Emma Straub - Modern Lovers

Jane reached over and took the cigarette out of Ruby’s hand. Instead of dropping it on the sidewalk, she put it to her own lips and took a drag. “Don’t tell your mum.”

Ruby exhaled loudly and fell into her mother’s arms.

Elizabeth was groggy. She’d slept terribly, rolling around all night. Andrew had fallen asleep upon impact, as usual, and watching him sleep while they were fighting was ten times worse than watching him sleep when they were getting along. The window was open, and at midnight some drunk person had been yelling on the sidewalk. At three, a car alarm went off, over and over. There were the usual sirens, backdrop to the city life, insistent and wailing. Elizabeth had finally fallen asleep around four, she thought, but it was equally possible that she’d been awake until just before six and finally conked out for an hour, until Andrew woke her up with a cough. When she opened her eyes, he was standing on his side of the bed, looking at her. Her cell phone was in his hands.

“What?” she said. “What is it?”

• • •

Harry was sitting on the couch hunched over a bowl of cereal. Elizabeth pulled her robe tight around her waist and sat down next to him. “Honey,” she said, “I just heard from Zoe. There was a fire at the restaurant last night. Everyone is fine, but I thought you should know.”

“I know,” Harry said. “Ruby texted me last night. Like, when the firemen were going in. She said they broke the door with axes, even though the fire wasn’t even near the door.” He slurped up a spoonful of milk.

“You knew ? How could you not wake me up?” Elizabeth stretched her fingers toward Harry’s neck and pretended to strangle him. “God! Harry!”

“What were you going to do? Run down there with a bucket of water?” He raised the bowl in front of his face as a barrier when Elizabeth glared at him. “Sorry! I should have told you, fine!”

“I’m going to pop down there and see if they need anything. You stay here and out of trouble, okay?”

Harry waved good-bye with his spoon.

• • •

The front door was open, and Elizabeth poked her head in, knocking on the doorframe. Zoe was sitting at the dining table, her phone to her ear, a stack of paper in front of her. Ruby and Jane were both in the kitchen, with their backs to the door. The whole house smelled like pancakes and bacon.

“Hey,” Elizabeth said. “Can I come in? I just heard.”

Zoe glanced up and waved her in, but a look passed over her face that made Elizabeth stop just inside the door. “I can come back, if now isn’t good,” she said, half-whispering. Zoe waved her in again, more vigorously.

“I’m on hold, endless hold,” she said. “It’s shocking, I know — insurance companies are surprisingly hard to get on the telephone when a place burns down.”

Jane muttered something, and Ruby laughed. “Oh, hi, Elizabeth,” Ruby said, swiveling around in a clumsy pirouette. She winked.

Elizabeth scuttled over to Zoe and gave her a quick hug before gently lowering herself onto the next chair over. “I can’t believe it,” she said. “Are you okay? Can I help?”

Zoe raised a finger. “Hang on, I think I have an actual person now. Hello?” she said into the phone. “Yes, hello, hold on, thank you so much.” She mouthed, Sorry , and then covered her left ear with her hand and walked up the stairs.

Jane set an enormous platter of pancakes — thick, fluffy, generously studded with blueberries — in front of Elizabeth. “Stay,” she said. “I always make too many.”

Ruby threw herself into the chair opposite Elizabeth and forked four huge pancakes onto her plate.

“Oh, I shouldn’t impose,” Elizabeth said. The pancakes smelled like Hyacinth on a Sunday morning. Her stomach growled.

“Really,” Jane said. “You know Zo never eats more than two. Better you than Bingo.” She smiled and handed Elizabeth a plate.

“Okay,” Elizabeth said. For someone whose restaurant had just been knocked out of commission for an unknown period of time, Jane seemed remarkably upbeat. Elizabeth edged off a small bite of pancake with the side of her fork. “Oh, my God,” she said. “These are insane.”

“I know,” Jane said, and smiled even more broadly, like the cat who had eaten not only the canary but the nest, too. “No hard feelings about the other night, right?”

“Sure,” Elizabeth said. “Of course not.”

“I forgot the syrup!” Jane said. “What are we even doing?” She hustled back over to the kitchen and came back brandishing an oversized bottle of syrup. Jane poured giant puddles onto everyone’s plate.

“You are extra goofy today, Mom. Is there Prozac in these?” Ruby said.

“Ha-ha,” said Jane. “Maybe.” She stuck a quarter of a pancake into her mouth. “Tastes good, doesn’t it? Nice and medicinal.”

Ruby rolled her eyes but was looking at her mother with affection. Elizabeth was tempted to back away slowly and open the door again, just in case she’d accidentally walked into an alternate universe.

Zoe thumped back down the stairs, as quick on her feet as Ruby. “Hey!” she said. “Sorry about that! I think we have a good guy over there, Jane. Shouldn’t be too bad. I mean, it’ll be terrible, and God knows how long it’ll take us to fix everything, but we’re covered, and they know it, so at least all we’re losing is time and money, you know?”

“Right,” said Jane. “Great. You hungry?”

“Always,” said Zoe. Instead of scooting behind Ruby, which would have been the most direct route to her chair, Zoe walked the long way around. Elizabeth pretended not to notice the way Zoe gave Jane’s earlobe a gentle tug as she scooted behind her, and then she pretended not to hear the low little noise Jane made in response.

“Did you make these with ricotta or yogurt or melted butter or all three?” Elizabeth said, instead of what she wanted to say. When Zoe finally sat down again, Elizabeth widened her eyes and gave her a look, but Zoe only smiled, beatific and sweet and full of it.

The plans came together remarkably quickly — Dave was organized. Phillip, the architect they’d met with at the coffee shop, drew a few different scenarios and priced things out, and then they were interviewing contractors, the three of them. Dave introduced Andrew as “his right hand, his partner,” and every time he said it, Andrew felt better about the whole thing. Sure, it was a lot of money, but this was what money was for — investing in things you believed in. If it all went well and the other investors came in the way Dave thought they would, they’d be in construction by the fall and then spend the winter working on the inside, decorating and programming and finishing. Next summer, the Waves would be up and running. He could see all the photos now, he and Dave leaning casually against a rustic wooden check-in counter. Hotelier! His mother would no doubt find the career a bit gauche, but Andrew liked the thought of it. Purposeful, with a sprinkling of glamour. It was a good plan.

The first check wasn’t huge — a hundred grand. Dave said that they could squeak by with seventy-five, and that one-fifty would be ideal, and so Andrew thought an even hundred was a good place to start. He and Elizabeth had an accountant in the Slope and an investment person in the city, but he handled only their retirement accounts and Harry’s college fund. That’s where all their savings went. The big money — Andrew’s family money — was taken care of by a junior guy in the Marx family arsenal of suits. He and Elizabeth touched the money only in case of emergencies — when they had to replace something in the house or when they occasionally had to borrow from the fund to pay Harry’s tuition. It was just sitting there — not an endless Scrooge McDuck — size swimming pool, but a good-size puddle of money.