Don’t tell her anything about us. If she’s hoping you’ll find someone to love, maybe even marry, you’ll only disappoint her.
Ruth says, “The most amazing thing about my grandparents is they’re still madly in love after fifty years.” Her already flushed face brightens as she describes how her grandparents spend their evenings snuggling on the couch.
Charlotte senses that Ruth has said this before, maybe even to Rocco. But shining through the performance is her love for her grandparents, a good sign. She’s able to love, a gift that people don’t recognize as a gift, as something you have or don’t. Maybe Ruth can love Rocco. Maybe she already does.
Charlotte yawns. “Oops. Excuse me.”
“Don’t apologize,” says Ruth. “We should let you put Daisy to bed. And you guys should get some rest.”
Is she saying they look like they need some rest? Why is Charlotte so defensive?
“Can we eat the rest of the sticky buns after you leave?” Daisy asks.
“Save them for breakfast,” says Ruth. “Heat them at 350 degrees for exactly five minutes. Can you do that?”
“Mom, can we do that?”
“We can.” Charlotte thinks: There is no way that’s going to happen, even if she has to eat all the rest herself. Which, at the moment, doesn’t seem like such a bad idea. The truth is, there’s nothing like sugar and butter . . .
Even a neutral goodbye is risky. In the past, Charlotte has said, “See you soon.” And she never saw that person again. So now she says, “It was lovely to meet you.”
“Thank you, thank you, thank you.” Ruth bows and rolls her hand down from her forehead.
“Talk to you soon,” says Rocco.
No one has to explain that he’s staying with Ruth.
Kiss kiss, and then the sweet silence after the guests have gone home.
Charlotte’s thankful that Daisy is so proud of being able to put on her own pajamas that she’s eager to hurry off to her room and change for bed. Her pajamas are printed with little ice cream cones and slices of pizza.
Charlotte retrieves Moses from the safe, tucks Daisy in with her giraffe, and turns off the light.
“Wait! Can you read to me?” Daisy’s favorite book is about a pig named Pearl who finds a talking bone. Daisy has heard the story so often she knows it has a happy ending, but she still acts scared when Pearl is kidnapped by a fox who wants to cook and eat her. One night Daisy asked Charlotte if they eat pigs. Charlotte didn’t want to lie, but neither did she want to create a vegetarian, so she said, We eat potatoes.
“Mom’s tired.” Only now does Charlotte realize how knocked out she is.
“Okay,” says Daisy. “Then we read two books tomorrow night.”
“Promise,” Charlotte says.
“Rocco’s friend is nice,” Daisy says.
Of course you think she’s nice, Charlotte thinks sourly. She gave you sweets.
“She is nice.” Charlotte kisses Daisy’s forehead. “Good night.”
“Good night.” Daisy’s voice is like a tiny hand squeezing Charlotte’s heart.
Eli’s already in bed. Charlotte puts on one of his T-shirts and a pair of his pajama bottoms. A signal. Sex is out of the question. They’re both exhausted.
They turn to face each other and don’t speak for a while. Eli smells of toothpaste. What a blessing, to be able to look so deeply into someone’s eyes that he turns into a cyclops.
“She’s a little much,” Eli says. “Don’t you think?” Which makes her love him even more.
“Nice enough. Even Daisy liked her.” Charlotte wishes she didn’t feel so proud of herself for being big enough to say that. “And we did great. We welcomed her with open arms.”
“Your poor brother,” Eli says.
“Poor everyone,” Charlotte says.
3
Ruth
Everything was fine, or sort of fine, until the Baroness Frieda fired me and left me with thousands of dollars of credit card debt as severance pay. Being the personal assistant to a narcissistic, coke-addled minor celebrity hadn’t been the greatest job in the world, but it was a job, and when that ended, I had just enough money to pay for one more month’s rent—and then I got evicted.
So I did what I always did when things got really bad: I retreated to my grandparents’ house so they could take care of me and feed me and love me until I figured out what to do next.
At night, my grandparents’ brownstone is dark. They claim they keep the lights low to save the planet. It’s inspiring to see two elderly people who care about climate change. But I think it’s vanity too. Darkness