Ruby thanks him, but dread creeps into her eyes. Before he can leave, she thrusts a hand into the air like she’s answering a question in grade school. “Wait. I know what will make these taste even better going down.”
I fight a laugh. “Wine?”
She gives me a you know me so well look. “Always. Everything’s better with wine.”
We order drinks—white wine for her and a craft lager for me—and start dishing food onto our plates. As Abe delivers our beverages then moves back behind the counter, an older couple, maybe in their sixties, ambles by our table. He’s a little gray, and she is too, but they look happy.
They also look like they’re from out of town—they’re far too bright-eyed and white-tennis-shoed to be local.
I bet they’re on some kind of anniversary trip, checking out the hip Brooklyn neighborhoods and having a blast. The woman glances at our platter as she passes and says quietly to the man with her, “Those mushrooms look incredible.”
Ruby clears her throat and calls out sweetly to the woman, “You can have mine if you’d like.”
I kick her playfully under the table. “You devil.”
The man eyes our food with a grin. “What are all of those? I’ve only ever had the button mushrooms.”
I chime in, “You’ve got porcini. Cremini. Chanterelle. You should grab the sampler too. Sadly, I can’t let her share. We’re on a bucket-list mission. We’re trying something new tonight, and this fantastic woman here is about to explore a new food.”
The older lady clasps her hands at her chest. “Oh, I love bucket lists! We started one a few years ago. So far, we’ve gone whitewater rafting and run a 5K. And we didn’t even come in last. I’d never jogged a step until I was in my early sixties.”
“That’s fantastic. All of it. Good for you,” I say.
The woman shifts her gaze to Ruby. “But you don’t want to try the mushrooms?”
“Actually,” Ruby says, lifting her fork, “you’ve inspired me. If you can do a 5K as a brand-new runner, I can eat a mushroom without washing it down with wine.”
“Lovely,” the woman says. “You’ll have to let us know how you like them.”
Ruby gives her a thumbs-up and digs in with panache as the couple heads to the counter. As she chews, she pulls a face that says mushrooms are weird, but I’m choking them down anyway. She grimaces, swallows, then pastes on an I did it smile as she nods. “Not that bad.”
I lift my beer glass in a toast. “To trying new things.”
“Yes, I definitely need a drink now,” she says, clinking her glass to mine before indulging in a long, hearty swallow of her Chardonnay.
As she stabs another ’shroom, she tips her forehead to the older couple, who have just finished ordering. “The porcini are good,” she calls to them. “I bet if you already like mushrooms, you’re going to love these.”
The man and woman smile and, making soft, excited conversation, claim a table near the window.
Ruby’s putting herself out there, so maybe I should try something new too.
Not food.
But . . . forthrightness.
I should come clean with her about my move. She’s been playing it cool, but I could tell by the way she reacted yesterday that she wasn’t happy to have something so big sprung on her without warning. “So, the L.A. thing,” I say as I spear some mushrooms, which are incredible, as always. “I confess, I’m excited, but a little nervous too.”
“But why? You’re so good at your job.”
“Thanks, but that’s not the reason. It’s that I’ve lived here my whole life. Los Angeles is all new. Yeah, I have professional connections, and I already have a few friends over there, so I won’t be completely out on a limb, but . . . it’s new. Different.”
“Still, you’re going to try it,” she says, with a cheery grin. “Like the list says. Something new.”
I swallow roughly, then repeat, “Yeah. Like the list says.”
“I know I freaked out earlier about the moving news, but now that I’ve had time to absorb it, I’m excited for you.” She nods encouragingly. “I think it’s incredible that you’re branching out, growing, going big and . . . not going home. And if I don’t die of mushroom consumption, I’ll come visit you.”
“Sounds like a fair deal.”