Chapter 24
Chapter
Greg:
did you get your presentation done?
I’m sitting on the couch at home, where I planted myself shortly after work. I tried putting on the TV for a distraction, but my head has been circling around the question of Mark Winterson’s paperwork.
On the one hand: It felt like he slid a contract for my soul out of his suit jacket. A Wintersonian bargain!
On the other: Maybe he’s earnestly trying to be responsible about the uneven power dynamic between us? The image of him holding up one finger, saying, I consider myself a feminist, pops into my head.
I’ve been going back and forth about it for an hour, borderline spiraling. Batting away the image of Greg laughing in the dim light under my desk. Checking my phone to see if Mark Winterson texted me—but maybe after I basically ran away from him, he’s giving me some space.
Finally I write back to Greg:
Ruby:
it went better than i was hoping, and it still didn’t do it
maybe this is going to take years
maybe i actually need to get the promotion
Greg:
you could try other things on the list, in the meantime?
what’s next?
But before I can reply, there’s a knock on the door.
“Ruby, are you here?” Tita Wendy sings into the Ring doorbell.
“Oh, hi!” I pop up from the couch, still in my rumpled work clothes, and force on my brightest facial expression. I’ve been avoiding Tita Wendy ever since we talked to Mom’s ghost together. I didn’t want her to see how badly I’m failing at this too.
She’s carrying a Tupperware with pinakbet inside—the familiar colors of my favorite stew, with orange kalabasa, green string beans, brown crispy pork. “Greg has such an appetite these days,” she says by way of explanation.
She goes into the kitchen and opens the fridge, clicking her tongue disapprovingly.
It hurts sometimes, the way she tries to love me, because she’s giving me so much and I can’t ever pay her back.
And the thought of letting her down, the way I let down Mom—it makes it hard to breathe. Now that she’s seeing me more directly—without Mom’s stories about me as the filter, cherry-picking the accomplishments, downplaying the bad parts—maybe she’ll finally see how disappointing I am too.
“How can I tell if I’m getting warmer?” I blurt out.
Tita Wendy turns around, startled. “Have you tried asking her?”
I nod, biting my bottom lip to keep it from shaking. “She doesn’t know why she’s here.”
She sighs, and her shoulders relax. “She wouldn’t. Death can…obscure that. Make it hard to remember. But maybe if you bounce things off her, see how she responds? Warmly or not? Maybe that would give you a clue.”
She gives me a What are we going to do with you? look and pulls me into a hug. “I know this is hard. I’m so sorry.” She pats my back. “But I know you’re going to figure it out.”
I give her a squeeze and step away. “Oh, I didn’t even think of it, did you—would you want to talk to her?”
Tita Wendy shakes her head. “Oh…no. You know how much I loved talking to your mom. But it’s painful this way.
It’s like when you say such a nice, heartfelt goodbye to someone at the airport, and then you see them randomly for a second again—maybe they realized they needed to use the bathroom before going through security.
” She laughs heartily, the way she used to when she and Mom would gossip at the kitchen table.
“Okay, maybe not exactly like that, but…”
“No, I know what you mean. You’re preemptively grieving again, already. You don’t want to get too comfortable.”
“Right.” She smiles sadly. “I’m so sorry you’re going through this, Ruby. I’m not sure what the best thing to do is, but—I’m here. Whatever you think of. If you want me to talk to her again, of course I will.”
“No, no, I just wanted to offer, in case. I’ll try asking her some things.”
Tita Wendy gives me one more hug before heading out the door.
After she leaves, I open Slack on my laptop, download Mark Winterson’s email intro to the staff as a PDF, and upload it into the haunted DM.
ruby.ocampo:
Mom, I’ve been talking to this guy at work. What do you think of him?
sampaguita72:
Is “talking” code for something else these days?
I can just picture Mom putting on her reading glasses and frowning at the email on her phone, holding it a bit farther away to be able to see.
sampaguita72:
Seems very successful
Exactly the kind of man you should be trying to attract
Wasn’t I always telling you?
She certainly was. The tightness in my chest remembers.
Tita Wendy said to ask her things, so…
ruby.ocampo:
Mom, are you sad that I haven’t risen higher than this position at work?
sampaguita72:
Of course I would be happy if you got a raise! I’ll always want you to be better off than I was
But no, I’m not sad. I was so proud of you when you got this job.
The ache between my ribs gets more insistent. So maybe it’s not about work at all, and I could drive myself up the wall trying to please Erica and never get anywhere. It has to be something else.
Maybe she wishes I were married. That had been her thing more consistently over the past few years.
It was like she switched on a dime, after college, from panicking at any sign of me spending time alone with a boy to being disappointed that I didn’t have more suitors calling.
But don’t repeat my mistakes, she’d say.
Don’t marry for love, and definitely don’t marry for passion.
Marry for stability. Because he’ll probably leave anyway, and then at least you get something out of it, after.
There’s movement on the screen again. sampaguita72 is typing.
sampaguita72:
Ruby, I’m worried about you.
You always seemed so lonely
Cut off from other people
This is new. And weird. Since when does she notice my feelings, or want to talk about them?
Death changes people, I guess? The thought passes through me with a shiver.
Maybe the question of paperwork can wait. Maybe I should keep going in order after all, try harder with the third item on the list: BE WARM AND PLEASANT AND MAKE PEOPLE LIKE YOU AT WORK.
ruby.ocampo:
Thanks, Mom. I’ll work on that.
Good night
I can’t help but scroll up and reread the part where she said I was so proud of you when you got this job.
I spent so long chasing those words from her, and now that I’ve got them, I don’t know what to do with them. I reread it over and over, trying to make it sink in.
Tears quiver in the corners of my eyes while I take a screenshot, in case it disappears after she passes on.
And I pick up the phone and text Greg:
Ruby:
the next thing on the list is getting closer to everyone at work
being warm and pleasant and getting people to like me
making friends
not great at that, as you remember
Greg:
no that’s easy
you should come to pub trivia night
He sends me the place and time.
Greg:
and you are pleasant, okay? and everyone will like you
you just have to believe it
My heart feels like it’s stretched too tight, the way my face does right after I’ve been crying.
Then a couple more messages appear on my screen, this time from an unknown number.
Unknown:
Checking up on you, as requested.
(This is Mark, by the way.)
Even though the idea of signing a contract to date someone makes me feel insane, there’s a rush of warmth in my chest.
I have to laugh at his use of proper punctuation in texts. It’s like he was born with a tie on.
Ruby:
nice of you
I chew on my lip as I add him to my contacts, searching for a way to keep the conversation going without addressing the paperwork directly yet. What do I even know about him? Dinner with Jack Welch? A dog named Ralph? Daddy issues?
Ruby:
so do you still watch rugby?
He sends me a photo of a TV with what I assume is a rugby game on the screen.
Mark Winterson:
you’re psychic.
Somehow I don’t want to think about what Tita Wendy would say.
Ruby:
no idea what’s happening on that screen
Mark Winterson:
i could explain it to you.
I consider saying: You should explain in person sometime or Something to look forward to. But the whole contract for my soul thing is holding me back, scared to ring a bell I can’t unring.
An old thought works its way to the surface like a worm after heavy rain: Wow, selfish of you. Couldn’t even do this one thing for her when she does so much for you.
And a new one is close on its heels: It’s not like it wouldn’t also be something for you! A highlight reel of moments when Mark Winterson made my heart flutter spins through my head, a carnival ride with too much velocity.
There are still other things you can rule out!
But here’s this opportunity, right here!
I take so long to reply that he must get nervous.
Mark Winterson:
hope I didn’t scare you earlier.
Ruby:
you didn’t
And because that reads so blunt, sitting there by itself, I add:
Ruby:
hope you have a good night!
Mark Winterson:
you, too, Ruby.
Greg’s voice echoes in my head, saying, You can try again tomorrow.
So I turn off the light in the living room and get ready for bed.