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Rowena’s far from a fan of modern music- found most of it to just be noise. Claire had made her a playlist she tended to listen to when the girls were down for the night, and that was about as much as she dipped her toe into the current music scene. Sam’s music taste was leftover from his brother, more rock inclined than anything else, and Rowena suffered it with affection.
They’re on the way to dance- it’s Thursday, which meant Ainsley had ballet and Blair had tap- and Sam has one of his old man rock stations playing as he drives, Rowena texting with Donna about getting lunch on Saturday after Ainsley’s morning soccer game. Sam’s fingertips tap against the inside of Rowena’s knee to the rhythm of the song, and she smiles over at him as he stops at a red light.
In the quiet, they can hear Ainsley singing quietly in her car seat to the song, drumming her feet against the plastic. Rowena’s nose crinkles fondly.
“She’s eight. She should not know all the words to Nirvana, Samuel,” Rowena pokes at Sam, who merely lifted an eyebrow, amusement on his face.
“She’s the coolest eight-year-old I know,” he counters, and Rowena rolled her eyes as Sam pulled into the dance studio’s parking lot. She gets Fiona’s carrier out while he unclips Ainsley and Blair, swinging Blair up onto his hip and Ainsley clings to his hand. In the studio, they pick two chairs near the back, Fiona babbling softly up at them from the floor while Sam gets Ainsley out of her coat and boots while Rowena does the same for Blair.
They settle in to watch as their daughters scamper off to each of their separate dance rooms, Sam’s arm around Rowena’s shoulders and Fiona beginning to doze in her carrier at their feet. Ainsley’s tongue pokes out in concentration as she follows the teacher’s movements, and Blair’s little feet tap to her heart’s content as she held her arms aloft to keep her balance.
When they finish, Rowena helps Ainsley back into her boots, the little redhead shoving her arms into her coat before she wrapped them around her mother’s neck, squeezing tightly.
“Can we listen to more ‘vana in the car, Mama?” she asks, and Rowena’s brows furrow before recognition flares through her, and she huffs in fond amusement.
“They will truly never question if you are your father’s daughter, my love,” she says, stroking Ainsley’s curls from her face as Sam lifts Fiona’s carrier and grins down at Rowena, bending to kiss her mouth softly before she nudges their daughters towards the exit. “We can listen to whatever you’d like, darling.”
Ainsley beams, little fingers slipping into hers, and once they’re back in the car, the girls all strapped in and Sam behind the wheel, Rowena finds Ainsley’s favorite Nirvana song and plays it over the car speakers. As her daughter sings along happily, watching out the window, Rowena thinks that maybe modern music isn’t quite so bad.