She bites her lip and hums low in her throat. “Wow. Next you’ll be whispering sweet nothings about hummus, peppers, and carrots too,” she says in a husky, teasing voice.
Trouble is, it sounds too fucking good. Too sexy, even though we’re both clearly joking.
Thankfully, Abe chooses that moment to saunter from the stove to the counter. A Brooklyn foodie to the core with his burlap apron, ginger hair, and matching goatee, I’m pretty sure Abe is prohibited from living in any other borough.
“Hey, Jesse, good to see you. Glad you brought a friend this time,” he says. I make the introductions, explaining it’s Ruby’s first time trying mushrooms, and Abe’s lips stretch in an excited grin. “You’re going to love them. At first sight. First taste.” He laughs. “Why don’t I whip up a sautéed sampler for you guys, with some couscous and pickled veggies on the side for a palate cleanser in between varietals?”
“Sounds great.” Ruby grins, and I’m sure only I can tell it’s forced.
On our way to the table, she points to an antique muffler hanging on the wall, a Gotham-esque image painted on the car part.
“He has one of your pieces,” she whispers, like it’s a secret.
It’s a good whisper, a proud one, and I like it.
“Fucker bought it clandestinely at a gallery. Even though I told him I’d give him something for free,” I grumble without real complaint.
“I love that he’s supporting your side hustle,” she says.
We settle at a table in the corner while Abe gets to work whipping up the mushrooms. Ruby slides into her seat without a hint of stiffness, reminding me how far she’s come.
“So, how does it feel to go a day without PT?” I ask her.
She smiles and sighs, her shoulders easing away from her ears in a vision of pure relief. Pure happiness. It’s wonderful to see.
“Amazing. I actually had time to shop and have lunch with Gigi. And to clean and catch up on work without worrying about fitting in a grueling workout on top of my morning jog. I feel so . . . normal. Like I can just be a person again.”
I beam. “Nice.”
She leans in closer, as if she’s sharing a confession. “It feels so good not to have an appointment to dread, you know? Good like chocolate melting on your tongue, like sun warming your face, like a new Taylor Swift album dropping a month early.”
“Those are all very good things,” I agree, doing my best to ignore how sexy she made those descriptions sound. “I know it was a long road.”
“It was. But I’m lucky, right?”
That’s one way to put it. Or maybe it’s the only way to put it. “You are.”
That’s why we’re here, working through the list—so she understands it’s okay to feel lucky. To feel alive. To reach out and grab all the things she wants from life even though Claire can’t do the same.
She drums her fingers against the table then gestures to the red and white awning. “So why mushrooms instead of . . . anything else? I’ve never been to the top of the Empire State Building, either, you know. And I really should get around to that, considering I’ve lived here my entire life.”
There are so many ways to answer that question. There are so many “new” things Ruby and I could have tried together—like kissing or finding out if we enjoy each other’s company as much with our clothes off as we do with them on.
But that’s exactly why I suggested mushrooms.
Food is safe.
I’m not.
I’m pretty sure a fling with her dead best friend’s older brother is the last thing Ruby needs right now. Or ever.
But she does need to push herself, so I keep my answer as truthful as I can. “Because I think you’re going to love them once you get past that sweet tooth of yours.” I stop, take a beat. “And because I know Claire would want you to try different things that are hard, not ones that are easy.”
Ruby nods slowly, thoughtfully. “True. That would be very her.”
A few minutes later, Abe arrives with an artfully arranged platter of sautéed mushrooms and couscous, with several tiny bowls full of brightly colored pickled vegetables to the side.
“Voila,” he says, clearly proud of his creation.