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The older lady clasps her hands at her chest. “Oh, I love bucket lists! We started one a few years ago. So far, we’ve gone whitewater rafting and run a 5K. And we didn’t even come in last. I’d never jogged a step until I was in my early sixties.”
“That’s fantastic. All of it. Good for you,” I say.
The woman shifts her gaze to Ruby. “But you don’t want to try the mushrooms?”
“Actually,” Ruby says, lifting her fork, “you’ve inspired me. If you can do a 5K as a brand-new runner, I can eat a mushroom without washing it down with wine.”
“Lovely,” the woman says. “You’ll have to let us know how you like them.”
Ruby gives her a thumbs-up and digs in with panache as the couple heads to the counter. As she chews, she pulls a face that says mushrooms are weird, but I’m choking them down anyway. She grimaces, swallows, then pastes on an I did it smile as she nods. “Not that bad.”
I lift my beer glass in a toast. “To trying new things.”
“Yes, I definitely need a drink now,” she says, clinking her glass to mine before indulging in a long, hearty swallow of her Chardonnay.
As she stabs another ’shroom, she tips her forehead to the older couple, who have just finished ordering. “The porcini are good,” she calls to them. “I bet if you already like mushrooms, you’re going to love these.”
The man and woman smile and, making soft, excited conversation, claim a table near the window.
Ruby’s putting herself out there, so maybe I should try something new too.
Not food.
But . . . forthrightness.
I should come clean with her about my move. She’s been playing it cool, but I could tell by the way she reacted yesterday that she wasn’t happy to have something so big sprung on her without warning. “So, the L.A. thing,” I say as I spear some mushrooms, which are incredible, as always. “I confess, I’m excited, but a little nervous too.”
“But why? You’re so good at your job.”
“Thanks, but that’s not the reason. It’s that I’ve lived here my whole life. Los Angeles is all new. Yeah, I have professional connections, and I already have a few friends over there, so I won’t be completely out on a limb, but . . . it’s new. Different.”
“Still, you’re going to try it,” she says, with a cheery grin. “Like the list says. Something new.”
I swallow roughly, then repeat, “Yeah. Like the list says.”
“I know I freaked out earlier about the moving news, but now that I’ve had time to absorb it, I’m excited for you.” She nods encouragingly. “I think it’s incredible that you’re branching out, growing, going big and . . . not going home. And if I don’t die of mushroom consumption, I’ll come visit you.”
“Sounds like a fair deal.”
Turns out Ruby doesn’t hate the mushrooms, but she doesn’t love them, either. When we finish, she declares them a solid three and a half, with the wine clocking in at a strong eight.
“We’ll split the difference and call it a win,” I say as we push away from the table.
“No, we’ll call it a wine win.”
“If you insist.”
As we go, the woman waves, and the man says, “Thank you for suggesting the sampler. Best thing I’ve eaten in years.”
“Amazing!” Ruby enthuses, grinning as she ducks under my arm and out the door.
Once we’re back on the sidewalk, she nudges me with her elbow. “You’re right, you know . . . the whole trying-new-things stuff is good.”
“Even though you didn’t care for the new thing in question?”
“Yes. I still proved to myself that I can be brave, and something even better than enjoying it happened.”
“What’s that?” I ask, curious.
She nods back toward the restaurant. “Our list seems to be making people happy.”
“Claire would like that,” I say, my throat tight. “You know what she always said. If you—”
“Can only do one thing today, make someone happy,” Ruby finishes. “I remember. I think she was right. Don’t you?”
One look at her, already seeming so much happier than she has in far too long, makes it easy to answer. “I do.”
She’s the one I want to make happy now, while I have the chance.
Since in two weeks, I’ll be gone.
9
JESSE
We wander down the street and around the corner toward the park, the Brooklyn oasis that always seems to call my name.
But instead of turning right to catch the subway to our neighborhood, I glance toward the brightly lit façade of the Brooklyn Art Museum on the other side of the roundabout.
This is another spot in the city that speaks to me.
Ruby too, I’m sure.
“Know what else would make me happy right now?” she asks.
“Tell me.”
She slows her pace, gesturing to the museum. “If the night didn’t have to end just yet.”
I smile. “I’m in no rush to get home.”
