“Nobody has more opinions than a midwestern mom.”
This is absolutely true. “No lies detected.”
I watch as Ruby uses the pointed toe of her very cute flat to fling dirty laundry out of her way as she clears a path to my bed. The desire to pull the covers over my head and hide is almost too great to beat back, but Ruby is my person. If anyone can see me like this, it’s her.
“Soooo . . .” She sits on the edge of the bed and gestures to my disaster of a bedroom. “This is . . . this is something.”
“It’s not my finest moment.” Embarrassment and shame prevent me from looking her in the eyes.
“We all have low points and I can’t wait to figure this out. But”—she throws the comforter off my bed and points to my bedroom door—“before that can happen, I’m going to need you to take a shower and wash your hair. Your poor curls look like they’ve taken the brunt of this meltdown and I wouldn’t be a real friend if I didn’t intervene.”
If there’s a day I hate most, it’s wash day. My head already aches from regret; detangling the disaster I’ve allowed to take place will only make it worse.
“How about I—” I make the mistake of thinking I can negotiate with Ruby.
“How about you get in the shower, wash your hair, and then come tell me what the hell happened that has you ignoring my calls and your mom calling me?”
Oh fuck.
I knew my parents were worried, but I didn’t think they were call-Ruby-level concerned.
“My mom called you?”
“Oh, only about twenty times a day for the last three days.” She stands up, her almost-six-foot frame towering over me, and yanks me out of bed. She pushes me in the direction of my door. “Go. Shower. Then we’ll talk.”
“Sheesh. Bossy.” I try to go for annoyed, but fail miserably. I’m so grateful to see her that I could cry. Which, because I can’t fucking control it, I do.
“Hey.” Ruby turns me around when she hears my voice break. “It’s okay. This is all going to be okay. I promise.”
She pulls me into her arms and we hug each other tight until my tears begin to subside.
“Has anyone ever told you you’ve got a fantastic set of boobies?” I ask as I step out of her embrace. My tears have left wet marks right on her chest. “They’re perfect crying pillows.”
“Wow. Nobody has ever said anything nicer! Thank you!” Her dazzling, pageant-winning smile lights up my room. “Now, I love you, but you really do stink. Please go get in the shower.”
I don’t make her ask again. My body still aches and I’m doubtful that I’ll ever run out of tears, but for a moment, standing in front of my best friend, the clouds began to lift. It’s not much, but it’s enough. As I strip off my dirty sweats—which should probably be burned at this point—and step beneath the warm stream of the shower, I hold tight to the small inkling of hope and let some of my fears wash off me and down the drain.
* * *
? ? ?
When I walk into my room after my shower, my mom and Ruby are standing in it like the last week never happened. New sheets are on my bed, the floor is spotless, and an outfit consisting of something other than sweats is folded on top of my dresser.
“Oh, there’s my beautiful girl!” Mom crosses the room with a look filled with so much relief, I almost choke on my guilt. “Ruby and I straightened up your room a bit so you can get ready and go out to lunch. Also, Ashleigh has been stopping by every day. It might be nice if you girls invite her along. If the amount of baked goods she’s brought over is any indication, she’s very worried about you.”
“Yes, I like Ashleigh, she can come.” Ruby doesn’t even ask my opinion. “Is her last name Whittington? I think we did some pageants together back in the day.”
“Ashleigh Barnes now,” I correct her. “But yeah, that was her maiden name.”
Of course Ashleigh was a pageant girl. I should’ve known from her perfect posture and unnerving ability to keep a smile on her face.
“She was always really sweet, and not in a phony way. How funny that she ended up being your neighbor.”
“Oh good!” My mom claps her hands together. “I’ll give her a call and let her know you’ll be by to pick her up shortly.” She starts to leave my room, but before she turns the corner, she stops and turns around. “It really is good to see you smile again, Collins. I hope you know how loved you are.”
Between her soft tone and the expression on her face, which is so sincere it knocks my breath away, I struggle to fight back a new wave of tears. Before I can even open my mouth to come up with a response, she’s gone.
“I love your mom.” Even Ruby’s steadfast voice seems a little shaky.
“She’s the best.”
It’s fun to give her a hard time about her obsession with Matthew, Luke, John, and her bedazzled Bible, but I’ve never not known how incredibly lucky I am to have her as my mom. Well, maybe for like a month in seventh grade, but middle schoolers suck and I cannot be held responsible for the things my hormonal little body made me say and do.
“All righty then.” Ruby, never one to get sidetracked by pesky things like feelings, bounces right back into her usual no-nonsense self. “There’s an outfit on your dresser. If you even contemplate switching the denim for leggings, please be aware that I will tackle you to the ground. Also, I know all the kids are wearing them and your podiatrist told you they were a good option, but please, for your friend who flew to Ohio for you, give the Crocs a rest for the day.”
“My friend who flew to Ohio?” I repeat her words back to her. She might not be a midwestern mom （yet）， but she already has the guilt trips down pat. “How can I argue with that?”
“You can’t.” She winks. “You know arguments are how I make a living; you don’t stand a chance against me.”
The worst part is that I didn’t stand a chance even before she decided to go to school for it. Luckily, though, we’re usually on the same page and having her on my side of a debate is the best thing in the world. Looking back, I’m pretty sure it’s why Peter wasn’t crazy about her. All my other friends worshipped the ground he walked on, but Ruby? Ruby saw right through him. She loved to come over and debate him on whatever subject he deemed himself an expert on . . . and there were a lot.
“Speaking of flying to Ohio . . .” Segues have never been my strong point. “How long until you fly back to LA?”
“I’m here for at least a week, but maybe longer,” she says. “I haven’t touched my PTO since I started working. Between the time I’ve accrued and the ability to work via video calls, I could stay here for a month.”
She might not say it outright, but I can read the subtext. She’s here until she knows I won’t fall apart. And I love her even more.
“Oh my god!” I grab her hands when I realize the best, worst news ever. “Does that mean you’ll help me run my HOA campaign?”
“Ughhhhh. You know I didn’t like anyone when I lived here.” She rolls her eyes so hard, for a minute I think they might actually get stuck in the back of her head. “I’m pretty sure I toilet-papered a few houses you’re going to want votes from. Are you sure you want me on your team? Plus, you know how intense I get. Once I start, you won’t be able to get me to leave.”