Betting on the Brainiac: a Sweet Romantic Comedy

35. Chapter Thirty-Five

Friday

Saw my new wall art. It isn’t made of underwear.

Kazi mats handwoven from Rwandan sisal and sweetgrass.

There’s no collection called Transgression, is there?

No. But how nervous did I make you?

So dainty and yet so evil.

Monday

Did you see the bowl?

pic of Tabitha in bowl>

That’s Phoenician glass.

link to “Cats in Bowls” video>

She’s not a regular-glass cat. That’s offensive.

We have more in that collection. Made on the West Bank. Super expensive. What’s the limit on your card?

. . .

Wednesday

Fun fact about me: Apparently I am a guy who puts up framed wedding photos.

You are now!

What are these frames made of?

Repurposed computer parts and mango wood. India. Asha Handicrafts. Been doing good work forever.

Is it normal for a guy to have 12 wedding photos in his living room?

Is it normal for a guy to be in a marriage of convenience?

Point taken. Is it normal for 11 of those to be his bride?

If she’s being funny, yes.

Thursday

Like your new blanket?

Tabitha won’t let me use it. Looks cool.

It’s made out of recycled water bottles.

But it felt soft before she smacked my hand for touching it.

The bottles are made into PET yarn. Look it up. Super interesting.

Are the couch pillows water bottles too?

Hand-dyed wool on cotton warp. Pakistani. Natural dyes.

My living room is the United Nations.

Enjoy it, Secretary-General.

It does look good. I’m sitting in it now after doing some bookkeeping at the store. In fact, as I glance around, I decide this room is finished. The “anonymous condo” aesthetic has warmed up to an urban retreat. Oliver’s plain gray sofa hadn’t felt much like him, so I scoured Teak Heart for things that do. Now there are browns and greens and oranges. Good earthy colors with lots of natural materials from fibers to wood.

In my imagination, he’d sit on this sofa and look right at home. But imagination and his texts are all I have to go on, because Oliver is still more like Casper, haunting his office, never home. I haven’t seen him since our conversation last week.

I still don’t know what to make of Oliver’s questions about possibly catching feelings. At first, I’d thought he was flirting, and I already didn’t know what to think about that because . . . I didn’t hate it? But he was making a point, not flirting, showing how easily things can tip from friendship to more. A typically polite Oliver way to set boundaries, like You can make it look like you’re living here, but don’t confuse this for something else.

He’s right that we should have talked about it point-blank before this all became official. I’d considered bringing it up before the wedding, but since Oliver hadn’t shown any romantic interest in me, I’d let it go. I hadn’t considered I’d be the problem.

Not that I am. Or will be . . . ? I push away images of Oliver’s tattooed shoulders and low-riding pajama pants. No, I won’t be the problem because Oliver was smart enough to set that boundary. He just accidentally triggered me to consider how it could become a problem, and now I get these annoying popups with full sensory memory in my brain.

I need to quit dwelling on a non-problem and work on a real one: how to get on my parents’ nerves this week.

I’ll need vision and a public space, two Ruby Ramos specialties.

“How do you get things done in here all day?” I ask Ruby this as I scan this section of the Sandra Day O’Connor branch of the city library system. It’s a medium-sized branch in an older section of town. It was renovated before Ruby started here, so it’s got the best of all worlds: updated furnishings, unmarred tables, an efficient layout, and most importantly, the smell of books. “I’d read and forget to do my job.”

“You’d be surprised how much there is to keep you busy in a day.” Her back is to me as she studies the display case we’re taking over. She’d been all for collaborating with the store on a fair-trade exhibit.

“She does forget to come back from lunch sometimes,” Charlie says. He’s sketching the glass case on an iPad so we can figure out how we want to display everything. His eyes flicker Ruby’s way more often than a coworker’s would—even a coworker who is a good friend.

How does she not see this? Guess that’s what happens when you have a Niles-shaped dust mote in your eye for years.

“If I promise you unlimited book-browsing time when we’re done, will you come over here and look at this, please?” Ruby asks.

“Yes, Ruby-Roo.” I join her at the case. It’s seven feet high and about that wide. “The shelves aren’t as deep as I was thinking, so that’s going to limit some of my ideas, but they’re adjustable, right?”

“They are. How about putting the brass cuffs and bracelets from Nepal here and alpaca knit items from Peru on that side?” she asks, pointing.

“I like that. I want to make sure we get the woven baskets from Dhaka in there, because if I weren’t a lady, I’d say it’s a clear middle finger to my dad. But I am a lady, so all I’m saying is they’ll be front and center of the invitation I send to my parents to come see this exhibit.”

Instead of smiling, Ruby sighs. “I don’t love all this revenge against family stuff.”

“What?!”

Charlie hushes me.

I grimace but lower my voice. “You are all in for petty revenge when someone wrongs one of your people, and that’s if they cut line at HEB. My dad killed and maimed hundreds of people and refused to take accountability.”

Charlie gives a soundless whistle. “I didn’t know all of that. Here for all the revenge.”

I glare at Ruby. “See? Putting up fair-trade goods from Dhaka and sending him a picture is the least that man deserves. This is not an impatient shopper at the market, Ruby. This. Is. Darth. Vader.”

Ruby looks torn before she finally sighs. “Fine but promise to at least give Kaitlyn an unironic invitation.”

“Kaitlyn the spy?” But when Ruby’s lips flatten into her do-not-mess-with-this-librarian line, I hold up my hands in surrender. “Deal.”

And then we’re off, collaborating, figuring out a flow and rhythm for the pieces in the photos I brought. I haven’t worked with Ruby on something like this before. It’s not a surprise to see how thoughtfully and efficiently she works, but it’s fun to watch her in her natural habitat. I hope this means she’s feeling more like herself.

When we have a plan worked out among the three of us, I bring it up. “It’s good to see you in action. Is Niles starting to move to the rearview?”

“This is a sacred non-Niles space,” she says, dismissing the question. “But while we’re all up in each other’s business, how’s it going with you and Oliver?”

“Fine. Turns out a business marriage is easy if he gives you his credit card to decorate his place and you never see him.”

“So, not great?”

“I literally just said it’s perfect.”

Ruby shoots up her eyebrows and looks at Charlie. “That’s not what I heard. Is that what you heard?”

He shakes his head. “Nope. That is not what I heard.”

“You mean from Oliver?” I get a cold feeling in my stomach at the idea that he’s unhappy with the situation and he’s not telling me. “Is he mad I’m spending too much money? He seemed fine.”

“I’m talking about you,” Ruby says. “It doesn’t sound like it’s going great. You sound bummed that you’re not seeing him more.”

“Uh, no? None of us misses each other at home when one of us has a super busy week. It’s like that with Oliver. He’s working all the time. Too much, to be honest, but not because I need him around more. Because it’s not healthy to spend that much time doing anything.”

“We do miss each other,” Ruby says. “Remember forcibly kidnapping Ava to take time off? But even if it’s one busy week, I don’t think I miss one of y’all until suddenly we’re around each other again, and then I realize I was missing you super much. That hasn’t happened to you?”

“It has,” I say. “But we’ve been friends for at least eight past lives, plus seven years in this one. Oliver and I have known each other two months.”

“Part of which you’ve been married,” Ruby points out. “And not that I’m not hurt and sulking about it all, you told him all the stuff you never told us. You don’t think that means something?”

“It means he walked in and overheard a fight with my dad. Why are you even bringing this up, weirdo? You were the one who said he and I aren’t a good fit.” Then it hits me. “Oh!” I gasp, and Charlie looks like he wants to shush me again. “Ruby Ramos, you’re still trying to win this bet before the end of the year, and since I’m married for eleven more months, you’re stuck trying to win using Oliver.”

Ruby sends Charlie an amused glance before she steps closer to cup my chin. “You beautiful, clueless, cotton-headed ninnymuggins. Mads, how can you have watched me work on Sami and Ava—even helped me with both—and not see right through me?”

For a second, I almost buy it. Then I narrow my eyes. “No way. You’re trying to be all schemey now, but there is no way you sent me a dorky beanpole in an oversized hoodie and thought I would go for it.”

“Charlie?” Ruby lets her hand fall away but keeps her eyes on mine. “Show her the text.”

Charlie must have been waiting for this because he’s got his phone ready. Without a word, he hands it over.

I stare down at it, not processing at first.

“Check the time stamps.” Ruby’s voice would sound kind and helpful to anyone else, but I’m not fooled; there is glee beneath it. The texts are from mid-August, a few days before Oliver started working in the club. The first one is from Ruby.

Time to bait the trap.

Don’t say trap. Makes you sound deranged.

It’s a trap like if you catch a raccoon always tearing up your trash, so you bait a trap with potato chips and move the raccoon to a nice forest where it can eat nuts.

That’s most of the plot of Over the Hedge.

Rainy day movie at the library last week. Good flick. Time to help the raccoon.

I look up. “Who is the raccoon and who is the bait?”

Ruby only gestures to the phone, smiling.

side-eye gif>

Just soften him up. And lie about what we’re up to.

Don’t say lie.

He’ll love Madison, right?

Yes. Fine.

I give it 2 months, only bc Madi is the most hardheaded.

Then the date changes and they’re talking about some library outreach thing.

I hand it back. Ruby is watching me with a small smile. Smug doesn’t look good on her.

“What did you think I would say?” I ask her, my voice quiet and flat.

Her smile fades. “Are you mad?”

“Am I mad?” I give a few gentle nods, mostly because I’m self-soothing before I lose it. “I hate being manipulated by my parents so much that I’m here planning an exhibit to teach them a lesson. So yes, Ruby Ramos, I’m upset to find out I’m your puppet too.”

I scoop up my bag beside the display case and head for the exit.

“That’s not what I’m doing,” Ruby says, hurrying to keep up with me. “I was helping!”

I keep walking. I know this looks like an overreaction to her, but ever since the fight with my dad when I said out loud how much I hated their attempts to control and coerce me, the resentment has grown, not eased. This coming from Ruby…at least with my parents I had a choice to actively work against it. This feels far too much like being lied to.

She scrambles to keep up. “I wasn’t manipulating you! I followed a gut feeling that you and Oliver would click, and I made sure you had a reason to spend time together. You would have made up a dozen reasons to peace out if I told you that.”

I glance over my shoulder to see if Charlie is there. He is, keeping a short distance behind Ruby, his face concerned. “Maybe you can explain the problem to her. Or maybe not since you went along with it.”

“Grudgingly. I went grudgingly.”

“Charlie,” Ruby protests.

I’m almost to the main entrance, and I pour on speed. Now Ruby has to jog to keep up.

“Mads, please, let’s talk about this.”

I’m moving so fast that the sliding door barely opens in time to let me through. I honestly think I could have charged right through it. I’m mad enough to chew glass; why not walk through it? I bet it would be cathartic to hear the glass shatter, like a physical manifestation of my anger.

She sets her hand on my arm, but I shake it off. “Leave me alone, Ruby.”

I head straight for my car, and I’m already in the driver’s seat when Charlie catches up.

“Madison, I’m sorry, and I know Ruby’s really—”

“Don’t tell Oliver yet.”

Charlie blinks at me.

“It’s going to force a conversation between us, and I don’t have the bandwidth for it right now. Can you both do me at least that favor?”

He nods. “Okay.”

I slam my door shut and back out, turning my car in the direction that will take me the long way out of the parking lot. But at least I won’t have to go past them.