FORTY-FIVE
RUBY
The cable cars clatter in the distance as we make our way up one of San Francisco’s iconic hills, my mother walking beside me at a pace slower than I remember—or maybe I’m the one who’s slowed down. We navigate Russian Hill together, our shoulders occasionally brushing—a physical reminder of the space I’ve kept between us these past years.
“I’m sorry I haven’t been home sooner,” I say, adjusting my sunglasses against the glare. “And for not inviting you and Dad to Vegas.”
Mom reaches up to smooth back her hair—auburn like mine but with elegant streaks of silver threading through it—as the breeze from the bay catches it.
“Sweetheart, you don’t need to apologize.” Her voice catches. “We just missed you.”
“I know, but?—”
“No,” she says, stopping on the sidewalk to face me. “When you lose someone you love, there’s no manual for grief. We understood that you needed space.”
I swallow against the tightness in my throat. “It wasn’t fair to shut you out.”
She gives me a sad smile. “It was hard to know you were suffering and didn’t want our help. Every time I called and you rushed off the phone, every invitation you declined…I felt like I was losing you too when all I wanted was to take you in my arms and hold you. But I don’t blame you, Ruby. You handled it the only way you were able to handle it.”
The weight of my selfishness settles on my shoulders. I’ve been so consumed by my own pain that I never fully considered theirs.
“But I shouldn’t have shut you out,” I whisper.
She squeezes my hand. “You’re here now. That’s what matters.” She pauses, studying my face. “Though I’m still surprised by this spontaneous visit. When you called from the airport yesterday, your father and I could hardly believe it.”
I smile ruefully, thinking of my abrupt departure from Vegas—tossing clothes into a bag, canceling meetings, barely stopping to think. Athena’s words by the pool had left me reeling.
“I missed you and Dad,” I say, and it’s not even a lie. “I just…needed to be home.”
We continue down to North Beach, and the neighborhood pulses with summer energy—tourists in shorts with city maps, sidewalk cafés filled with people seeking shade, ice cream parlors with lines snaking down the block.
My heart stutters when we turn onto Columbus Avenue and I spot Café Trieste. The small coffee house with its faded awning and cramped interior hasn’t changed at all. Claire and I used to come here almost every Saturday when we first started dating—law students gorging on caffeine and stolen moments between study sessions.
I stop, staring at the entrance.
“Ruby?” Mom follows my gaze, understanding dawning on her face. “Is this…”
“Where Claire and I used to come,” I finish. “Do you mind if we go in?”
The bell above the door jingles as we enter, and the blast of air conditioning is a welcome relief from the summer heat. Inside, it’s just as I remember—worn wooden tables crowded too close together, vintage photos of San Francisco on the walls, the ancient espresso machine hissing behind the counter.
We order and find a small table near the window. Mom removes her sunglasses, laying them neatly beside her purse.
“Your father was disappointed he couldn’t join us today,” she says with a small sigh. “That board meeting couldn’t be moved.”
“I should have given you more notice.”
She waves this away. “An unexpected visit from our daughter? We’ll take it any way we can get it.” She studies my face. “What really prompted this sudden trip home?”
I stare into my iced coffee, watching condensation gather on the glass. “Things have changed,” I say simply. “For the better. But I couldn’t think straight anymore, and I needed perspective.”
“Something with work?”
“No. Something personal.”
A cautious smile spreads across her face. “I can see it. There’s color in your cheeks. Your eyes are brighter.” She reaches across the table to place her hand over mine. “You look more like my Ruby again.”
The wooden chair creaks as I lean back, gathering my thoughts. “I’ve met someone,” I say. “My neighbor. She’s been…very helpful.”
