Page 107 of Betting on the Best Friend
“Because of me?” It’s barely a whisper.
“No. No, Ruby, I promise. Not in the way you think. But subbing at the main branch made me realize the main thing I’veliked about my job the last couple of years is working with you. Outside of that, it’s fine, but I don’t love it. When I think about doing it indefinitely . . .” It stretches in front of me like slow suffocation.
“But it’s the best job in the world,” she protests. “How many times have we had that conversation?”
“For you, it is. It’s your calling. For me,you’rethe best part of the job. But I hate being broke. I hate having to hustle constantly to afford Austin. When I started thinking of a future with you, I couldn’t imagine us doing anything more than getting by financially forever. And the restlessness got bad. Then I realized our only path forward together was if we both accepted a limestone fate.” I reach over and draw the brochure from her unprotesting fingers to toss it back on the counter. “Can’t do that to a ruby. Won’t work.”
“You can’t turn a ruby into limestone,” she says with a bravado that tells me she’s feeling shaky on the science. “It won’t happen. We’re supposed to be getting up to no good on your sofa and making plans for our future together, not you telling me your future plans without me.”
I can’t keep having this conversation. “You think you’re offering me gold, but this is pyrite, Ruby. And I care way too much to let you talk yourself into something different.”
“I’m not!”
“Who’s the rock expert?”
“I’m the Ruby expert!”
I study her, the flush in her cheeks, the pleading in her eyes. I could give into it. I could take what she’s offering, and it would still make me happier than any other woman has or could.
But it wouldn’t make her happy in the end.
The weight of that when I eventually see her recognize she settled, in six months or ten years, it would crush me.
“Can you go?” I say.
“What are—are you kicking me out?”
“Giving us space.”
“How much?” Frustration etches tight lines in her face, making her jaw hard. “How long? Because switching your job across town didn’t help. Going to Colorado won’t help. However long you decide you need is only that much more time you’re going to spend being wrong about this.”
“I’m not going radio silent again, if that’s what you’re asking. I’d rather be miserable talking to you than not talking to you.” I give her my best teasing smile, but she slashes a hand through the air, rejecting it.
“What about next week at the library conference? Do I get to sit in sessions with you? Do I change all the classes we picked to avoid you, eat my meals by myself, and shield my eyes if I see you coming?” She spits the words like nails.
“No, of course not. We’re us, and we were great at it for a long time. We’ll do that.”
“How?” Her voice is sharp but also hollow.
I rub my eyes, the intensity of the day manifesting behind them in a ferocious headache. “I don’t know. I promise to figure it out before the conference.”
“Colorado is stupid, and I hate it.”
I stop rubbing my eyes long enough to stare at her. “No one hates Colorado.”
“I do.” Her lips press tight. Grim.
“Ruby . . .”
“I’m leaving.” She walks to the door and opens it. “I will literally close this door between us, but for the record, I’m getting really tired of you closing figurative ones.” Then she’s gone.
Shot through the heart, and she’s to blame. But which one of us is giving love a bad name?
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Ruby
I slink home. Asin, I literally slouch to my car, drive home, and slouch into the condo, hoping against hope that it’s empty.
