“But she kept it a secret,” Ruby said. “If it hadn’t been for the wedding, she would have told you guys what was going on.”
Sarah shook her head. “I don’t think that would have changed anything. She knew her diagnosis, and she had a treatment plan. Her doctor said…” She swallowed hard against the lump in her throat. “Her doctor said this is a very aggressive, very fast-moving cancer. Even if Safta told us three weeks ago, when she got her diagnosis, it wouldn’t have changed anything.”
She held Ruby, patting her stepdaughter’s back as Ruby sobbed, “And now there’s not even a wedding!”
“It’s okay,” Sarah repeated. “I promise.” She held Ruby by the shoulders. “Tomorrow we are going to eat a delicious catered dinner, underneath those pretty lights, with beautiful flowers on the table, and we’ll go home with some fabulous door prizes.” She thought for a moment. “And new dresses. New dresses that your dad can’t get mad at us for buying. As far as I’m concerned, it’s a win-win.”
Ruby made a weepy, hiccuping noise, and looked at Sarah with red-rimmed eyes, her pale lashes darkened with tears.
“Want tea?” Sarah asked.
Ruby nodded. Sarah went to the galley kitchen, pleased that the kettle was already full, and that the normally recalcitrant burner on the half-sized stove turned on with her first twist of its dial. Ruby had pulled the shades down but left the sliding doors open. The fabric stirred and rippled with the wind; their bottom rails clinked gently against the screens. A quick glance revealed no sign of the erstwhile groom or his family, no suitcases or garment bags, not even a stray coffee cup or sock. Sarah didn’t want to ask, but Ruby volunteered.
“My—Annette talked to the manager at the hotel where she’s staying. They had a last-minute cancellation, so Gabe’s mom and aunt are staying there. Gabe’s sleeping with the rest of the boys.” She smiled, a little sadly. “Maybe it’s crazy, but it actually feels good to have him here.”
Sarah heard what Ruby had stopped herself from saying. “It’s good that Gabe’s your friend. And you can call Annette your mom, honey.”
Ruby made a face. “After one day of actual maternal behavior? I think she needs to earn it.” She met Sarah’s eyes and said, “You’ve been more of a mother to me than she ever was.”
Sarah felt her throat get tight. “Well, I’m glad she was there for you when you needed her,” she said. She carried a mug of jasmine tea over to the couch, where Ruby was curled, bundled up in a soft, fringed blue throw.
“Do you think I’m being selfish?” Ruby asked. Sarah heard what Ruby wasn’t asking, the words Ruby couldn’t, wouldn’t say out loud: Do you think I’m like my mother?
“I think,” Sarah began, reaching for all the wisdom that she’d amassed in her almost forty years. “Well, I know, for sure, that it’s a lot better to walk away from a wedding than a marriage. It’s better to leave a fiancé at the altar than to leave a husband and children.”
Ruby nodded.
“I think it’s better to go into a marriage with as few doubts or regrets as you can. And if you aren’t ready, if you want to be an artist, or a stage manager or a director, or if you want to go live in Paris—whatever you want your life to be, that’s fine.”
“Fine for now,” Ruby muttered. Sarah knew what she meant. Young women who wanted children—or who thought that someday they might—those women lived with the sound of a clock eternally ticking in their ears. At twenty-two, it felt like you had all the time you could want. The world looked different when you were thirty-two, and thirty-five, and forty. But, for now, she’d told the truth. Ruby was fine.
“You have time,” Sarah told her. “And you have a lot of people who love you.” She didn’t add that there weren’t any perfect solutions, that you always ended up regretting something. Pick a husband and children, maybe you never reach the summits of your profession. Pick your career, and maybe you end up alone, with a shelf lined with awards and a bank account full of cash and a bed that feels empty when you lay your head down at night. Maybe you couldn’t get the life you wanted, but you could have a life you wanted. Artists had the best shot at having it all, but even an artist who eventually set her ambitions aside in favor of staying home with her children might end up, as Ronnie had, with kids who resented her. And even the luckiest woman artist with the most supportive spouse didn’t have it, in Sarah’s opinion, as easy as the average man with a wife.