I have to be 'fair' and 'take requests.' But it's just… not good. Chase and Forest love pop-punk from the early two thousands. Dare loves The Beach Boys for some reason. And Tricky only wants the most boring, basic classic rock."
Tricky. His friends call him Tricky. That's adorable. "That bad?"