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“Never.”
She gets up to make sure Fiona doesn’t spoon too much ice cream into her dish and adds a few raspberries on top “for color.” I know she’s trying to get Fi to eat more produce, but she doesn’t need to try. Fiona looks at her like she hung the moon. If Ruby wants her to eat fruit, she’ll eat fruit.
A full feeling blooms in my chest, but it has nothing to do with the giant meal we just polished off. This woman moves something inside of me that I’d long ago left for dead.
It’s an ache of desperate yearning and also a glimmer of hope. I can’t get enough.
I lean back in my chair and swirl my wine in its glass. The syrupy legs drip as the wine settles, a sign of good fermentation. Ruby picked a good bottle. Not expensive, but good in a way that sneaks up. Something that a lot of people pass over because it’s not a Buttercup reserve or a limited edition. Just a good, solid, dependable wine.
I pour a bit more into both of our glasses. Wishful thinking. I know that as soon as Fiona goes to bed, Ruby will race out of here like she always does.
It’s well past Fiona’s bedtime, and she knows it. She’s suddenly quieter, despite the sugar rush from the bowl of ice cream she practically inhaled. After she helps Ruby put the dishes into the dishwasher, she comes behind me and wraps her arms around my neck. “Thank you, Daddy,” she whispers.
“For what?”
“For letting me stay up.” I hug her back, never a doubt in my mind that she’s the best thing to happen to me, regardless of what happened between me and her mom.
Ruby kisses the top of her head before I shuttle her up to bed with the promise of an extra story in the morning if she doesn’t come back downstairs three times for a drink of water or a forgotten thought she “needs” to tell me.
“Fine. But what if I really need something?” she asks with a yawn, barely able to get the words out before her eyelids droop.
“I’m here, lovebug. Don’t worry.”
She opens her mouth to regale me with a final thought, but exhaustion leads her down the road to sleep.
When I come back downstairs, Ruby has finished cleaning up the kitchen, even though I told her to leave everything for me to do later.
“You are terrible at following instructions.”
She laughs, carrying a stack of washed and dried plates to the cabinet. “Hey, did anyone ever point out that your plates don’t match?”
“Yeah, it’s been noted.” The kitchen is spotless, and Ruby moves to the couch in the family room next to the kitchen and lets out a long breath. “It’s also okay to admit you’re wiped out.”
“I’m wiped out.”
“Fi will do that to a person.” The mention of my daughter’s name makes her smile. It’s that kneejerk thing that happens when someone’s crept into your heart, and just thinking about them when they’re not around makes you happy.
I’ve noticed Ruby having that reaction to Fi’s name, and my daughter gets equally giddy when I mention Ruby. Fiona and I share that affection for her. Apple doesn’t fall far.
I find myself tempering a smile every time someone makes an offhand comment about Ruby. Just yesterday, Beatrix was talking about something that happened in the tasting room. “We had a party bus drop off twenty sorority sisters for the afternoon. Coulda been a shitshow, but Ruby handled it,” Trix said. I fought a grin at the image of Ruby at work, and I worried that my affection for her is obvious to anyone paying attention.
Standing still in my kitchen, Ruby cocks her head, listening for any sign of Fiona rustling upstairs. “Think she’s asleep?”
“Oh, yeah. You did the impossible. You tired her out.”
“Ha. Okay, my job is done.”
“She loves you,” I confide. “In case you were thinking about abandoning us, don’t do it. I might survive, but Fiona…not a chance.”
Ruby laughs gently, as though the effort of laughing harder is too exhausting. But I’m not really kidding. Fiona and I have come to need Ruby more than I ever thought possible, and it concerns me. I don’t want anyone getting hurt, least of all Fiona.
Ruby pops the last of the takeout containers into my fridge.
“Ginger, you’re off the clock. Stop cleaning up.”
Satisfied that the kitchen looks neat, she nods and pushes her chair back. “That wine was good, by the way.”
“You had three sips,” I point out.
