Page 45 of State of Ruin

“Really? That all you gotta say to me?” His voice is friendly, but there’s an edge of hurt that I don’t miss. Danny asked me out so many times that I finally gave in last year and let him take me out for a drink. He’s cute, with light brown hair, hazel eyes, and a smattering of freckles, but the conversation was pretty dull, and it felt like a long evening. He walked me home after and then… hovered. I kissed him on the cheek, thanked him, and pretty much bolted inside.

I’ve tried to avoid him as much as possible ever since, and I’m probably being rude, but I can’t think of anything to say to him. So yeah, that really is all I have to say. I make an apologetic face. “I’m sorry. I’m a little short on time—gotta get back to Sylvie.”

Yeah, that’s low, using my poor, injured sister to avoid sweet guys with hopeful expressions.

He sighs, his shoulders drooping in defeat, and jerks his head toward the shop. “Sure. He’s in the back.”

“Thanks,” I say, and hurry around him into the bowels of the shop. “Jambon, come.” It’s odd, seeing Danny. I knew there was nothing between us even before I agreed to a date with him, but still, it’s like the universe is throwing him in my face for a reason. This is your lane, it seems to be saying. Nice, blue-collar Jersey boys. You think a secret weekend of hot fireside sex will win you the heart of the most eligible guy on the East Coast? I don’t think so, girl.

Danny Sullivan and Sinclair Voss have nothing in common apart from their gender, as far as I can tell. They belong to different worlds. And I tell the nasty voice that I’m not getting too big for my britches. This isn’t about trading up or aiming too high. Danny’s a great guy—he’ll make some girl very happy. It’s not Sinclair’s money I’m attracted to, or his status. On the contrary, they’re both enormous obstacles to being able to be with him properly.

It’s just him.

And I have to at least try to pursue this thing, no matter how crazy bad the odds are.

An image of his face last night, when he invited me to Fairwater and I lifted my head off his chest in absolute shock, is imprinted onto my mind. The sincerity in his beautiful blue eyes. He almost looked vulnerable. The memory makes my breath catch, and it stiffens my resolve.

“Hey, Uncle R.!” I say as I spy a handsome Black man around my dad’s age wiping down a wrench with a cloth. This time, I’m genuinely happy to see a coworker of my father’s. Reggie may not really be my uncle, but he and his wife Gloria, a.k.a. Auntie Glo, are as close to family as it gets. Reggie has worked with my dad since before I was born, and they are two of the most beautiful souls I know.

If anyone would have made wonderful parents, it’s these two. Tragically, nature had other ideas, and they gave up trying long ago. Auntie Glo always says that Sylvie and I are her little white babies, and, God knows we both fell apart on her a million times after Mom died. Not a week has gone by since Sylvie’s accident without her bringing something over to the house for us to eat. She always says that Mom saved her in her darkest days after the bunch of awful miscarriages she endured. She tells us that feeding us is the best way she knows how to show her friend that her family is in good hands.

“She’s up there lookin’ after my babies,” she told me on one particularly hard day. “You know? So it’s only right I’m down here lookin’ after hers.”

So when Uncle R. holds his arms out wide, filthy cloth in one hand and shining wrench in the other, I don’t hesitate. I set the coffees down on a workbench and go right in for a hug as Jambon wanders off in search of Dad. He wraps his arms tightly around me, and I let myself lean against his familiar, portly body. His blue coveralls smell of oil, and his gray mustache tickles my ear. “How’s my best girl?” he asks before releasing me. He and Auntie Glo always make me feel about twelve years old, but in a super-nice, comforting way. In a world that’s had its fair share of bombshells, these two have the stability of ancient oak trees.

“I’m great,” I tell Uncle R., mostly meaning it, but I shoot him a big smile to sell it all the same.

My dad’s voice booms out from under a car someplace. “Is that my Elyse?” Jambon barks in excitement and hurtles off in the direction of his voice.

“Hey, Dad!” I shout. The sound of scrabbling and wheels tells me he’s scooting out from whichever vehicle he’s fixing.

“Yeah?” Uncle R. asks in the meantime. “Look at that smile! How come we ain’t seen you on a billboard in Times Square yet, huh?”

That makes me laugh. “Because I’m too short, Uncle R. Short girls can’t be supermodels.”

“Bullshit! Don’t you go believin’ that! You get more beautiful every damn day. That coffee for me?”

“Yep.” I turn and grab the cup with a big R. scrawled across it. “Here you go.”

“You are an angel. Was Pam on today?”

“She sure was. And she put in extra creamer,” I say as he rips off the lid in delight. Pam, the owner of the coffee shop, is a big fan of Reggie. Let’s say Auntie Glo is not a big fan of Pam, nor of Pam’s attempts to kill her husband with saturated fat.

“Oh man, oh man. Do not tell your aunt.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I say. I don’t have a death wish. “Hey, Dad.” I hand my father his cup of black filter coffee, just the way he likes it—which is lucky, because Pam doesn’t put creamer in his coffee. Apparently, he “doesn’t have enough meat on his bones” to tempt her (Pam’s words).

“Hey, kiddo.” Dad gives me a one-armed hug and a smacker on my cheek. “To what do we owe this awesome surprise?”

I glance from him to Uncle R., who’s standing there, looking happily expectant, though the happy part is probably creamer-induced. It does not look like the chance of a private conversation with my dad is in the cards. I sigh inwardly and summon up a mental image of Sinclair and me snuggling in his country pad for courage, because this is awkward. I don’t like putting Dad in this position, and I don’t like giving my family members any reason to think that they’re not my absolute priority at all times. But I owe it to myself to try.

Here goes.

“So the guy I’m seeing,” I begin carefully, glancing behind me to make sure Danny is still out front and not listening in, “has invited me away for a couple nights next month.” I clear my throat. “He, uh, has a place on Long Island.”

Dad full-on grins at me.

Uncle R. whistles. “Long Island? Wowzers! Who is this kid? He good enough for you?”