Page 1 of Vera Stein Is Fine
Prologue
June
Ending up at The Ivy with my grandmother was not how I planned on mourning the death of my mother. My grandmother and I sat down across from each other at The Ivy.
I did not want to be here. I didn’t want to leave the house at all, and for the last week, I hadn’t.
But this morning, Ruby was persistent.
She was visibly delighted as the hostess shook out the napkin and placed it in her lap. Her silk caftan–covered shoulders shimmied with excitement as the menu was handed to her. “Oooh, this limited menu is enticing. Though I don’t understand this newfound obsession with grapefruit. Is it the new avocado? But pomegranate! Could we give pomegranate a moment, please?”
“I think I’ll have the Southwest omelet with no Hatch chiles,” I said without looking at the menu.
Ruby tsked. Nothing I did was ever adventurous enough for my grandmother. Eating, traveling, dating. It was all met withtsks. But not all of us had the luxury of being spontaneous. Some of us had been taking care of ailing mothers since the year after college graduation.
It wasn’t that Ruby didn’t also take care of Mom, but it never came as naturally to her. She didn’t know how to change an ostomy bag without grimacing. It didn’t occur to her that spoon-fed ice chips were the best way to stay hydrated when the nausea made swallowing water too di?cult.
“I’d hardly say this was the precipice.” Ruby pouted as she considered our table location. “But I suppose it’ll do.”
I tipped my menu down and looked around. When I called for a last-minute reservation this morning, Ruby had insisted that I ask for a table with a view of the patio. Not on the actual patio, but theprecipiceof the patio. She wanted to lookuponthe outdoors without being in the outdoors.
We were definitely a few tables from a patio view, but it was better than sitting outside on this sweltering Sunday afternoon in June. Just parking the car left me with swamp ass. (I did not have expendable valet income.)
The Ivy wasn’t really a financially sound decision. Ruby had caviar taste on a tuna salad budget. But my grandmother needed her fancy Sunday brunch like I needed to sit in a dark room with peppermint tea and a heating pad after a wild night of eating too much soft cheese.Thiswas how Ruby needed to be cared for as we both grieved. With forty-eight-dollar eggs Benedict. And I’d promised Mom we’d take care of each other. We both had.
“Did you mention my name to the hostess?” Ruby whispered. “I could feel her staring.”
“Rubes, I’m pretty sure the first Marvel movie came out before the hostess was even born.” I’d name-dropped to get the reservation, but it hadn’t been Ruby’s name.
My grandmother’s tight-lipped, all-knowing grin, the same one she’d carried since she was a teenager, faltered slightly.
“But you know,” I added, “maybe she’s seenIn the Family. Or now that the creature movies are streaming, there’s no telling. She could have recognized your red hair.”
Ruby’s “natural” color was a concoction of two Revlon box dyes. I’d seen a few pictures from when she was a kid and had that same murky brown hair that came naturally to me and Mom, but my own memories were of her fiery red perm.
After a moment, she nodded before peering over and then through her Iris Apfel–esque glasses until the words on the menu came into focus.
While she perused, I attempted the day’s Wordle. I’d missed a few days when Mom died and felt unnecessarily bitter about my broken streak. Just as I hit enter on my personal favorite starting word (roast), a text from Brody appeared at the top of my screen.
Brody:
Hi! I know that I’m not supposed to be texting you because you’re on garievement leave, but do you remember the password to my Hulu account?
Not only was I the assistant to Hollywood’s favorite himbo, but I was also the keeper of his passwords.
Vera:
The first girl you kissed and the year you graduated high school.
I also nearly added:And it’s bereavement. Not garievement.But there was no need for Brody to be the victim of my scorn. I tucked my phone into my purse with a smile. Did Imisswork? Was I actually missingwork? Or was it Brody who I missed?
My phone chirped again and I pulled it back out.
Brody:
Miss you more than I missed Taco Bell’s Mexican Pizza when they took it off the menu that one time.
I laughed silently, something resembling glee swelling in my chest, and typed back:
