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THIRTY-ONE

ruby

Bree looks over my shoulder at my grade, not that I invited her to. “Ninety? You’re moving up in life!”

“What can I say? I studied.”

“What’s with the sudden interest in your grades?”

I hesitate. How do I explain that the shame of hearing Wythe tell me I need to figure things out for myself lit a fire under my ass? “I decided I might want a job in R and D after graduation.”

“Yes, girl, you should! I hear from so many people in R and D who love their jobs. And quality assurance sounds like such a thankless fucking grind. I could never.”

“A lot of people like QA,” I say quickly. Odds are, that’s still where I end up. “And even for those that don’t, it’s a great launching point.” Or so I’ve heard.

“Yeah, no, it’s fine.” She looks at me sideways. “You know R and D is hard to break into without experience, right? You’re not even interning?”

I swallow the panic that threatens to surface. How did I let myself fall so far behind? “I need to look into it. But I’m taking Wythe’s Intro to Food Processing class in the fall, and she hinted she’d write me a letter of recommendation if I impress her.”

“She hinted?”

I don’t like the arrogant way she lifts her chin, and I look at her directly. “Yeah. She hinted. Did you and her enter into a legally binding contract for her sole letter of recommendation?”

“No,” Bree says, withering slightly under my gaze.

“Okay, so?” I shake my head. “Anyway, we’ll see what happens. She thinks R and D is a viable goal, and I’m not arguing.”

She nods enthusiastically, probably sensing I’m not in the mood to be talked down to. “Are you going to the career fair after this?” I ask.

“Of course. You’re going?”

I nod. “Spent all day yesterday working on my résumé.”

“Want to grab lunch and then go together?”

“I can’t. Wythe set up a meeting for me with a former student who’s hosting a booth at the fair. I want to be early.”

Bree gives me an assessing look. I can practically see the instant she musters up some respect for me. “Nice.”

I soften and give her a smile. I’ve been on edge all day, waiting to see my grade and anticipating the meeting with Wythe’s student.

It’s only an informal chat meant to give me some insight into career options, but it feels like more.

Every day that passes without a plan for senior year and beyond suddenly feels like a massive waste.

And in a few days I’ll see my parents to celebrate their anniversary, and I need to be armed with good news from the academic front or I’ll spend dinner on the receiving end of a lecture.

None of that is Bree’s fault. “I’ll see you after the fair,” I tell her. “Let’s grab food together.”

“Good luck with your meeting.”

If only luck was all I needed.

After the career fair, I head to Lorenzo’s, where he surprises me with his sling-free arm.

“Done with it for good? You were supposed to have another week at least!” I run my fingers along his forearm, which is comically pale in comparison to his brown, olive skin. “God, even your bones and tissues are overachievers.”

“You know what this means, right? Now I can get on top.” He leans against the kitchen counter and flashes a wicked smile.

Instantly, I’m buzzing with desire. I’m a seasoned pro at resisting Lorenzo—we’ve now done basically everything but sex—but the idea of his sweaty, tattooed body hovering inches above me makes me weak. “Is that a question?”

His gaze warms. “Do you want it to be?”

Every time I’m near him, I wonder what we’re waiting for. We’ve held out so many years, I don’t even know the point anymore. “Maybe. But can I tell you my good news first?”

He cups his hand over his crotch like I’ve hurt him, but he nods. “Always.”

“I think I know what I want to do after college. Research chef.”

“Okay, I know the meaning of the word research , and I know what a chef is ...”

“It’s basically developing and testing recipes and food products.”

“A chef. You mean the job I’ve always said you’d be amazing at that you shot down every single time?”

“Every once in a while, I’m wrong.” I swat at him, but he snatches my arms and pulls me against his chest. “Anyway, you can get over yourself; it’s not the same as being a traditional chef.

Research chefs need a science background, and I could work in any number of settings: for a restaurant or a food company, doing consulting, working in a test kitchen. ”

“All right, I like your enthusiasm. Where’d this idea pop up?”

“That student of Wythe’s that I met with today? That’s what she does.”

“Ruby Hayes, research chef.” He nods approvingly.

“Impressed?”

“Impressed?” He looks at me like he might have misheard. “Since when is that your criteria for anything?”

“It’s not. But I know career talk is going to come up at dinner with my parents this weekend, and I want them to know how wrong they are about me.”

Lorenzo’s expression turns serious. “Why does it matter what they think? Do what you want.”

I feel scolded. “I know, but it might be funny to see their shock. Maybe I’ll even witness a heart attack if I’m lucky.” When he says nothing, I add, “I just need to get them off my back.”

He looks doubtful. “So is this an ‘any midsize city’ kind of deal or ... ?”

“Well, it’s a pretty niche career. So I might not have my pick of cities, at least in the beginning.”

“So there’s a chance we end up on opposite sides of the country.”

“A chance, sure. But there was always that chance, right?”

“Yeah, I guess. But I thought we’d try to be in the same region.” He runs a hand over his sling-less arm. “We’ve never lived more than a quarter mile from each other. How am I gonna eat?”

“Your personal chef?”

“I thought that was you.”

I give him a smile I’m not really feeling. “It’ll work out. I mean, we’re always going to be ... friends.” I swallow, incapable of pulling off such a loaded term nonchalantly.

He looks at me, dropping the casual act. “Friends?”

“Lorenzo.”

“I know you don’t like committing to things?—”

“That’s not it. I’m committed to you always. I— we just don’t know what that’s going to look like in the future.”

“Okay, but we don’t have to assume from the start that friends is the best we can do.”

Lorenzo really believes that the future won’t change us, and that makes my heart strain with affection for him.

But this is the one place where he’s the dreamer and I’m the realist. Life has so much in store for him.

“I want us to live close. I want us to be close. We just ... can’t count on it completely. ”

He turns to open the fridge, but not before I catch the hurt in his eyes.

“Yeah,” he says dully. Guilt forms a hard lump in my throat.

I know he’s confused. I am too. We’re still figuring out what we are together, but we know what we’re not: not just friends, not just hooking up to pass the time.

But beyond college? I can’t base my life around a future I have no control over, and I won’t make false promises.

“Am I wrong?” When I hear the question is when I realize how badly I want him to convince me I am.

Because I told myself all along to expect nothing of him, but there’s a seed of hope buried somewhere deep inside me that wants nothing more than to believe forever with Lorenzo is real.

Losing him would mean losing everything.

He closes the fridge. “I don’t know. If all you want to do is prove something to your parents, then maybe you’re right.”

“What I want is a job I can be proud of.”

“That you can be proud of? Or that your parents can?”

My phone rings right as his probing gaze settles on me. I reach for it—it’s Bree—and relief washes over me at the chance for escape. “I have to go in a minute.”

Lorenzo keeps his eyes down as he opens a container of salad on the counter, his brow furrowed.

“Unless you want to keep talking about this,” I offer, hoping like hell he doesn’t.

“Not really.” His mouth quirks. “Have fun.”

I get nothing from him as I gather my purse, kiss him on the cheek, and head for the door. Clearly he’s annoyed with me, but I wonder whether he knows as well as I do that the world is never going to guarantee us a future together.