Page 60 of The Immortalists

“Ruby’s school starts at seven thirty,” Raj says.

“Except on performance days,” Ruby says. “On performance days, we sleep late.”

“Oh?” says Daniel. Coffee will help. Mira usually has it ready for him, but today, the pot is empty. “Why’s that?”

“Because we’re out so late. Till one, sometimes. Or later,” Ruby says. “On those days, we homeschool.”

She’s still in her pajamas: SpongeBob SquarePants scrubs and a white tank top with a pink bra underneath. The effect is disconcerting—the childish pants and the tank, which isn’t tight, exactly, but still shows more than Daniel expected to see.

“Oh,” he says again. “That sounds complicated.”

“See?” asks Ruby, turning to Raj.

“It’s not complicated,” Raj says. “School days, early. Performance days, late.”

“Have you seen my mother?” asks Daniel.

“Yup,” says Ruby. “She was up early, too. We had coffee together. Then she went to Tai Chi.” She puts her fork down with a clatter. “Hey, do you have a juicer?”

“A juicer?” asks Daniel.

“Yeah. Dad and I found this in the fridge”—Ruby lifts her glass; orange juice sloshes precariously close to the rim—“but we prefer to make our own.”

“I’m afraid we don’t,” says Daniel. “Have a juicer.”

“That’s okay,” Ruby chirps. She spears a folded corner of omelet. “So, what kind of stuff do you guys like to have for breakfast?”

She’s only making conversation, Daniel knows, but he’s having trouble keeping up. What’s more, the coffee machine isn’t turning on. He’s filled the filter with grounds, poured the water in, and flicked the switch that starts the brewing process, but the little red light remains off.

“I’m not much for breakfast, actually,” he says. “Usually, I just bring a mug of coffee to work.”

Soft padding of feet on the stairwell, and Mira sweeps into the kitchen. Her hair, shiny and freshly blown out, lifts like a wing.

“Good morning,” she says.

“Morning,” says Raj.

“Morning,” says Ruby. She turns back to Daniel. “Why aren’t you at work today?”

“The plug, sweetheart,” says Mira. She crosses behind him, touching the small of his back, and plugs the machine into the wall. The red light comes on immediately.

“It’s the day before Thanksgiving, Roo,” says Raj. “No one’s at work.”

“Oh,” says Ruby. “Right.” Another corner of omelet. She’s eating her way in, leaving a thick, stacked blob of central toppings. “You’re a doctor, aren’t you?”

“I am.” The humiliation of it—his career so long established, now precarious—is exacerbated by Raj’s mansion, his cashmere, his juicer. It takes monumental effort for Daniel to remember Ruby’s question. “I work for a military entrance processing station. I make sure that soldiers are healthy enough to go to war.”

Raj laughs. “Well, if that ain’t an oxymoron. How do you like it?”

“Very much,” says Daniel. “I’ve been with the military for over fifteen years.”

He still feels proud to say it. Coffee drips thinly into the pot.

“Okay,” says Raj, as if agreeing to a stalemate.

“And you?” asks Mira. “How are you two enjoying work?”

Raj smiles. “We love it.”