Page 87 of Everything's Coming Up Rosie

“And life is a wonderful adventure, isn’t it?” She smiles.

I don’t have the heart to tell her that no, life’s not some wonderful adventure. Or fun, for that matter.

I’m still trying to figure out how to reconcile“It’s just life”and“wonderful adventure”and“Does it make you happy?”when Bertie changes the subject.

“What about romance?”

Her out-of-left-field question makes me choke on my drink for the second time in ten minutes.

She laughs. “I don’t have a lot of young people to talk to around here, so I may as well get to the good stuff while I can.”

I set down my drink and let out a big sigh. “I don’t really have time for romance.”

“Romance is part of the adventure, Rosie.” She points her fork at me. “That’s why I think it’s time for that one”—she now points her fork across the room at Booker, who appears to be deep in conversation with a pink-faced man who keeps rubbing his shoulder—“To move on. He’s never going to meet someone and fall in love and give me grandbabies if he doesn’t leave this place.” She takes another bite of her pancakes. “Not a lot of options here.”

I chuckle. “No, there certainly aren’t.”

“At least that’s what I used to think until you came along.”

But I don’t get a chance to correct her because Booker is back.

And he’s not alone.

“Bertie, this is Arthur. Arthur, Bertie,” he says, sitting down next to his grandma.

“Arthur Silverman,” Bertie says, and it sounds like,“Finally, we meet.”

He nods shyly and sets his tray down next to mine. My stomach tenses as he sits.

“So you two are working together,” Bertie says brightly. “That’s nice.”

I can’t be sure, but I think I hear Arthur grunt.

I cough-laugh and avoid looking at him. “I don’t think working with me is Arthur’s idea of ‘nice.’”

“Oh?” Bertie’s eyebrows shoot up, looking at Arthur. “Is that true?”

He shifts in his seat and protests a little, but Bertie isn’t having it.

“Whyever not? Rosie is a perfectly delightful girl.” And then, pointedly, she asks, “What is it you don’t love about our Rosie?”

Our Rosie.

I look at Booker, and he just shrugs, as if to imply that this is just kind of what she does. Just go with it.

Bertie turns to Arthur and doesn’t miss a beat: “What is it that’s got your face all puckered? Did you eat a lemon?”

Most people seem to handle Arthur with a healthy bit of caution.

But not Bertie.

He doesn’t scare her one bit. In fact, I’m starting to think nothing scares her.

She’s suddenly the most fascinating person I’ve ever met. Because how does one become fearless, and where can I get some of that?

Before Arthur can start to mount some kind of defense against Bertie’s questions, she makes a kind of announcement.

“I know what the two of you need.” She leans back, hands spread, waiting for our attention. “Actually, what all of us need.”

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