Page 82 of Freeing Ruby

I gaze at the beautiful bouquet of flowers. “I’ll go put these in water.” I follow Miguel into the kitchen and pull a glass vase out from underneath the sink.

“That was nice of Layla to bring you a housewarming gift,” Miguel says as I fill the vase with water.

“It is.” As I unwrap the bouquet and set it in the vase, I realize this is my first housewarming gift. And I think Layla is my first friend. There have been so many firsts lately, my head is spinning. Little by little, I’m inching toward the kind of life I want.

I arrange the stems in the vase and stand back to look at the result. “What do you think?” I ask Miguel.

He leans close and kisses my cheek. “I think it’s perfect.”

I set the vase in the center of the kitchen table. Then I join the others in the living room, where Miguel is handing out plates and napkins. Everyone grabs a slice of pizza and a drink.

“Mmm,” I say, moaning when I take my first bite. “I haven’t had pizza this good in years.”

“Hey,” Miguel says, elbowing me playfully. “I think your homemade pizza is as good as this.”

I laugh. “You’re just being nice.”

“No, I’m serious,” he says. He leans close and kisses the side of my head. “In fact, I think your pizza is better.”

“Liar,” I say. I can’t help smiling, though. His praise means the world to me.

As everyone starts to dig in to their food, I notice Jason subtly using his phone to read the glucose monitor on Layla’s arm. It dawns on me—he’s not just her boyfriend. He’s also her—what? Her protector? Like Miguel has been for me. But clearly they live together as a couple—as a romantic couple. I sneak a peek at Miguel and find him watching me with a curious expression on his face. It’s almost a longing, and I wonder if he’s thinking the same thing I am.

I would give anything for Miguel to remain in my life once this is all over. I suppose I could hire him to stay with me—as my protector. My twenty-fifth birthday is next month. I’ll inherit my trust fund, and then money won’t be a problem.

After we finish eating, Layla helps me carry the dirty dishes to the kitchen. As I rinse them off and put them in the dishwasher—I finally have a dishwasher!—she leans against the counter.

“How do you like the apartment?” she asks.

“I love it. It’s much nicer than my apartment.”

I try not to stare at Layla, but it’s hard. She’s stunning, with her silky straight black hair and dark eyes lined in kohl. I’m not sure what her ethnic background is, but I’m guessing Middle Eastern or Mediterranean. She’s wearing a short-sleeve, knit tunic with gray leggings and a pair of short black boots. The logo on the tunic is from University of Chicago.

I point at her outfit. “You go to University of Chicago?”

She nods. “I’m a sophomore.”

“What’s your major?”

“Psychology. I’d like to be a mental health counselor.”

“Wow, that’s admirable.”

She shrugs. “I have a lot of experience when it comes to counseling. I’ve been helped by some great counselors, so I thought maybe I could help others.”

“I guess we have that in common. I’ve been in counseling on and off since—well, for years. You know, for agoraphobia.”

Layla gives me a small smile. “Me too, but for auditory hallucinations.”

Her admission takes me by surprise. “Auditory hallucinations?” It takes a moment for that to sink in. “You hear things?”

“Yes. Voices—mean girl voices. At least that’s how I characterize them.” She laughs. “So if I zone out on you, please don’t take it personally. Sometimes they’re very distracting. It can be hard to block them out.”

“Do you hear them all the time?”

She frowns. “Not all the time, but often.”

Her ear buds are starting to make sense now. “So that’s why you listen to music a lot?”

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