Page 97 of Let It Be Me

She shakes her head. “Whatever, doesn’t matter. I have zero interest.”

I nod, trying not to say anything that could influence her, because it’s breaking my heart a little that she’s giving her parents the benefit of the doubt. Her parents have always been transparent as shit. Usually she sees it even before I do. But hearing her say she has no interest in running off to Canada is a massive relief. I can’t lose her like that. “Did you tell them how good things have been at your job? And at school?”

“They weren’t really listening.”

“So the usual shit.” I wave it off. “Every time they pull a stunt like this, they’re proving how much they don’t know you. And don’t even try to.”

“I know. But it’s not the worst thing, right? To know I have a backup career if I really need it?”

I’m thrown. “You don’t need that as a backup career. You’ll have all kinds of options with your degree.”

She nods unconvincingly, and a little shard of doubt lodges itself in my chest. “I’m only saying it’s not bad news.”

Except it is. The Ruby I know should be indignant right now at her parents’ offer to take care of her just when she’s figuring out a direction for her life, not relieved she has a backup option in a completely different country from me. TheRuby I know would find working in textiles and living under her family’s thumb repulsive. Maybe it’s only the shock of getting both an apology and a job offer from her psycho parents, but something’s gotten under her skin, and I’m not about to let it stay there.

THIRTY-EIGHT

ruby

The driveto Lakeside on Friday is quiet—conspicuously so—and it’s my fault.

“You dreading the Rossi family bonanza?” Lorenzo asks, maneuvering past a growling motorcycle.

“Of course not. I love your family. I wish I wasinyour family.”

“You are.” He lays his hand on my thigh.

I look down, admiring the veins on the back of his large hand, the crooked pinkie from when he broke it years ago, the way his fingers curl around my leg just enough to make me feel like he’s claiming me. There’s nothing better than the feel of his protection. I run my fingertips over his knuckles.

“Something else wrong?”

“No.”

“Really?”

“Really.” I pat his hand and give him a quick smile before turning back to the window.

Nothing’s really wrong. Maybe it’s just the fact that tomorrow is August first—the Rossi family barbecue always marks the beginning of the end of summer, and today I have a cloud of uncertainty hanging over me. I know what I want—even waking up to the reality of becoming a research chef hasn’t dulled the shine of that goal, but it’s a harsh reality. It’s going to be nonstop hustle from now until I actually land that elusive career years down the road. And the worst part: The odds of having Lorenzo at my side the whole time are almost nonexistent.

My phone beeps from my purse. It’s my mom. No words, only a link to an article: “Vancouver’s Best Neighborhoods for Young Adults.”I silence my phone and put it away without clicking the link.

“You still with me, Hayes?” Lorenzo’s voice jerks me out of my thoughts.

“Huh? I’m still here.”

“Are you? Because this song has been playing for two minutes and you have yet to dance.” He arches an eyebrow at me. “Con Calma” is playing—our prom song. I smile but can’t muster the enthusiasm to bust out a dance move. Lorenzo waits expectantly for me to do something, and when I don’t, he says, “Okay, that’s it.” He grips the steering wheel with his free hand and moves into the right lane.

“What’s it?”

I watch as he signals a right turn, glances in his rearview, and pulls smoothly into a gas station parking lot. “Emergency snack stop. You leave me no other choice.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re in a mood, and I think the only cure is a bag full of ultra-processed foods from the dumpiest convenience store in town.” He gestures toward the windows of the store, cluttered with neon signs advertising sodas, ice cream, and slushies, and he adopts an expression like the situation is dire.

I laugh. “I appreciate you understanding my junk food withdrawals, but I’m fine. Really. A little preoccupied, but that’s it.”

He shakes his head. “That shit might have worked when you dated losers you’d known for three days, but now you’re mine. I can tell when you’re having a bad day.”

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