Emma Straub - Modern Lovers

“How’s your SAT class going? I haven’t really heard that much about it,” Zoe said. Behind Ruby, Jane rolled her eyes — but it was never a good time to have a conversation that a teenager didn’t want to have, so Zoe forged ahead. “You think you’ll be able to take the test again?”

“As I’ve already told you, Mothers, the score was not the problem.” Ruby gritted her teeth. “My scores were fine. Like, better than half of my stupid friends’.”

“But not as good as the other half of your stupid friends’?” Jane sat down.

“They’re not actually stupid. My friends are smart. I’m just calling them stupid because I hate them.” Ruby closed the book in front of her.

“Gotcha,” Zoe said.

“And yes, I can take the test again, if you want. I really don’t think it matters, though. Mom didn’t go to college, and she’s fine.” Ruby turned toward Jane. “Right? Are you fine?”

“I went to cooking school,” Jane said. “If you want to go to a trade school, that counts.”

“And what did you do in college, Mum, except smoke cigarettes and play in a band?”

Zoe laughed. “Hey, I was an art major! I also made prints!”

“You guys are really not selling this idea.” Ruby shook her head. “No wonder neither of you gave a shit about my applications. It’s a waste of time and money, and you know it! Come on, admit it, part of you is relieved that you’re not going to have to spend like fifty grand a year for me to learn how to weave baskets, or whatever you did at Oberlin, or make a soufflé.”

“You already know how to make a soufflé,” Jane said proudly.

“Again, not the point.” Ruby swiveled in her chair and looked back toward the kitchen. “Are the tacos ready? I’m starving. It was a long day of doing absolutely nothing in here.” She pushed back her chair and walked into the kitchen.

Jane slid over into the empty chair. “Did we do everything right, or did we do everything wrong? Sometimes I can’t tell.”

Zoe let herself fold against Jane’s shoulder. “If you figure it out, let me know.” She smelled like pork and garlic and chocolate, and Zoe breathed it all in. If things were always this easy, they’d just be together. If the restaurant weren’t a tug-of-war, if Ruby weren’t a gorgeous ball of anxiety that grew in the pit of her stomach every day. Zoe wished that marriage were just the good parts, just the parts that made you happy, but it wasn’t. Even she knew that.

It was an official date, as far as Harry could tell. The singer from the Aeroplanes lived in the neighborhood and ate lunch at Hyacinth every day, and so he was friendly with Ruby’s moms. The guy put them on the list for the show at the Barclays Center, good seats, too. Ruby asked via text, like it wasn’t a big deal, but Harry knew it was. He would have to tell his parents, and she would have to tell her parents, and one of them would probably pick the other one up at the door and sit in the living room for two minutes and make small talk. Harry really, really hoped that his parents would let him go over to Ruby’s, but he wasn’t surprised when they were both sitting in the living room, waiting for her to arrive. They said they were just making signs with pictures of Iggy Pop to put up around the neighborhood, but Harry didn’t believe them. They were lingering.

“What?” said Elizabeth. “I just want to see her! It’s just Ruby!”

Harry was pacing back and forth, stopping every time he heard a noise on the sidewalk. Andrew watched, amused, which was the worst. He leaned back and peeked out the window. “She’s coming,” he said.

Harry zipped into the kitchen and opened the fridge. He needed the cool air, and also not to be staring at the door as Ruby walked in. The party at Dust’s friend’s house had been pretty dumb, not that Harry had much to compare it to. There were lots of kids sitting around smoking, and he’d followed Ruby from room to room. Every now and then, they’d stop to say hi to someone, and when they moved on, Ruby would tell him how she didn’t really like that person, no matter what she’d said to their face. Eventually they’d found an empty corner and just sat on the floor, Ruby ashing her cigarette into a discarded Snapple cap by their feet. Dust ignored them, and Harry was relieved. Parties were way less eventful than in the movies. No one was dancing, no one was barfing, at least not until the end, when Ruby’s friend Sarah ducked into the bathroom and some pretty gross sounds came from the other side of the door. The only exciting thing that happened was that Ruby held his hand, even if their hands were tucked behind their knees, out of view of passersby. That didn’t matter. What mattered was that after they got home, she sent him a text asking him to go on an actual date.

“Hey, Ruby, how are you?” Harry heard his father greet her. He closed the fridge door and wiped his hair out of his eyes. Ruby was hugging his father, then his mother. She’d done something different to her hair — it was all braided tight against her scalp for a few inches, when it exploded into curls.

“Whoa,” Harry said. “When did you do that?”

Ruby twirled a curl around her middle finger. “An hour ago.”

“I love it,” Elizabeth said. She scrunched a handful of Ruby’s hair. “You look like your grandmother. For most people, that’s a weird compliment, but you really do.”

“I was going for post-apocalyptic sun goddess, but I’ll take grandmother, I guess.” Ruby smiled. “Thanks.”

“We should go,” Harry said. “We don’t want to miss anything.”

“Right,” said Elizabeth. “You guys have fun. Tell the boys we say hi!”

Harry stopped with his hand on the doorknob. “Mom, I am not telling anyone that you say hi.”

“Fair enough.” Elizabeth blew a kiss, which Harry waved away, as if he could push it back through the air onto his mother’s lips. They were out the door before she could say anything else. Ruby didn’t take his hand on the walk to the train, but she did once they were on the Q heading toward the concert.

• • •

The Barclays Center was enormous. Harry didn’t care about basketball, and so he hadn’t been before. From the outside, the arena looked like a spaceship had just landed on Flatbush Avenue, and on the inside it was all gleaming black floors, like being inside an evil crystal ball. Ruby had been to a couple of concerts with her mum, and she pulled him through the crowd toward the will-call windows. Most of the concertgoers were in their thirties, with unseasonable beards and knit caps, which made Harry rethink his plain white V-neck. Ruby was dressed, as she’d said, as some kind of goddess, with her new hair surrounding the back of her head like a halo, and a flowy little dress over some giant heavy black boots. She scowled at everyone who came within three feet of her, which was about a hundred people a minute. They finally found their seats, which were in a roped-off section of the floor, only a few feet from the left-hand side of the stage.

“Um,” Harry said. “This is close. These guys must really like your mom’s food.”

“My mom did the food for the singer’s wedding,” Ruby said. “It’s cool. They’re like, whatever. They’re not that famous.”

Harry gestured to the rest of the arena. “I’d say they’re pretty much famous, not that that means anything in any real sense, but it does mean that they sold a lot of tickets to this concert.”

“Fair enough,” Ruby said. She snuggled her nose against Harry’s neck. “I don’t really like their music. It’s for sad boys and dads.”

Harry could almost picture a day when Ruby’s touching his neck wouldn’t give him an instant boner, but today was not that day. “I may or may not fall into that category,” he said.