Chapter 45 Ruby
RUBY
The cable cars clatter in the distance as we make our way up one of San Francisco’s iconic hills, my mother walking beside me at a pace slower than I remember—or maybe I’m the one who’s slowed down.
We navigate Russian Hill together, our shoulders occasionally brushing—a physical reminder of the space I’ve kept between us these past years.
“I’m sorry I haven’t been home sooner,” I say, adjusting my sunglasses against the glare. “And for not inviting you and Dad to Vegas.”
Mom reaches up to smooth back her hair—auburn like mine but with elegant streaks of silver threading through it—as the breeze from the bay catches it.
“Sweetheart, you don’t need to apologize.” Her voice catches. “We just missed you.”
“I know, but—”
“No,” she says, stopping on the sidewalk to face me. “When you lose someone you love, there’s no manual for grief. We understood that you needed space.”
I swallow against the tightness in my throat. “It wasn’t fair to shut you out.”
She gives me a sad smile. “It was hard to know you were suffering and didn’t want our help.
Every time I called and you rushed off the phone, every invitation you declined…
I felt like I was losing you too when all I wanted was to take you in my arms and hold you.
But I don’t blame you, Ruby. You handled it the only way you were able to handle it. ”
The weight of my selfishness settles on my shoulders. I’ve been so consumed by my own pain that I never fully considered theirs.
“But I shouldn’t have shut you out,” I whisper.
She squeezes my hand. “You’re here now. That’s what matters.” She pauses, studying my face. “Though I’m still surprised by this spontaneous visit. When you called from the airport yesterday, your father and I could hardly believe it.”
I smile ruefully, thinking of my abrupt departure from Vegas—tossing clothes into a bag, canceling meetings, barely stopping to think. Athena’s words by the pool had left me reeling.
“I missed you and Dad,” I say, and it’s not even a lie. “I just…needed to be home.”
We continue down to North Beach, and the neighborhood pulses with summer energy—tourists in shorts with city maps, sidewalk cafés filled with people seeking shade, ice cream parlors with lines snaking down the block.
My heart stutters when we turn onto Columbus Avenue and I spot Café Trieste.
The small coffee house with its faded awning and cramped interior hasn’t changed at all.
Claire and I used to come here almost every Saturday when we first started dating—law students gorging on caffeine and stolen moments between study sessions.
I stop, staring at the entrance.
“Ruby?” Mom follows my gaze, understanding dawning on her face. “Is this…”
“Where Claire and I used to come,” I finish. “Do you mind if we go in?”
The bell above the door jingles as we enter, and the blast of air conditioning is a welcome relief from the summer heat.
Inside, it’s just as I remember—worn wooden tables crowded too close together, vintage photos of San Francisco on the walls, the ancient espresso machine hissing behind the counter.
We order and find a small table near the window. Mom removes her sunglasses, laying them neatly beside her purse.
“Your father was disappointed he couldn’t join us today,” she says with a small sigh. “That board meeting couldn’t be moved.”
“I should have given you more notice.”
She waves this away. “An unexpected visit from our daughter? We’ll take it any way we can get it.” She studies my face. “What really prompted this sudden trip home?”
I stare into my iced coffee, watching condensation gather on the glass. “Things have changed,” I say simply. “For the better. But I couldn’t think straight anymore, and I needed perspective.”
“Something with work?”
“No. Something personal.”
A cautious smile spreads across her face. “I can see it. There’s color in your cheeks. Your eyes are brighter.” She reaches across the table to place her hand over mine. “You look more like my Ruby again.”
The wooden chair creaks as I lean back, gathering my thoughts. “I’ve met someone,” I say. “My neighbor. She’s been…very helpful.”
Mom’s expression remains carefully neutral, though I catch the momentary widening of her eyes.
“It’s complicated,” I continue. “Her name is Athena. She owns the Olympus casino.”
“That’s quite a neighbor.” Mom takes a sip of her iced tea, watching me over the rim. “And she’s been helpful how?”
“She lost someone too, years ago, and she understands grief.” I pause. “She pushed me to move on and stop drowning myself in work.”
“She sounds wonderful.”
“She is.”
Mom tilts her head, studying me with the perceptiveness that used to drive me crazy as a teenager. “And is she the reason you suddenly needed to come home? Did something happen?”
I look down at my hands, at the condensation from my glass making a small puddle on the table. “She told me she has feelings for me, and I panicked. I couldn’t work, couldn’t think. So I got on a plane.”
“You ran,” Mom says gently.
“I guess I did.”
“Do you have feelings for her too?”
The directness of the question startles me, but it’s why I came home—to hear the questions I’ve been avoiding asking myself.
“Yes,” I admit. “And it terrifies me. I feel like I’m being unfaithful to Claire.”
Mom frowns. “But you’re not. You’re moving on, and that’s good, Ruby. That’s really good.”
“I know. It just feels that way.”
The café has filled with the summer afternoon crowd—tourists seeking respite from the heat, students with laptops, locals reading newspapers. A barista calls out orders over the din of conversation and the hiss of steam.
“The last time we were here,” I say, “Claire was working on her pro bono case for the environmental coalition. She had papers spread all over the table, completely oblivious to everything around her.”
Mom smiles. “She was passionate about her work.”
“She was.” I feel a familiar ache, but it’s gentler now. “We stayed until closing. The owner had to kick us out.”
“I wish we’d spent more time with her,” Mom says. “I always thought there would be more holidays, more visits.”
“She loved you both,” I assure her. “She used to say Dad’s Christmas morning waffles were worth the entire flight from Vegas.”
We both laugh at the thought of Dad standing proudly at the waffle maker in his ridiculous Santa apron, insisting that everyone needed at least three waffles to properly celebrate the holiday. I miss those days.
“We hoped you might move back after…” Mom hesitates. “After you lost her. Not just because we wanted to support you, though we did. But because this was home for you both.”
“I thought about it,” I admit. “But home stopped being a place after Claire died. It became more about where I could function, where I could keep moving forward without collapsing. And that was work. In Vegas.”
“And now?”
I consider this. “Now I’m starting to feel like I might be able to build something new. Not replace what I had with Claire but create a different kind of life.”
Mom’s eyes fill with tears. “That’s all we’ve wanted for you, sweetheart. To see you living again.” She squeezes my hand. “And if this woman has helped with that, then I’m grateful to her.”
“She’s made me feel things I didn’t think I was capable of anymore,” I admit, replaying Athena’s words by the pool.
I have feelings for you. The vulnerability in her eyes as she said it shook me to my core, and I fled, claiming I needed time—which was true—but also because I was terrified of saying it back. Of speaking the truth.
“Claire would want you to be happy,” Mom says. “You know that, don’t you?”
“I do.” I take a deep breath. Outside, the summer sun still blazes, heat radiating off the bustling street. “I’ve missed this city. The energy, the hills—even the summer fog this morning.”
Mom smiles. “Your father and I walked past your old apartment one day when we were feeling nostalgic.”
“On Green Street? The one with the terrible plumbing and the cranky downstairs neighbor?”
“That’s the one. We stood outside like sentimental fools and remembered you and Claire inviting us there for dinner, so proud of your first place together even though it was tiny.
” Mom glances at her phone when it lights up.
“We should probably head back. Your father is messaging me—he’ll be home soon and anxious to see you.
” She stands, gathering her purse. “And while we walk, I want you to tell me all about your neighbor.”