Page 98 of Betting on the Brainiac

The bottles are made into PET yarn. Look it up. Super interesting.

Are the couch pillows water bottles too?

Hand-dyed wool on cotton warp. Pakistani. Natural dyes.

My living room is the United Nations.

Enjoy it, Secretary-General.

It does look good. I’m sitting in it now after doing some bookkeeping at the store. In fact, as I glance around, I decide this room is finished. The “anonymous condo” aesthetic has warmed up to an urban retreat. Oliver’s plain gray sofa hadn’t felt much like him, so I scoured Teak Heart for things that do. Now there are browns and greens and oranges. Good earthy colors with lots of natural materials from fibers to wood.

In my imagination, he’d sit on this sofa and look right at home. But imagination and his texts are all I have to go on, because Oliver is still more like Casper, haunting his office, never home. I haven’t seen him since our conversation last week.

I still don’t know what to make of Oliver’s questions about possibly catching feelings. At first, I’d thought he was flirting, and I already didn’t know what to think about that because . . . I didn’t hate it? But he was making a point, not flirting, showing how easily things can tip from friendship to more. A typically polite Oliver way to set boundaries, likeYou can make it look like you’re living here, but don’t confuse this for something else.

He’s right that we should have talked about it point-blank before this all became official. I’d considered bringing it up before the wedding, but since Oliver hadn’t shown any romantic interest in me, I’d let it go. I hadn’t considered I’d be the problem.

Not that I am. Or will be . . . ? I push away images of Oliver’s tattooed shoulders and low-riding pajama pants. No, I won’t be the problem because Oliver was smart enough to set that boundary. He just accidentally triggered me to consider how itcouldbecome a problem, and now I get these annoying popups with full sensory memory in my brain.

I need to quit dwelling on a non-problem and work on a real one: how to get on my parents’ nerves this week.

I’ll need vision and a public space, two Ruby Ramos specialties.

“How do you getthings done in here all day?” I ask Ruby this as I scan this section of the Sandra Day O’Connor branch of the city library system. It’s a medium-sized branch in an older section of town. It was renovated before Ruby started here, so it’s got the best of all worlds: updated furnishings, unmarred tables, an efficient layout, and most importantly, the smell of books. “I’d read and forget to do my job.”

“You’d be surprised how much there is to keep you busy in a day.” Her back is to me as she studies the display case we’re taking over. She’d been all for collaborating with the store on a fair-trade exhibit.

“She does forget to come back from lunch sometimes,” Charlie says. He’s sketching the glass case on an iPad so we can figure out how we want to display everything. His eyes flicker Ruby’s way more often than a coworker’s would—even a coworker who is a good friend.

How does she not see this? Guess that’s what happens when you have a Niles-shaped dust mote in your eye for years.

“If I promise you unlimited book-browsing time when we’re done, will you come over here and look at this, please?” Ruby asks.

“Yes, Ruby-Roo.” I join her at the case. It’s seven feet high and about that wide. “The shelves aren’t as deep as I was thinking, so that’s going to limit some of my ideas, but they’re adjustable, right?”

“They are. How about putting the brass cuffs and bracelets from Nepal here and alpaca knit items from Peru on that side?” she asks, pointing.

“I like that. I want to make sure we get the woven baskets from Dhaka in there, because if I weren’t a lady, I’d say it’s a clearmiddle finger to my dad. But I am a lady, so all I’m saying is they’ll be front and center of the invitation I send to my parents to come see this exhibit.”

Instead of smiling, Ruby sighs. “I don’t love all this revenge against family stuff.”

“What?!”

Charlie hushes me.

I grimace but lower my voice. “You are all in for petty revenge when someone wrongs one of your people, and that’s if they cut line at HEB. My dad killed and maimed hundreds of people and refused to take accountability.”

Charlie gives a soundless whistle. “I didn’t knowallof that. Here for all the revenge.”

I glare at Ruby. “See? Putting up fair-trade goods from Dhaka and sending him a picture is theleastthat man deserves. This is not an impatient shopper at the market, Ruby. This. Is. Darth. Vader.”

Ruby looks torn before she finally sighs. “Fine but promise to at least give Kaitlyn an unironic invitation.”

“Kaitlyn the spy?” But when Ruby’s lips flatten into her do-not-mess-with-this-librarian line, I hold up my hands in surrender. “Deal.”

And then we’re off, collaborating, figuring out a flow and rhythm for the pieces in the photos I brought. I haven’t worked with Ruby on something like this before. It’s not a surprise to see how thoughtfully and efficiently she works, but it’s fun to watch her in her natural habitat. I hope this means she’s feeling more like herself.

When we have a plan worked out among the three of us, I bring it up. “It’s good to see you in action. Is Niles starting to move to the rearview?”

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