Chapter 25
Now
Bea
Spirits seem to be high everywhere I go over the following week.
I think all this sun we’re getting is going to everyone’s heads.
On Tuesday, Yana has the salon blocked for a few hours so all the stylists can touch up each other’s hair.
It’s a quarterly tradition that usually ends up being a nice bonding experience for a group of women with highly individual careers who share a building space.
Yana herself is a statuesque, ice-blond Ukrainian whom I’ve never seen in anything less put-together than lip gloss and three-inch heels.
She’s walking around with a head full of foils and an open bottle of Veuve, topping off everyone partaking.
I’m a little less than two weeks out from transfer at this point, so I’m being extra cautious and abstaining.
It hasn’t happened in a while—not since living with Silas, in fact—but for the first time in a long time, I’m fighting off a surge of something mean, looking around.
Zoeie and Rachelle are laughing and talking about their recent floating trip down the Deschutes.
Molly is giving Shelby fresh bangs, pausing to share their daughters’ photos with each other; a high school graduation and a wedding album between them.
And Ivy and Zarin make joint family plans for the Fourth and recount jokes from the latest Farley Jones special.
So much life in this room, so many experiences .
. . Meanwhile, my friend doesn’t even get to live.
“Bea,” Yana says, thickly accented. I jump in my seat. “Why don’t you walk with me to pick up lunch?”
I leap at the chance to reroute and follow her out the door to the Greek café around the corner, the salon’s unanimous favorite.
“How are you doing, Bea? You are taking care of yourself, yes?” says Yana.
“I am,” I tell her. “Doing my best at least.” I smile at her stony, severe face.
“Good. Your mother asked to switch her appointment to me, so I worry.”
Irritation flares. “Did you take her off my books?”
“Yes, but I did not move her to mine. That is between you two. Too messy. I don’t like messy, you know.”
I nod and sigh. I’m not going to be the first to cave, not if Mom’s feeling petty enough to actually switch stylists. I would never go so far as to wish ill upon someone’s hair . . . but there is a little demon in me that hopes she doesn’t like it, at least, wherever she goes.
Thinking of Mom also makes me think of Kurt and his call this past Sunday while I was at the Byrds’.
He was quick to assure me nothing was wrong with Mom, but asked if I’d meet him for lunch this week.
I was able to fit him into my time slot tomorrow and feel equal parts curious and anxious about it.
We’re approaching Petra’s now, a few yards away from our destination, when I notice the fire truck in the parking lot. My hand flies up to the foils on my head.
“Um. Yana? Why don’t I wait out here for you so I can . . . hold the door for you to carry the food outside?”
Her nose scrunches in mild disgust. “No.”
“I actually need to go to the bathroom really bad!” I try. “It’s an emergency!”
Her face grows even more bored, one perfectly manicured eyebrow lifting. “Perhaps the firemen can assist you with that. Let us go.” She swings open the door and sends the bell above it twinkling.
“Ruby?” I hear Silas say, the word coming out of him in an arch like his smile.
Like running into the person he’s living with around town isn’t a shock whatsoever and is simply a welcome delight.
Which, I might also find delightful if I didn’t currently look like I was about to host a conspiracy theorist meeting in my basement.
I spin toward his voice, and the corner of some tinfoil pokes into my forehead.
My jaw drops before I snap it shut so fast I bite the tip of my tongue.
He’s in full gear, everything but the jacket and helmet.
Suspenders over a tight long-sleeved shirt, and a cap he’s spun around backward.
He’s up and coming for me, the rest of his crew staying put in their seats.
He’s completely oblivious to the crisis going on in my nervous system and unfazed by my foils, reaching over to flick one with a fingertip before smiling brightly into my face. “You get my message?”
I shake my head. “Uh-uh.”
“Look what I got to do today.” He pulls out his phone to show me a video of him using a tool to break through the windows of a car so they could run a hose through.
They’re not kidding about not parking next to a fire hydrant, apparently.
He’s got a smudge of dirt on his cheek, and I stuff my hands into my back pockets so I don’t wipe it off him.
Yana comes over, and I introduce them, then to the remaining crew.
They offer to carry our trays and bags of food back to the salon for us, and Yana accepts before I can turn them down.
The whole place is charmed, of course, I among them.
My cheeks and ears burn when Silas hugs me goodbye, pinches my chin, and says, “See you at home, Red.”
Every woman in the salon is staring at me when the door shuts behind him.
“What?!”
“I’m sorry I tried to give him my number, Bea,” says Zoeie.
“What! Why would you be sorry?”
“Please.” This and a laugh from Rachelle.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I say.
“That man looks at you like he could shade-match a lipstick to your nipple, if you know what I mean.” Molly now.
“Not sure how much of that is up for interpretation?” I divert.
“You’re telling me he’s never seen you naked?”
I scoff, owlish and clumsy, and the place turns into a chorus of snickering.
The teasing picks up again on Wednesday morning, but it’s a welcome distraction to pass the hours leading up to my lunch with Kurt.
It’s nice feeling melded to the group again.
To not feel like an outsider looking in.
For years, Merritt was my social glue. I can so vividly imagine her elbowing me encouragingly.
“See, they love you. Who wouldn’t love you? ” she’d say.
I spot my stepdad at a booth as soon as I stroll into the diner that afternoon. He’s up and crossing the room quicker than the lump can form in my throat. Seeing him emphasizes the absence of my mom.
“She misses you, too, sweetie,” Kurt says when I sniffle into his old Journey T-shirt.
“Does she, though?” I whisper.
“Yeah, kiddo, she does.”
Kurt and I don’t bother with too much small talk.
After we order, he cuts right to it. “I don’t agree with your mom changing her mind on you the way she did.
Not letting you stay after she originally said you could.
And I love her—that’s my lady, you know I love her—but I think she’s so protective of you that it goes a little too far sometimes. ”
“What do you mean?” Kicking me out feels like the antithesis of protective.
His shoulders rise on a deep sigh. “I mean that she thinks that she’s trying to keep you from something that could break your heart.
Which would break her heart, too. It’s the same reason she always kept a buffer between me and you.
And I respected that, back then. I know she went through a lot with your dad, and she wanted there to be some separation in case she and I didn’t work out, so you’d be protected from hurting.
I wasn’t allowed to parent you, which again, I understood.
” He breathes out a small laugh. “Like I had a choice, anyway. You know she’s a fierce woman. ”
I snort. She is, indeed.
He threads his hands in front of him on the table, and I’m hit with a pang of tenderness, watching him struggle going around my mother, speaking against her in this small way. This man loves her so much, and I know he loves me, too.
“Now I don’t think she intended it,” he goes on. “But I also think she, sometimes, prevented us from being closer, too. And again, I always did my best to respect that—”
“Kurt, you were great,” I tell him. “You were . . . you are Dad to me. In the most important ways. In all the ways that count.”
His eyes well up, and his chin dimples and bounces with the effort not to cry.
He squeezes one of my hands in his meaty fist. “Still, Bea. I regret not trying harder. Not fighting with her more about it. And I wanted to tell you that, for whatever it’s worth coming from me, I saw you get your heart broken every day when Merritt was sick and still show up for that girl.
I watched you care tirelessly for someone as much as you cared for yourself, and I think—I think you’ll be a great mom. ”
I wipe at a tear and smile. “It’s worth more than you know.”
The morning of our fishing trip, the sun is still hiding when I administer my final Lupron shot, though I make a conscious effort not to think of it that way, knowing we might have to get acquainted all over again.
I take all my other meds and slip into the kitchen, start a pot of coffee, and check on Cali’s food and water.
She jumps onto the counter to stare daggers at me.
When I try to pet her, she doesn’t growl, so, progress continues.
I feed her two treat packets before she curls her lip, delicately hops back down, and trots off.
I log in to my banking app to see that a few more deposits have hit, one from the vacation rental agency along with work, and my heart somersaults.
Even with the withdrawals that have been taken out, I am so much better off than I anticipated being at this point.
My end-of-year goal is well within reach.
And even if I don’t make it all the way, even if I have to pay for more than one round of IVF, I’ve done well enough for myself that I feel safe to, financially.
Silas sidles in a moment later, eyes puffy and red with sleep. “Morning,” he says.
“Are you sick?” I ask, noting the congestion in his voice.