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Besides, I’d die before I’d admit this to anyone, but it speaks to me of Ruthie’s fire. Her sparkle. It needs to be hers.
“That’s fine.”
He nods and doesn’t ask any follow-up questions. Discreet, I appreciate that too.
“Say, do you like your job?” I ask, tipping my head. I see him prepping a canned answer, one that will probably be delivered convincingly. “The real answer, not the bullshit they feed you here.”
He laughs. “I like taking care of people, but my boyfriend of five years broke up with me a month ago, and I hawk blood diamonds. What do you think?”
“Ever consider working in the legal field?”
Chapter Twelve
Ruthie
“Ilook stupid,” I mutter to Eden, gesturing to the other people scurrying up the stairs to the courthouse. They’re all wearing pantsuits and coats, and I have on a long, cream-colored dress elevated from looking plain by gold embroidery and little beads and sequins at the bust and feet. It’s covered by my crappy puffer coat—a pretty blue-gray once, called dove, it’s now a brownish-gray no washing machine can cure. The combination makes me feel an idiot, but I wasn’t about to take Eden up on her offer to buy me a coat too. The dress already costs more than what I’d make in multiple shifts at the diner, but when I objected to the extravagance, she told me to hush up.
I shouldn’t have let her take care of me like that. I shouldn’t have soaked it in like hot cement. But it felt so good to be loved up, and I have to wonder if it was her way of giving me a send-off. I can tell she’s working up to telling me they’re closing the diner. I’m not ready to hear it, though, and she seems to understand that.
Eden gives me a withering look. “I just spent a good half hour helping you get ready, and you’re telling me you look stupid?”
“Oh, you’ve done it now,” Charlie says with a grin. He’s wearing one of his beanies. He must have a hundred because he’s always wearing one, and it always seems to be a different color.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” I say, feeling guilty and ungrateful. “The dress is beautiful. It’s just…none of this is real. I don’t want to act like it’s something it’s not.”
“There’s nothing wrong with looking fabulous,” Eden says, putting a hand on her hip. “Who cares what anyone else thinks?”
I do, I suppose. I’m wearing a beautiful dress with an ugly coat over it, and Shane will probably take one look at me and laugh. My outfit—half beautiful, half ragged—makes me feel like I can’t do anything right. I certainly don’t know how to get married the right way.
“You look beautiful, Ruthie,” Charlie says, his ears going pink.
“Thank you,” I say, feeling a swell of fondness for both of them. “I’m so grateful to both of you.” I glance back and forth between them, trying to take in a little more of their goodness.
Charlie and Eden have been married for at least thirty years but still look at each other like it’s their wedding day. In all honesty, I think I’ve only ever heard Charlie say a thousand words, but they must be the right words, because Eden adores him.
The last time I got married, it only lasted for four months, and although Shane and I haven’t established a timeline yet, I’m guessing I’m on my second four-month marriage. This one isn’t supposed to last, but it’s still a statistic that makes my stomach churn.
It won’t be like that for Danny and Mira. I know my brother and his girlfriend are the real deal. I couldn’t be happier for them, although it boggles my mind that Danny decided to go ring-shopping the day before my sham of a wedding. And Shane, who went with him, didn’t say a word to me.
After I got off the phone with Danny yesterday, I texted Shane:
You’re a terrible fiancé. You were going to get an F, but now you get an F-.
He sent me back the middle finger emoji, then asked if I’d rounded up two witnesses. Honestly.
I told him yes but didn’t clarify that I’d be bringing Charlie and Eden and not Josie and Tank. I figured he deserved it for being less than generous with information.
“You can still change your mind, doll,” Eden tells me, and I realize we’ve been standing at the bottom of the stairs for at least a solid minute.
That means we’re probably going to be a minute or two late, and I already know Shane is one of those you’re early or you’re late people.
Danny is too, and he raised me to be the same way, but I’ve never quite managed to pull it off. My brain is always throwing out ideas like it’s a shirt cannon at a sports game—usually at exactly the wrong time, or it bequeaths a small shirt to someone who needs a large. Time has a habit of slipping away, so much so that I have an alarm on my phone to remind myself of when I have to leave to pick up Izzy.
Izzy.
I have to remember that I’m doing this mostly for my daughter, so she can have her surgery.
“No,” I say, firming my lips. “I’m ready.”
