Chapter 11
chapter
eleven
“You’re sure Pen asked for me, specifically?
” I ask Eitan as we cut through a park in Lincoln Square.
Something about this still feels surreal.
Two weeks ago I was sitting in the corner of a two hundred person reception hall like Baby freakin’ Houseman, and now I’m being personally collected.
I’ve got a Mike’s coffee in hand and it’s possible that everything will work out.
He makes a show of checking his phone. “‘Can you get Ruby on your way? She hasn’t responded to my text and she lives down the street from you,’” he reads out, verbatim.
“That is pretty irrefutable,” I say, mostly to myself.
“Lucky for Pen, you didn’t get too wild last night,” Eitan says, nudging me.
I’ve been out of the dating game so long that it takes me a moment to understand what he means. Once I do, my brows furrow, unsure if he’s serious. “I’m not really a one-night stand kind of person.”
“Right.” He looks straight ahead. “Let me guess, you’re better than that?”
“I don’t have anything against people who have one-night stands.” I take a long sip of my cold brew. “I’m just not able to separate sex and feelings.”
“Bathroom Relationship Girl,” Eitan says, like this is some important nugget of wisdom. “Regardless, it’s lucky you were free. I’m incapable of telling the difference between flowers.” He points at a rose bush to the left of the sidewalk. “See these? What are they?”
“You seriously don’t know? It’s like the easiest one.”
“Are they peonies?”
“I can’t tell if you’re being serious.”
“Geraniums? I think I’ve heard my mom talk about that one.”
“They’re roses, Moreno.” I glance around and spot hydrangeas on the other side of the sidewalk. “What about these?”
He taps his chin. “Baby’s breath,” he says, all too confident. “That sounds right.”
“Why is Penelope having the world’s worst botanist come to her florist appointment anyway?”
“She wants to test the flowers against Josh’s eyes.” Eitan pauses to give me a weighted look. “And I promised Josh that anything he needed to do, I’d do with him.”
“You guys are really close,” I say, managing not to sound too jealous.
“He’s been my best friend since fifth grade. We sat next to each other in Hebrew school, and the rest is history.”
“My best friend in Hebrew school and I had a falling out when she snowballed with my crush—Jamie Baits—at my bat mitzvah.” Snowball dances were only the most pivotal moment of a seventh grader’s life.
You get to pick one person to start, then you each pick someone, and so on, until the whole semi-circle of awkward thirteen-year-olds are swaying to a Black Eyed Peas song while your adult cousin, who had too many wine coolers, is whooping somewhere in the background.
Eitan makes a noise like he’s been stung. “Betrayal of the highest order.”
I nod. “Obviously I didn’t pick him as my first snowball. I was playing hard to get. And Sarah Cohen swooped.”
“And you two entered a years-long feud for Jamie’s heart?”
I take a deep breath. The cottonwood is shedding, the air full of fluffy white spores. “Not quite. Sarah moved to Ohio that summer, and we lost touch.”
“Josh moved from New York to Chicago when we were fifteen.”
“It’s impressive that you two stayed close.”
Eitan shrugs. “That was all Josh. He keeps in touch with everyone. He convinced his parents to let him spend the summers in high school with me and my family. He and I worked for my dad’s landscaping business four days a week, and the other three we’d try our luck getting girls to talk to us at the beach. ”
And not much has changed for you since, I hold myself back from saying.
“Was only fitting that Josh was the first person I admitted to that I liked girls and boys.”
My steps slow for a moment, processing this. “Oh!” I say, catching myself, trying to not act like an idiot when someone is coming out to me. Or, just telling me? “You’re—”
“Bi,” Eitan supplies, not missing a beat. “Yep.”
“That’s cool,” I say, like an idiot.
He laughs at me. “Sure is.”
“I’m straight,” I offer.
“I figured that out.” He winks.
My sip of coffee goes down the wrong pipe and I cough up a lung. He thumps me on the back and I grab hold of a scrawny city tree while I get a grip on myself.
Eitan is bi. Why does that make him hotter?
Maybe it’s the self-assuredness. The security in knowing who he is.
Either way, my breath has evened out and I have no excuse to continue staring at him.
I scramble for a subject change. Something Eitan said earlier plays back in my head, sounding more meaningful after he mentioned his dad.
I wasn’t in a good place for a while, and Josh—Josh was a really good friend to me.
“When you mentioned Josh being a good friend to you…Was that related to your dad?”
Eitan stares straight ahead, something inaccessible in his voice.
“He lived in Chicago by then, but he flew back to Long Island five times in one year, to help.” Eitan’s jaw clenches.
“After my dad” —he clears his throat— “died, I had a remote job already, so I started traveling. Didn’t have much of a reason to stop, until Josh told me he was getting engaged. ”
“You moved here for Josh?” I can’t help the disbelief in my voice. I’ve never had a friend like that. Someone you drop everything for, no matter what.
“Yeah, Chicago wasn’t exactly at the top of my list of destinations.”
“Oh? Now who thinks they’re better than everyone else?” Eitan protests but I cut him off. “And which city, pray tell, do you think can possibly top Chicago?”
“San Francisco was next.”
I can’t help but laugh. “San Francisco is full of poop. And needles. Human poop, I should add.”
“I’ve heard the human poop rumors are vastly exaggerated.”
“What about climate change?” I press. “Chicago is going to be a much better spot in twenty years. Freshwater supply, et cetera?”
He looks at me like I’ve said something humorous. “I’m not exactly thinking twenty years down the road. I like to take life day by day, year by year.”
Eitan sees the future as a sunny meadow full of surprises and I, on the other hand, know that the meadow is actually a lightning storm on the open ocean. In nothing but a life raft. “And let me guess. That’s another nugget of coaching, free of charge?”
Eitan sucks on his teeth, shaking his head. “I bet you’re a good writer,” is all he says.
My lips squeeze together, trying to hold back a smile.
“What do you think of Chicago?” I ask. I know it’s dumb to feel vulnerable, but when you grew up somewhere, and have lived your entire adult life there, someone not liking it feels like a personal rebuke.
I see you, and the life you’ve built, and I’ve determined that it sucks.
Chicago, like all great cities, lives in the blood.
There’s nothing I can do but defend it to my dying breath.
“I like it now,” Eitan says. “Winter was rough.”
I roll my eyes. “Only cowards can’t handle Chicago winters. I mean, buy a pair of gloves for godsakes.”
“Whoa.” Eitan holds his chest like I’ve shot him. “It was just an adjustment. If I was staying, I’m sure I’d get used to it.”
If I was staying, not I am staying. “Got better places to be?” I ask, bitterness still roiling.
“Unfortunately my lease is up at the end of October.”
“And you have to answer the siren call of human poop.”
He laughs. “Something like that. I’m still figuring out where I’ll go next.”
I know I’ve just met him, but it stings knowing that in four months, he won’t be here anymore. In another life, under different circumstances, I could have seen us being friends.
“This is it.” A stone three-flat sits on the quiet street, the bottom level clad in marble with glass doors.
We step down to the ground floor, and inside the studio, flowers in metal buckets line one wall from floor to ceiling.
The opposite wall has installations of florals set into arches, canopies, and backdrops.
A long perfectly set table runs down the center of the space, leading to a neon sign on the far end that says Baby’s Breath Bridal in electric cursive.
Pen and Josh are in the center of the studio, talking to a woman with radiant dark skin, glasses, cherry lipstick and knotless braids. Calliope wanders along one wall, running her hands over the petals.
“Hey.” Eitan announces our presence. I feel exposed beneath the harsh studio lights.
Josh turns and gives Eitan a hug. “Glad you made it,” he says to me, appearing sincerely glad I’m here.
“Ruby!” Penelope wraps me up in a hug that smells like expensive perfume. “So glad Eitan caught you.”
“Of course,” I say, trying to tamp down the shock that she even wants me to be at this appointment.
“I need a second set of eyes.” She steps to my side and hooks her arm through mine.
“What about me?” Josh pouts.
“I love you, but you’re here solely so I can refer to your coloring.” Pen pats him on the shoulder.
“This is my bridesmaid, Ruby,” Pen introduces me to the woman with knotless braids, looking quite chic in an olive green sweater dress and flats. “This is Dominique.”
“Hi, Ruby.” Dominique gives my hand a firm shake.
“We’re here!” someone shouts as the door bell chimes again. “Sorry we’re late!” Alma huffs as she holds the door open for Louise, who’s wheeling herself in on a walker. “Traffic from Winnetka was brutal. I thought people were asleep this time on a Sunday!” Alma shakes their head.
“Not a problem.” Dominique picks up a tray of champagne flutes and offers them to the group.
“Is this everyone?” she asks, once Penelope, Josh, and Louise have accepted champagne.
Our group comes out to seven people. I’m no expert, but seven seems like a crowd when it comes to picking out wedding florals.
I shrink next to Penelope, still not sure if I should be here.
Pen begins introducing everyone. “This is Louise, my Aunt, her…” Her introductions snag on Alma.