Chapter 40
Chapter
“Oh, Ruby!” Erica calls after me. “Don’t you have your offsite now?”
I pivot on my heel. “My…offsite?”
“Yes, did you forget? Mark told me about it.” She points at me. “Good opportunity for you, a VP taking you to a meeting! Get down to the lobby, don’t mess it up!”
I have no idea what she’s talking about, but I grab my bag and rush downstairs, head still reeling. And through the big glass doors I can see Mark Winterson, leaning against his black Mercedes S-Class.
The doors part between us, and his grin gains in wattage as I step toward him.
“You asked for me?”
“The wedding is this weekend.” He goes around to open the passenger-side door. “When did you think we were going to get your dress?”
I can’t quite process what he’s saying. All I can think about, as he starts to drive, is (1) I need to calm Mom down, and (2) Holy shit, she can access way more than Slack!
ruby.ocampo:
Mom! Mom, nothing was happening!
Greg was comforting me because I was upset
But oh God, I hate telling her I’m upset.
Back in New York, sometimes my roommate would come home crying—someone was mean at work, or she fucked something up, or both—and she’d already be on the phone with her mom as she came in the door.
I’d marvel at that, being able to call your mother sobbing, half coherent.
The idea of having someone on the other end of the line who wasn’t furious that you didn’t have it together, who would help you feel better.
sampaguita72:
Why were you upset?
Of all the strange impulses right now, I do want to call Mom and cry. But what would I even say?
Somehow Trisha chooses that moment to text me.
Trisha:
hi ate ruby, how are you doing with reframing those self-limiting beliefs you listed out?
It makes me feel hysterical, thinking about how I’ve reframed my messy situation.
Ruby:
i’ve been working on it!
how’s school?
Trisha:
such an old person question
but it’s fine
oh have you tried affirmations? those can help
Affirmations?
This man is no match for a messy bitch like me!
Like that?
But before I can puzzle over it too long, more Slack messages slide onto the top of the screen.
sampaguita72:
Is it that man you’re dating?
Is he cheating on you?
My stomach twists. I’m going to break up with him soon, but what if seeing us dressed up together at this wedding will help somehow—convince Mom I’m on the right path in life? I don’t want to ruin this for her yet.
ruby.ocampo:
I’m probably just being jealous for no reason!
You know me! So irrational!
“You okay?” Mark Winterson asks, putting a light hand on my arm at a red light. “Who are you messaging so furiously? Should I be worried?”
“Haha!” The backs of my thighs are sweating against this leather seat. “Just my aunt! She worries. Very protective.”
He arches an eyebrow, glancing sideways at my screen before starting to drive again. “That looked like Slack?”
“Yeah, we have a family Slack!” I slip my phone into my purse. “Such big families we have.”
“Mm,” he says, brow creasing. “When do I get to meet them? Your aunt knows I’m real now, but—” He gives me a pointed glance. “How do I know she is?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I say, desperately trying to regain that flirty tone that used to come easily with him. “Have you earned it yet?”
Mark Winterson frowns, his eyes on the road. “How exactly would I earn it?” he demands. Then softer, he adds: “I’d like to,” and my heart aches.
I notice we’re entering Beverly Hills, and it dawns on me that I don’t have the most basic information about what I’m getting myself into.
“Wait, so whose wedding is it?”
Mark Winterson adjusts his grip on the wheel. “My cousin Zack’s.”
“Ooh, the famous Zack!” I say, remembering his story from the yacht.
“You, um—you might have seen him around. He works at TKCORP, too.”
“What does he do there?”
He hesitates like he’s been dreading telling me about this for some reason. “He’s the Senior VP of Finance.”
Oh God. That would make him Greg’s boss’s boss’s boss’s boss.
“Senior VP of finance?”
“Yeah—senior, already! He’s, like, twenty-nine. Barely just learned to shave.” He laughs unhappily. “Can you believe it?”
I know from glancing at Mark Winterson’s driver’s license that he’s thirty-one. I wonder how much of his waking life he spends ruminating on the fact that he’s an associate vice president.
“So are you guys…still close?”
He runs a nervous hand through his hair. “He’s a character. You’ll see.”
We’re making our way up Rodeo Drive, and I can’t help staring at all the shiny, glittering storefronts, like jewelry boxes all up and down this palm-tree-lined street.
The car turns in to a parking garage, and we head underground. After he parks, Mark Winterson doesn’t move right away, and we sit there in silence.
He reaches out to caress my cheek, and I bite back my fight-or-flight reflex. “You always seem closed off.” His fingers come to a rest under my chin, tilting my head to meet his gaze. “Do you not trust me?”
“No, of course I do.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “What are you hiding in there?”
“What makes you think I’m hiding anything?” The sweat is gathering behind my knees, and I try putting on a goofy voice. “What you see is what you get, baby.”
Mark Winterson traps my chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Mm yeah, I don’t think that’s true. I think you don’t trust me.” He traces my bottom lip with the pad of his thumb, and I feel panicked and slightly turned on (mind and body really at odds here!).
You’re just extending a relationship longer than you should and gossiping to your friends about him! Not such a huge departure from the past!
“But that’s okay.” His hand drops back into his lap. “I get the sense you’ve been through some shit. I do hope I can earn that one day, though.”
The earnest look on his face is like a knife in my gut. Am I going to be able to pull this off? Should I end this now?
“Okay,” he says, opening the driver’s-side door. “Time to shop.”