Page 43 of Vera Stein Is Fine
Vera S.
Two glasses of wine in, but this line still does it for me.
Chapter Nineteen
Ruby was thrilled to see me go. Not just because she would have her privacy back, but because she was gobbling up Eli’s invitation to be roommates like it was the latest plotline to unfold on her favorite TV show.
“I have to text Gwen,” she said.
I shook my head as I folded up the bedding I’d stolen from Brody’s pool house—which would come in handy. “Why would Gwen care that I’m moving out?”
“Oh,” she said with a snort. “I think she’d be more interested to hear who you’re moving in with.”
I narrowed my gaze at her as she pecked at the screen of her phone. “Ruby, you didn’t tell people about me and Eli, did you? You know us getting married was just a silly dare from college. The ink hadn’t even dried on that marriage license by the time it was annulled.”
She swallowed and looked up with such convincing innocence that I almost bought it. “I don’t recall you categorizing that information as private.”
“Ruby, are you serious? Was I supposed to have you sign an NDA or something?”
She sat back at the kitchen table and took a sip of her iced tea. “Couldn’t hurt.”
“My life is not your entertainment,” I said, trying to keep my voice even.
She shrugged. “Well, I’ve never really considered your life to be entertaining, so this is new territory for me, I suppose.”
I took a deep breath and walked into the kitchen to gather up Marlon’s food. “When you spend the first half of your adult life taking care of two grown women, then you can talk to me about living a more entertaining life.”
She was taken aback, the dramatized hurt clear.
Ruby and I had gone toe-to-toe plenty of times, and the outcome was always the same. She would stand up and give a monologue about how ungrateful I was for her and how I could never understand all the sacrifices she’d made for Mom and therefore me. She’d dramatically storm out and I’d be left wondering if this was all real or just a truly compelling performance. I’d apologize, because it was easier than ever expecting things to change.
“I’m sorry,” I blurted before she could tell me all the ways that I was wrong. I couldn’t hear it right now. “I’m glad I was there for Mom... and that you were too.” Even if she hadn’t been. Not in the same way I had. Even if the moment I was old enough to wear a bra, she clocked out of adulthood and suddenly, I was the one organizing bills and reminding Mom about her prescriptions in between school and homework.
“It’s fine,” she said curtly.
It wasn’t, but I’d settle for fine.
“I’m going to start packing up the car.”
She nodded.
“Marlon’s going to miss you,” I said, trying to soften her just a bit. “But I’m sure he’d love to visit. We’ll be just at the edge of the property.”
“Yes, I fear he’s been spoiled by my velvet settee.” Then she spoke to Marlon. “You’ll just have to grow accustomed to used IKEA furniture, my darling.”
I glanced at him over my shoulder. Paws crossed, he looked like a little prince sitting on a silk pillow. He really was meant for designer purses and private jets. “He’ll weather the storm.”
Packing up my car took longer than it should have, because even though I’d hardly accrued new things since crashing with Ruby, mybelongings seemed to have somehow expanded and nothing fit back in its bags or boxes.
The employee housing sat at the edge of the property in apartments that looked like they’d been added on in the eighties and had seen a few sparing cosmetic updates. The architecture didn’t quite match the mid-century aesthetic of the rest of Starlight Palms, but each mint-colored door was painted with the silhouette of a pink flamingo, which served to unify the building with the rest of the complex.
Eli had put my key on an elongated diamond-shaped Starlight Palms key ring that was included in the resident welcome packs and was a replica of the original property keys. Regardless of how long this living situation lasted, I decided that the key ring would be mine to keep because I’d coveted one since seeing Ruby’s.
With Marlon tucked under my arm, I let myself in and found the lights had been left on. The door led right into the living room, where there was a modern but plush-looking sectional sofa and one of those TVs that looked like it could be a painting.
I snorted when I noticed the selected artwork wasThe Treachery of Imagesby René Magritte. On a cream background was a painted pipe with the French translation of “This is not a pipe” in cursive below.
The only class I ever shared with Eli was art history, and though he was always so hot and cold during that time, he did choose to sit next to me during lectures. Our professor was obsessed with this painting and I once scribbled a note on the edge of a paper for Eli to see about how our professor probably wanked to fantasies of this painting. Because I can’t have nice things, I accidentally dropped the paper on the way out of class only for the professor to pick it up, read my note, and then return it to me, all while holding the most awkwardly intense eye contact.
