Page 54

FORTY-SIX

ruby

The ceiling fan in my childhood bedroom still wobbles exactly the way it did when I was a kid. I know because I’ve spent hours staring up at it the last few days.

I couldn’t wait for summer session to end so I could spend the couple of weeks before fall semester relaxing on campus, but I left for Lakeside right after my final class last week and haven’t been back.

I think most people go to their parents’ house for comfort when they’re hurting, so I don’t know why I’m here.

It’s not like this place isn’t completely saturated with memories of Lorenzo and me.

Maybe I want it to hurt so I can shake myself out of this self-imposed march toward misery.

Or maybe I just want to hide out. Even my parents—absolutely devoted to the notion that I should “earn my keep” with a mile-long list of chores when I’m home—sense something is wrong and have left me alone since I arrived.

Of course, who am I hiding out from? Lorenzo isn’t interested in speaking to me, and I have no one else.

It’s not the first time I’ve found myself friendless, but the last time was before I knew Lorenzo existed.

And who was I then? Nobody I recognize. A tiny kid, feisty and determined, but about nothing in particular.

I wish I still had that fire. Maybe that would make me strong in the face of Lorenzo’s anger.

I’ve never been on the receiving end of his anger, not with the ferocity I saw in him at the party the other day.

Like I’d finally make the mistakes he couldn’t stand to see.

The way he layered the words I’ve waited a lifetime to hear, it had to be forever with you , right up against the words I never imagined I would—that I can’t have him as my friend?

It’s a cruelty I never thought him capable of.

But at least there’s freedom in being cut loose from his life so completely. I’m beholden to no one. I can ruin my life with this stupid job in Canada if I want to, and I don’t have to care how anyone feels about it.

“We’re so relieved you used your good sense with this decision,” my dad says that evening as we sit gathered around the mahogany dining table that’s seen so many arguments. My parents have called a family meeting to discuss my accepting the job, and there’s an unmistakable glint in their eyes.

My mom pats my hand and beams at my father. “You’ve matured, Ruby. This proves it.”

Richard smiles. “We were losing hope. We’d always prayed that college would set you straight, help you get your feet on the ground, and we were getting discouraged, what with you still bopping around from this to that. But you were growing up right under our noses.”

“Thanks.”

“Great, so on to the details.” He straightens up, probably hopeful those compliments will be enough to last me my next twenty-one years.

“So the role that’s being set aside for you is a new one, custom designed, you could say.

” The brief smile that passes between him and my mother seems intended to go over my head. “Director of special projects.”

“What’s that include?”

“Well, in many ways, that’s yet to be determined. You’ll put whatever skills you have to use based on your education and see where the company might need to fill in some holes.”

Vague but okay. “I was actually thinking I might take some business courses to prepare. Or marketing if that’s one of my possible roles.”

“Sure. Hey, why not?” He doesn’t sound as impressed by my initiative as I’d expected.

“I could even look into a master’s degree if it would be an advantage. Maybe at Shafer. Two years would go quickly.”

My parents look concerned. “No, Ruby,” my mom says. “You’ll be expected in your new role as soon as you graduate.” No, Ruby. I’ve heard this so many times in my life and in that very same tone, the one you use for a five-year-old who still can’t seem to grasp the concept of sharing.

Something weird is going on. I look between my parents. “Why?” I ask bluntly.

“You’ll be needed.” But my dad sounds like he’s just pulling this out of his ass.

“How badly can they need me? They don’t even know what they want me to do.”

“They want you to work there,” he says sharply. “You should be thanking them—and us for making it happen.”

My dad’s flustered impatience is the giveaway. Realization hits me. “Is this even a real job? Or are you guys just making this up as you go along?”

“Does it matter much?” He pretends to be amused. “You haven’t even graduated from college and you already have job security for life.”

“Well, that’s not very motivating.”

“Excuse me?”

“What if I mess up? Will my job still be secure?”

My parents exchange confused glances. “You’re expected to make some mistakes,” Mom says carefully. “Everyone does in the beginning.”

“I mean what if I fuck up? Fuck up big-time.” I ignore my dad’s disapproving look. “Will they fire me?”

Richard’s features are pinched with irritation. “What sort of ‘fucking up’ do you propose to do?” he demands, and I try not to smile. Richard doesn’t approve of bad language, so when he repeats it, his voice takes on a ridiculous falsetto.

“Just my usual.”

My dad opens his mouth to scold me, but my mom is quicker, placing her hand on his. “What are you getting at, Ruby?”

“I just want to know why you’re giving me this job. You’ve spent my whole life threatening and punishing and taking away privileges when I didn’t do what you asked, and now you’re gifting me some amazing career?”

“Some kids might ask their parents such a question with a little gratitude in their voice.” He shakes his head. “You might not have this job for long if you don’t learn to show respect when it’s to your advantage.”

I stare at my dad, but what I’m seeing is Lorenzo standing in the driveway at his mom’s birthday party, telling me this would happen. He could be my dad’s speechwriter. “Grateful you’re giving me a job out of pity? Or grateful you found a new way to control me?”

“What is it you want here?” my father demands.

“We’d have loved to relinquish control of you years ago, but you didn’t turn out to be the type of child who could handle that.

And while you sit here throwing around accusations, we’re trying to course-correct for all the years we failed to keep you in line! ”

An admission. A blathering, passive-aggressive admission, but still.

As usual, my mom cuts straight through the bullshit. “We want you taken care of, Ruby. Somewhere we can see that you’re doing all right.”

It’s only when I feel the weight of it crushing me that I realize how hard I was trying to believe in anything but the truth.

“I have been doing all right.” I can barely stand the petulant sound of my own voice.

“My grades are up. I’m in touch with my advisor.

And—” I stop. It’s like déjà vu. I’ve spent my life trying to convince them to see things my way, and they stopped listening a long time ago.

There’s so much I need to say—how much I like my life, how much I like who I am when I’m not reacting to them.

I’m overflowing with words and the energy to unleash them, but for once I won’t do it.

I need that energy elsewhere. I stand up.

“Thanks for the offer, but I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want the job.”

“Sit down,” my mom says calmly.

“If I sit down, this is ending in a screaming match, don’t you think? So I’ll leave instead.” I turn and grab my bag.

“Don’t ruin a good thing,” she warns. “You won’t get this chance again.”

It’s meant to scare me and it does. I won’t get this chance again: money, comfort, a secure job no matter how inept I turn out to be. I have no other prospects. Except freedom. “I understand.”

My mom sits back and crosses her arms. “Then what will you do? It doesn’t sound like you have anything else.”

“I’ll figure it out like I always do.”

“Ruby.” My dad stands, his hands up in a placating manner.

His voice is shaky, and I realize what I’m seeing in his eyes is fear.

“Now look, we’ve been doing this your whole life.

Us telling you how to be, and you fighting tooth and nail to be anything but.

We get it, all right? We get it. You’re not going to do what we want. ”

I stop in the doorway. I don’t want to hear this, but here I am listening.

“You can be who you are, Ruby, and you can still take this job. You don’t have to prove anything to us anymore. We see you.”

They don’t, though. They see what I’m not—not a success, not a source of pride, not the daughter they hoped for. But they don’t see who I’ve become.

“Sorry, Dad,” I say, and I am. I see the pain in his face. It’s taken me years, but I understand that this is the best way he knows how to love me. It’s just not good enough. “But I don’t need this job. Do you understand that? I don’t need it anymore.”

For once I’ve silenced him. I look at my mom, but she looks unmoved.

She raises one brow in a challenge. “Suddenly you’re too good for this job because we can’t give you an hour-by-hour breakdown of your duties?”

“No. I was always too good for this job.”

As I take the front steps, I think about all the screaming matches I endured in this house with Lorenzo waiting for me on these very steps.

I remember the last time the four of us sat around a table together, that fierce look on his face when he defended me.

When he told them he loved me. His absence makes me feel scooped out, hollow.

I want him here to witness it, to put his arms around me and reassure me I’m not wrong for walking out like this.

I don’t feel strong enough to do this alone.

I’m doing it, though. I said the words, I’m halfway to my car, and I’m not taking the job. So maybe I’ve already done it all by myself.