Page 92 of Let It Be Me

“We’re together.”

“Do we tell people?”

“They’re gonna figure it out when we’re kissing all over campus.”

“You’d do that? Lorenzo ‘No PDA’ Rossi?” I tease.

“Well ...” He crooks his elbow around my neck and pulls me in to kiss my head. “With you.”

“So we tell our friends. What about our parents?”

His brow creases, and he starts to open his mouth, but I cut him off.

“Actually, no. It’ll just be another reason for my parents to give me shit for being impulsive. And we can’t tell yours because they’ll tell mine.”

“I won’t.” Lorenzo scowls. “But fuck what your parents think. Look at us, Ruby—thank fucking god you’re impulsive. That’s what got us here. That’s why I love you.”

His smile is so warm, so full of admiration, I feel like I could burst. And he’s right. I won myself the only thing I want with my whole heart.

THIRTY-SIX

ruby

“Ruby,”my advisor, Marta, greets me as I settle into the vinyl chair across from her desk. “It’s been a while.”

I’m never certain how Marta feels about me. The advisor I’d had since freshman year abruptly resigned last fall, so Marta and I are still getting to know each other. I frustrate her—I’m a pro at reading those signals—but she always seems halfway amused by our conversations.

“So tell me how things have been going.” She squints at her computer screen. “Last time you were here, you told me you had an eye on a job as a quality assurance technician.”

“I did. A lot’s changed since then, but unfortunately not for the better.”

“Tell me about that.” She presses her lips together, probably readying herself for an exhausting meeting.

“I want to do something that’s a little more ‘me’ than QA tech, and I thought I knew what that was, but I think I was wrong.”

“Do tell.”

“I really liked the idea of being a research chef.”

“Sure, I’m familiar. I’ve had a few advisees go into the field; it sounds stellar. What happened that you changed your mind?”

I swallow. I knew this question was coming, but I still don’t have a good answer. “I don’t think I wanted it for the right reasons. It sounded really cool at first, but I think I only wanted to do it to keep up with the other kids in my program. And to make my parents proud.” To earn a shred of my parents’ respect is the more accurate way to put it, but Marta doesn’t want or need a glimpse into my family dysfunction.

“Ah. So you don’t think it’s a good fit after all.”

“Well ... I wouldn’t say that.”

“So leaving behind the idea of research chef, tell me what appeals to you?”

But as soon as she says it, I bristle. I don’t want to leave behind the idea of a research chef. “I guess there isn’t anything else. But all the research I did about it made it clear it’s a long road just to earn the title, and it’s competitive and ...” I shrug. “It’s a lot.”

She looks back at her computer and scrolls on her mouse. “Sounds like you’ve put a lot of effort into that research, though, which is notable.” What she’s not saying is she’s never seen me put effort into anything before. “And your grades have shot up remarkably in only a few weeks. What’s that about?”

“I guess I was really motivated.”

“To make your folks proud?”

I think back on the last few weeks, the hours I poured into studying and homework, the research, the chats with Wythe. How often during those hours did I think about my parents? Almost never. Instead, I was thinking about how new it felt to want something so bad it made me do good.

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