Page 39

THIRTY-TWO

ruby

“Are you sure you want to get dragged into this?” I ask Lorenzo, glancing at him in the mirror again.

Tonight we’re celebrating my parents’ anniversary with dinner in Lakeside, and Lorenzo’s decision to honor the occasion by combing back his glossy hair and donning a crisp suit shirt is making preparations difficult because my eyes refuse to stay on my own work.

Lorenzo’s body wasn’t meant for a suit. Not because he doesn’t look hot as hell in it—my eyes keep drifting to his rolled-up sleeves and the way the clean white fabric cuts against his bronzed, tattooed forearms, half hiding the veins that stand out on his skin but doing absolutely nothing to diminish them.

No, he looks perfect in a suit, but the suit fails at its job to make him seem elegant and refined and like every other upstanding young man in a suit.

The suit can’t hide his immense, muscled body, and its failure only emphasizes the fact that he’s straight up sex on legs.

“I’m not being dragged.” He leans over the bed where his jacket is laid out and plucks a piece of lint from the lapel. “I enter into tonight’s dinner of my own free will.”

“Would you?” I hold up a gold pendant necklace, and he steps behind me, draping the chain around my neck.

The leathery scent of his cologne settles over me.

“You remember those words later when you’re listening to my dad’s eleventh retelling of how he impressed my mom on their first date with his story about a first-edition copy of some book no one’s heard of.

” But already my mind is drifting. The mere brush of Lorenzo’s fingertips at the back of my neck has me thinking about skipping dinner and undressing him instead.

“I’m going for you, not for Richard’s tales of personal glory.

” He fastens the necklace clasp and drops his head, kissing the sensitive skin where my shoulder meets my neck and sending bolts of electricity through me.

He knows nothing makes me weaker than that spot.

“Besides,” he says, nuzzling my neck, “your parents’ anniversary is the reason you exist. We should get fucking blasted tonight to celebrate. ”

Lorenzo was kidding, but as we walk into the bustling restaurant in Lakeside’s humble downtown, I’m thinking he was onto something with the idea of getting shit-faced.

Dinner with my parents is never without its drudgery, but tonight I have a goal that goes beyond just surviving the meal.

Assuming my dad is in a good mood—and he will be because nothing gets Richard’s rocks off like celebrating a personal milestone—I’m going to tell my parents I have big plans for myself after college. I can’t wait for their reactions.

My mom and dad stand to greet us as we head toward the rear of the restaurant, where their table sits against enormous arched windows. My heels clack on the sleek travertine floor, but I don’t soften my step.

“Happy anniversary,” I say brightly as I put my arms around my parents in turn. I ignore the disapproving look my mom shoots at the length of my skirt. I will not let this evening be ruined by their judgments or my resentments.

“Lorenzo, we’re so pleased you could join us!” My mom beams as he hands her a frilly pink-and-yellow gladiolus bouquet he picked out a few blocks up the street. “I don’t know why we haven’t had you at every anniversary dinner. You’re practically a member of this family!”

My mom actually thinks that’s a compliment.

I’m careful to keep a platonic distance from Lorenzo as we take our seats, but not without effort. My nerves are making my stomach roil, and I long for the reassuring feel of his hand around mine.

My parents carry most of the conversation, which is, predictably, boring and slightly self-aggrandizing. I zone out and rehearse my lines, promising myself I’ll commit to memory the looks of shock on their faces when they learn my failure-to-launch they’ve been banking on isn’t in the cards.

My moment comes after they’ve exclaimed over Lorenzo’s quick recovery and my mom turns to me, unleashing the inevitable question with her typical lack of optimism.

“And how’s school coming for you, Ruby?”

“Actually,” I say, my throat tightening as I fight to restrain a grin, “it’s all going really well.”

“Oh?” Richard pauses, wineglass halfway to his mouth. This is going to be good.

I nod. “I wasn’t sure if I should bring this up tonight,” I lie, “but it looks like a year from now I’ll have a career lined up and be living on my own.”

My mom’s bland smile remains in place. My dad blinks like he’s watching paint dry, then sips his wine uneventfully.

“Yes,” I say, not that anyone asked. “Things are really coming together.” I nod, trying to coax from my parents the reaction I’ve been waiting my entire life for.

“Okay,” my dad says slowly and, well, insultingly. “Tell us about that.”

I swallow, hating him. He says it in that arrogant, practiced way teachers have when they’re trying to hide that they think you sound like a fool. Instinctually, I glance at Lorenzo, who gives me a tiny nod. I find my voice again.

“Well, I have an A in Community Nutrition. And I’ve been speaking with my professor and she thinks this career idea I have—research chef, it’s called—is a great prospect for me. It takes some years of training, but it’s a really interesting career.”

“Ah,” my mom says tonelessly. My dad looks like he’s waiting for the punch line of a joke he hates.

I look between the two of them, willing them to react in some meaningful way.

I know I’m not breaking news of the first moon landing, but I’ve never come to them with good news about school. Ever. Are they even hearing me?

“Professor Wythe is tough,” Lorenzo says, trying to help.

“Right.” I swallow. “Right, and—” Shit, I forget what else I wanted to throw in their faces. I panic briefly. “And my job’s going fucking great,” I blurt out.

My father pulls a face like he just smelled a rancid fart.

“It’s going really well,” I recover. “My boss said they’ll keep me on through senior year and that he can write me a recommendation for my résumé.

And I’ve been good about saving money, so even if I don’t land a job immediately after graduation, I’ll be able to get by for months.

You guys won’t need to support me at all. ”

This final blow is packaged as a benefit to them but of course is meant to devastate. To plunge a knife into their image of me as helpless and endlessly underperforming. But so far they appear untouched by my words. In fact, my mom sighs. She actually fucking sighs .

“Well, that’s all nice.” My dad picks up his fork, digging into his steak. “Sounds like you have a little direction.”

The silence that follows is crushing. I almost can’t believe it. Who are these people? I look over at Lorenzo, but he’s staring at my father, his mouth set in a hard line. My dad, oblivious, is eating, and my mom has picked up the wine menu. It’s like I never said a word.

“I think that’s all pretty good,” I hear myself say, my voice embarrassingly childlike.

My dad looks up in surprise. “Well, sure. We never said it wasn’t good.” That’s all he says.

“But this is what you wanted.” I swallow. “Good grades. A steady job. A future lined up. It’s what you always wanted.”

My father wipes his mouth and lifts his chin and looks me square in the eye, and I know even before the words are out the meaning behind them. “No, it isn’t.”

I’m stunned. “Then what?”

My mom and dad exchange a look I’ve seen a thousand times but have never quite understood.

“At twenty-one years old, you’re finally earning a decent grade in one class?

You’ve held down a job for a few weeks that requires no critical thinking and has nothing to do with your career path?

And a job that requires years of training before it takes off, Ruby?

That kind of commitment requires a personality you don’t have. ”

“It won’t be long before you’re coming to us for loans,” my mom adds gravely. “Not to mention, years of training to become a cook ? What on earth ...” She shakes her head dismissively.

Richard nods neatly. “No, this is not what we wanted for you. We wanted more, much more.”

For a moment my mind goes blank. Then the heat of anger rushes through me. “But I’m figuring things out. I have a plan, just like you’ve been wanting. What the hell else do you expect?”

My dad pinches the bridge of his nose in a we’ve-been-over-this-a-hundred-times kind of way, but that’s the thing; we haven’t. I’ve never pulled my life together like this, yet they’re acting like it’s the same old shit Ruby’s always doled out. I look to my mom, hoping she can make it make sense.

She finally puts down the wine menu. “Are you ever going to get it, Ruby? We gave you everything and you’ve made nothing of it.

Not one thing that justifies the private school education, the years of tutors and strict schedules, the college tuition that we pay in full because you couldn’t be bothered to work for any scholarship. ”

My chair screeches loudly as I push away from the table. I feel eyes on me from surrounding tables, but I don’t care. “I’ve made a life. A life I actually like.”

“Fine.” My dad waves a casual hand in the air as though he has a single casual bone in his uptight body. “Enjoy it. But you come here expecting us to be impressed you’ve finally decided to lift a finger? We’re not. I’ve said it already: We wanted more.”

It’s not the sting of his words that silences me; it’s surprise at how true his words ring. Because in spite of what I told myself, I did want to impress them. More than I wanted to be a research chef or get an A or make money, I wanted to impress them.

Anger quickly replaces the hurt. “To answer your question, Mom, no , I’m never going to get it.

” I ball up the napkin in my lap, then toss it onto the table.

My mom arches an eyebrow, a warning look you might shoot a kid throwing a tantrum, and maybe that’s a fair assessment of my behavior.

But I have a feeling this is the last tantrum I’ll ever throw.

“I’m never going to get why nothing I do is enough, but you know what I am fucking sure of?

I’m done trying.” I stand up and look at Lorenzo.

“We’re leaving.” Then I turn for the door.

I know my parents won’t call after me—that would cause a scene, and they’re already mortified by my behavior. But I do expect Lorenzo’s hand on my shoulder at any second, and when it doesn’t come, I turn around.

His hands are flat on the table, and his dark eyes flash with anger as he says something inaudible to my stunned parents.

My dad opens his mouth, but Lorenzo won’t allow it.

“You’re fucking blind,” he snarls. My mom’s hand flies to her chest, and my father’s eyes widen in disbelief.

“You’re blind and you’re shit parents.” He stands up.

“Just for once, try opening your eyes and seeing who she is. Maybe you’d love her as much as I do. ”

Something ignites inside me, but the heat in my head won’t allow me to savor it.

I turn and stride out of the restaurant, too afraid to hear what my parents might say in response.

Shame and anger are my fuel, pushing me down the street, one block and then the next.

I keep seeing my parents’ faces, replaying their words in an endless, brutal loop.

Shame and anger are nothing new to me, but this is new, this scene where there’s a fire in my belly because I’m proud of myself, and my parents can only sit there dispassionately. It’s not supposed to be that way.

“Ruby!”

I hear my name belatedly, recognizing it only when his hand closes around my arm. I turn to find Lorenzo’s dark eyes anything but dispassionate.

“Ruby.” His breath comes quickly and his forehead shines. He must have run after me. He shrugs his broad shoulders, his eyes so full of understanding. “They’re shit, Ruby.”

His voice makes me want to cry, but I just drape my arms around his neck and let him pull me close. “I thought they’d be happy,” I say in a shaky voice. “I guess, for once, I actually wanted them to be. That’s where I went wrong.”

His arms tighten around me, and the solid warmth of his body is my whole world and everything I need. “No, you were doing what kids are supposed to do. It’s not your fault they won’t do what parents are supposed to.”

He’s right, and the simple truth of it fills me with such hopelessness that the tears finally spill.

For a moment he looks so sad I almost expect to see tears in his eyes, too, but his expression turns decisive, and he steers us down the sidewalk, holding me tight to his side.

The fierce look in his eyes dares anyone walking by to stare at my crying face and see what happens.

Back in the car, he turns onto the road that takes us toward the lake.

“I want to go back to Shafer,” I tell him. “Where are we going?”

“To our only escape.”