Chapter Thirty
Charlie
Ruby texts me less than twenty minutes later.
You left?
It was time
Sami shouldn’t have done that
Done what
The song
Her songs are great
I mean Long Time Coming
Can’t hear you
Got it
It’s that simple.
Or maybe it isn’t. Maybe this is super toxic and unhealthy for me, but I feel better with Ruby than without Ruby, so if this is how we make it work, I’m down.
Sunday morning she texts me to come over for brunch and promises Sami has to eat by herself in a corner, but I tell her I’m going climbing so Sami should be allowed to eat with them.
I meet some friends at the greenbelt along with a new guy named Kurt, and we spend the morning working up a technical route.
Kurt and I climb as partners, and he tells me he’s a geotechnical engineer and his current project has him playing in the dirt all day as he designs a foundation for a new apartment building in San Antonio.
It gets me thinking. Playing with rocks full time. Hmm.
Monday morning, I get an email from Sandy with a reminder about the library conference coming up, plus a request for a favor that has me texting Ruby.
Good morning, Ruby Tuesday
It’s better when I hear it
When do you come back here?
O’Connor?
Yes
Two weeks
Except have we ever thought Sandy is exploiting the proletariat?
As in us?
Yeah
Tricked me into helping at the tea
YES
Yes that you’re helping!
Yes she exploited you
Don’t lie and say you care
You love the tea
It’s fine
I grin because we both know I love the tea.
It’s an annual fundraiser at the O’Connor branch where the library invites an author with a book that features tea.
Sometimes it’s a nonfiction writer. Often it’s a cozy mystery or historical fiction author.
The library closes two hours early on a Saturday to host it, and it features finger foods, book talk, and most importantly, hats.
The hats, man.
Everyone dresses in their best “smart casual,” and in addition to the ticket they purchase to cover their admission, they must commit to make an additional donation equal to the cost of their hat.
The ladies wear fascinators. That’s not a part of a formal high tea in most places, but this is Texas: we like hats. We like statement hats, even in laidback Austin.
The ladies do not hold back. They come in with swooping feathers, glitter, wax fruit, bedazzled birds, silk flowers, real flowers, mesh, velvet, satin.
Ruby and I volunteer to work the tea every year because it’s fun. From a fashion standpoint, it’s wilder than the Eeyore party in its own way.
I don’t make any plans with Ruby for the rest of the week, although I think about it.
I consider seeing if she wants to grab lunch when I’m off on Tuesday, or if she wants to see the major summer movie releasing on Wednesday.
We love big, loud action movies, and that goes double for superhero movies.
But I need to keep our in-person hangs spaced out while I adjust, and Ruby must sense this because she doesn’t invite me to anything either.
It’s enough to know we’ll see each other on Saturday.
In other ways, it almost feels like before.
We text constantly. Dumb stuff. Regular stuff.
Funny stuff. Quirky stuff that happens at work.
Ruby tells me she’s pretty sure Josh is going to propose soon, and how she’s happy for them, but not sure how to navigate the changes as each of her roommates moves on.
I remind her that it’s her fault, and she sends back a Summer I Turned Pretty gif wherein Belly says something isn’t her fault.
After a long day shipping out shoes on my day off, I text her to complain that I don’t love it, and I resent that it makes me money, but also I like having money, so could she confirm whether I’m a sellout?
She sends me a gif of Yoda telling me to search my feelings followed by a meme of some guy rolling in a pile of money, which accurately reflects my feelings on the subject.
Saturday morning, I wake up happy because today I’ll see Ruby. It confirms that spacing out the time I spend with her is the right move for now. Or maybe it isn’t. Maybe it’s the scarcity that’s making me want her more. Maybe I’m the victim of my own stupid supply chain manipulation.
That tracks.
But that afternoon, I dress for Ruby. Everyone who knows me probably expects me to roll up in seersucker or a bowtie and suspenders, but I’m bringing out a secret weapon.
I choose light gray linen trousers and a silk blend dress shirt, pale blue with a faded navy floral pattern on it.
I leave it open at the collar. The floral print is the key.
Joey and I may be the only dudes I know who truly know how to enjoy fashion, and that the number of women who want more of your time increases when you wear a floral.
Operating theory: it projects security in our masculinity?
When I walk into the transformed library event room, trellises with fairy lights now covering the municipal walls, tables set with linen and china, I have a moment to take in Ruby as she directs a caterer where to place a tiered plate stand.
She’s chosen a fitted dress, not at all what I expected. Usually, tea guests arrive in flowered dresses with skirts that are the opposite of fitted. But there’s Ruby in solid dark pink, and the way it curves over her backside before ending below her knees nearly has me swallowing my tongue.
When she catches sight of me and calls, “Hey, Charlie Bucket. What’s good,” I can’t actually answer for a second.
She makes her way to me on a pair of tan heels that are as high as I’ve ever seen her in, but she weaves through the tables like it’s easy to strut on toothpicks.
“No hitches so far,” she says as she reaches me.
I blink at her.
“In the prep? No hitches so far,” she repeats. “Not big ones, anyway. Sandy is straightening something out with the tickets but sounds like it’ll be fine. We should be ready to start in an hour with no problem.” Ruby can be talkative, but this is chatter. Pre-event nerves?
As if she recognizes it too, she closes her mouth and takes a breath deep enough for me to see it expand the, uh, chest part of her dress.
She tilts her head and reaches out to touch my shirt. “Nice shirt. Is it new?”
I nod, then, cursing myself for being more awkward than I have ever been around her, I add, “Nice dress.”
She smiles down at it. “Not new. Thrifted, and my mom tailored it for me.”
Should have known. It’s not tight, but it fits so well it almost looks like it was sewn onto her. I glance around and point at the dark-pink flowers in the nearest centerpiece. “You match those.”
“Peonies,” she says. “I’ll take it.”
Now I’m staring at her lips, which instead of her trademark red, are a softer version of her dress color. They quirk on one side, and I pull my gaze away to scan the room, looking for something to bail me out of drowning in her.
“What can I help with? The trellises?” It’s a stupid question.
The centerpieces are fresh flowers but the trellises are done with artificial flowers the library borrows, and they would have had volunteers working on them yesterday.
Each table has been designed by someone different too, volunteers who enjoy the art of setting a table and who supply their own china, napkins, and flatware.
I’d never thought of setting a table as an art until I attended the first tea.
These ladies win ribbons at fairs and stuff, and I can see why.
Ruby glances around. “It’s good in here. Check on Sandy in the office. She wanted to see you about the conference, and while you’re there, see if you can help with the ticketing issue?”
“Sure.” Relief flickers in her eyes before she turns away with a smile to give the caterer another instruction.
I walk into the back office to find Sandy, wondering what Ruby’s relief means. I’m sure she’s glad I’m here. Is it related to her nervous chatter? Seeing me made her nervous, and space from me is a relief. Is that it? If so, what are the nerves for?
In the short moments it takes me to reach the offices, I decide to drop it. One of the very best parts of being Ruby-and-Charlie is how easy it’s always been. I changed that with my confession, and I’m going to start fixing it now. This is Ruby. Let it be easy.
Five minutes before the event starts, the ticketing problem is solved and I go back to the event room with an iPad, ready to check people in as they arrive.
“Come be a greeter, Ruby,” Sandy says, sailing past me into the room. “Keep up small talk as Charlie checks their reservation, and it’ll make the wait feel shorter. You’ll recognize enough of the guests to keep this moving.”
Ruby nods and joins me by the door, carrying a nest of cream feathers and sparkles. “One last thing. Time to fascinate. Camera?”
I open the iPad and flip it so she can check her reflection.
She settles her fascinator on her dark hair, sliding in a couple of hairpins to secure it.
The “nest” resolves into a profusion of artful feathers, some short and thick, others tall and willowy, almost like miniature sheaves of wheat.
A thin, glittery ribbon weaves through it all.
It’s scaled to Ruby’s size but it’s dramatic, and I’m sure Madison would say the cream pops against the pink and especially Ruby’s hair.
She nods and I switch back to the reservation list. “Definitely fascinating,” I tell her as she readies her social smile.
“Simple dress to let the millinery shine.” She gives the fascinator a soft pat. “I liked the contrast.”
The guests will arrive soon since it’s considered poor form to be late to tea, and sure enough, we’re already two-thirds of the way through the list within ten minutes.
The hum of social chatter rises above the soft rock piano music Sandy has playing, and the familiar vibe of the tea takes hold.
It’s hard to explain. There’s a carefree energy that’s gentle without being muted.
It’s pleasant in the truest sense. Uncomplicated and novel as people do something enjoyable and outside of their comfort zones as they wear their teatime best and exclaim over each other’s headwear.
Which makes it more jarring when Ruby freezes. It’s only a split second, but I follow her eyes until I see what caught her, and I choke on a cussword that wouldn’t go over well at a society tea.
Niles and his fiancée are waiting to check in.