Chapter 2
2
RUBY
I stand on Dad's doorstep, staring at the chipped paint and willing myself to enter. After the day I've had, I'm not sure I'm up for a family dinner. But hey, given that I live here and have nowhere else to go, I turn the doorknob and enter. Dad never locks his front door.
And as I’m pushing the door, it swings open, revealing my dad's beaming face.
"Ruby Tuesday!" he exclaims, pulling me into a bear hug that smells of Old Spice and whatever's burning in the kitchen.
What is it about one of Dad’s hugs that brings a lump to my throat, especially after a crappy day?
But I buck up. The last thing in the world I want is to worry him. He’s been through enough shit of his own.
So I tickle his ribs, making him bellow with laughter. "Dad, really? Ruby Tuesday ? You’re still using that one?"
I pretend to be annoyed. But of course, I love it. I love everything about my dad. Except, maybe, his meatloaf.
"Hey, you’re my daughter. I can call you whatever endearment I want. Come on in, kiddo. Tyler and Lucy are already here."
Great. Just what I need—an evening of watching my perfect NHL star brother and his perfect girlfriend make goo-goo eyes at each other over Dad's famously dry meatloaf.
I follow him into the living room of his modest little house ‘out in the avenues,’ one of the residential sections of San Francisco. His is a cozy, if slightly cramped, row house that's seen better days. Tyler's constantly trying to convince him to let him buy him a swanky condo downtown, but Dad's more likely to trade in his beloved Lazy-Boy than move out of this place. He’s not leaving this house except in a coffin, as he likes to say. I love him for his stubbornness. Most of the time.
"Rubes!" Tyler bounds up from the couch, all six-foot-whatever of him unfolding like some kind of ridiculously handsome jack-in-the-box. He scoops me up in a hug that lifts my feet off the ground. "How's my favorite librarian?"
"Underpaid and over-shelved," I grunt, trying to wriggle free. "Put me down, you overgrown lab puppy."
He sets me down with a grin, and I turn to Lucy, who's watching our sibling antics with fond amusement. "Hey, Lucy. How's life with the human Golden Retriever?"
Lucy laughs, her teeth gleaming. Seriously, does this girl have any flaws? "Oh, you know, lots of belly rubs and games of fetch."
"I heard that," Tyler calls from where he's already made his way to the kitchen, no doubt to ‘test’ whatever Dad's cooking.
I flop onto the couch, kicking off my shoes and trying not to wince. Note to self—maybe breaking in new clogs by wearing them for a full shift wasn't the brightest idea.
"I like your shoes. But hey did you have a rough day?" Lucy asks, her voice gentle.
I consider lying, putting on the same brave face I wore at the library. But something about Lucy's kind eyes makes me want to spill my guts. I adore my future sister-in-law. No two ways about it. In spite of her perfect-ness.
I nod. "You could say that. Let's just say if there was an Olympic event for humiliation, I'd be bringing home the gold."
Lucy opens her mouth to respond, but she's cut off by a roar from the kitchen.
"Dinner's ready!" Dad calls. "Tyler, stop eating the garlic bread!"
We make our way to the dining room, where Dad's setting out his culinary masterpiece, something he makes with scary regularity. He likes it not only because it’s easy but especially because it comes from Mom’s old cookbook.
He only makes things from her cookbook, which is the sweetest thing. But Mom’s been gone nearly twenty years, so his rotation of dishes is getting a little tired. Not to mention dated.
Not that I would ever say anything.
The meatloaf looks like it might have been featured in a World War II ration cookbook, with a side of mashed potatoes that are more lump than mash, and a bowl of peas that were probably stored in the freezer for a year. It's a far cry from the Michelin-star restaurants Tyler probably dines at on the regular, but it still makes both our hearts twinge with nostalgia. When it comes down to it, it doesn’t matter how any of this tastes. We’re together, and that’s what matters.
“Yum, Dad,” I say, and I mean it. There's something comforting about the reliable mediocrity of his cooking.
We settle in, passing dishes and pouring drinks. Tyler immediately launches into a story about his latest game, complete with dramatic reenactments that threaten to knock over the gravy boat.
"So there I was, ten seconds left on the clock," he says, waving a piece of garlic bread like a hockey stick. "Two defenders closing in, the goalie's eyes locked on mine..."
"Let me guess," I interject dryly. "You scored the winning goal, the crowd went wild, and rose petals rained from the sky as you were carried off the ice on the shoulders of your adoring teammates."
Tyler grins, not at all put off by my sarcasm, and Lucy stifles a giggle. "Close. No rose petals, but I did get a pretty sweet Gatorade shower."
"Ah yes, nothing says 'athletic glory' quite like being doused in neon-colored sugar water."
Dad chuckles, shaking his head. "You two never change. Ruby Tuesday, how's the library? Any exciting new books come in?"
I stab a pea with perhaps more force than necessary. "Oh, you know, it's a real page-turner. Will Ruby shelve the romance novels correctly? Can she decipher Mrs. Johnson's illegible hold requests? Will she make it through a shift without getting hit on by creepy dudes looking for 'research materials' in the anatomy section? The suspense is killing me ."
A silence falls over the table. I look up to find three pairs of concerned eyes trained on me.
"What?" I ask, suddenly defensive. "Can't a girl make sarcastic comments about her soul-crushing job in peace?"
"Sweetie," Dad says gently, "is everything okay? You seem a little... down."
I open my mouth, ready to brush off their concern with another witty deflection. But as I look around at their worried faces, something in me crumbles. Before I know it, I'm spilling the whole sordid tale—Tod's post-it breakup, the library gossip mill, and a growing sense that I'm wasting my life surrounded by books I will never have time to read.
And then there’s that elusive college degree, the one thing everything else seems to hinge on.
There's a moment of silence as my family digests my outpouring of self-pity. Then Tyler, bless his heart, tries to lighten the mood.
"Look on the bright side, Rubes," he says. "At least you're not dating a dude named Tod anymore. I mean, Tod ? That’s a definite douchebag name."
Despite myself, I snort. "Thanks, Ty. I'll remember that the next time I'm tempted by a man in a Star Trek tie."
"That's my girl," Dad says with a smile. "You know, Ruby, if you want me to, I could come downtown and you know, have a ‘talk’ with this guy. If you know what I mean.”
I look at him in horror. It’s one thing for Matthew to joke around about beating Tod up, but my father? Really ?
“Um, well, Dad, I don’t really think?—”
Everyone at the table bursts into laughter, and I realize my wallowing has interfered with my sense of humor.
“Oh ha-ha, I get it now. Very funny,” I say. "Thanks, Dad."
I know I don’t need to say anything more, and a warmth grows in my chest that has nothing to do with the meatloaf.
It’s good to know your dad has your back, even if it’s not appropriate for him to beat up your enemies.
It’s the thought that counts, and all that.
“If you want to know the truth, Rubes,” Tyler says, “carting books around all day sounds like one boring ass job.”
“Tyler,” Lucy admonishes with a hiss.
Tyler squirms like he always does when the love of his life scolds him.
As if on cue, there's a soft thud from the living room just as I’m about to put my big brother in his place. We turn to look and I sigh as I spot my backpack tumbling to the floor, spilling all its contents and leaving them on full display—tampons, a hairbrush, an empty Coke can, a random sock, and a certain colorful flyer I swiped from the bulletin board at work.
Tyler's on it like a shot, trying to be helpful and snatching up my junk before I can stop him. His eyes widen as he reads. A librarian wellness retreat? In Costa Rica? Rubes, are you planning a trip?"
I groan, burying my face in my hands. "No, I'm not planning a trip. I'm planning to wallow in self-pity while fantasizing about escaping to a place where no one knows I dated the human equivalent of a dial-up modem."
"This looks amazing!" Lucy chimes in, peering over Tyler's shoulder at the flyer. "White sand beaches, yoga at sunrise, meditation... honey, this could be just what you need."
I lift my head, fixing her with a look that I hope conveys the full extent of my broke-ass librarian status. "Yeah, it looks great. So does a Ferrari, but you don't see one of those in the driveway, do you?"
"Come on, Rubes," Tyler says, his eyes lighting up with that look he gets when he's about to suggest something ridiculous. "Why not go for it? You deserve a break."
I laugh, but it comes out sounding more bitter than I intend. "Sure, let me just check my trust fund. Oh wait, I don't have one of those. Some of us work for a living, Mr. NHL."
Tyler's face falls, and I immediately feel like the world's biggest jerk. It's not his fault he's successful. If anything, he's annoyingly generous with his money—always trying to help out, even when I'm too proud to accept it.
"I'm sorry," I sigh. "That was uncalled for. I'm just... frustrated. With everything."
"We know, sweetie," Dad says, reaching over to pat my hand. "But maybe Tyler has a point. A change of scenery could do you good. And if money's the only thing holding you back..."
I hold up a hand, cutting him off. "Dad, no. I appreciate it, but I can't take your money. Or yours," I add, shooting a pointed look at Tyler, who's already reaching for his wallet.
"It wouldn't be taking," Tyler argues. "Think of it as an investment in your mental health. Or better yet, think of it as payback for all those times I made you play goalie in the backyard."
"Pretty sure those childhood traumas are worth way more than a trip to Costa Rica," I gripe.
Lucy, ever the peacemaker, jumps in. "What if we made it a loan? You could pay it back over time, no interest."
I bite my lip, considering. The thought of escaping to a tropical paradise is tempting—so tempting it hurts more than my sore feet. But the idea of being in debt to my family, of admitting I can't handle my problems on my own...
"I don't know," I hedge. "It's a lot of money, and I've got responsibilities here. My job..."
"And those will still be there when you get back," Dad finishes. "Ruby, honey, I've watched you pour your heart and soul into that library for a year now. You've earned a break. And if this retreat helps you figure out what you really want to do with your life, well, that's worth more than money."
I look around at their faces, swallowing away the lump in my throat. When did I get so lucky with this weird, wonderful family of mine?
"I'll think about it. But," I add quickly, seeing Tyler's triumphant grin, "I'm not making any promises. And if I do go, it's a loan. With interest. And a contract. Notarized."
Tyler laughs, reaching over to ruffle my hair. "Whatever you say, sis. Now, who wants to arm wrestle for the last piece of garlic bread?"
As the conversation devolves into playful bickering and more hockey stories, I sit back, fear, excitement, gratitude, and just a tiny spark of hope swirling in me.
Maybe, just maybe, this Costa Rica thing could be my ticket to a fresh start. Or, knowing my luck, it could be a disaster of epic proportions. But hey, at least it'll make for a good story.
If only I could afford it.
“I’ll race you to a game of Scrabble,” Tyler says, extending a hand for me to vacate the dining table.
“Well, I was gonna help clean the dinner dishes. And besides, don’t you have to get up at the crack of dawn tomorrow for practice?” I ask.
“I got the dishes. Go play,” Lucy calls while my dad just gets in her way trying to help.
Tyler opens the Scrabble box and gestures for me to join him across the coffee table. “Yeah, I do have to get up early. But it doesn’t take long to beat you, so I’m sure I’ll be home and asleep within the hour.”
Such a lie. I nearly always win.
But tonight is not one of those nights. My brain is elsewhere—only I’m not really sure where. I do know it’s not in Dad’s living room where I’m sitting across the table from Tyler, who whoops my butt.
Lucy plops down on the sofa next to me and throws an arm around my shoulders. In spite of my attempts to act like nothing bothers me, I drop my head on her shoulder, and I have to admit, it feels good. She doesn’t replace my mother, not that anyone ever could, but she is making a damn good big sister. I can’t wait for Tyler and her to get married and seal the deal. That way she’ll be well and truly stuck with the Brooks clan.