Lee used to call Suzanne and Matt Doom and Gloom. Ronnie smiled at that memory as Suzanne launched into a story about a friend who’d been rear-ended in the parking lot of the Stop & Shop. （“Was she hurt?” asked Ronnie. “No. But she could have been!” Suzanne replied.） She could almost see her husband rolling his eyes at her from across the room as Suzanne droned on.
“What do you think they’ll want for a wedding gift?” Suzanne asked. At some point, she must have brought the conversation back around to Ruby and Gabe.
“Cash,” said Ronnie.
“Oh, but that’s so impersonal. Ruby’s still into drama, right?”
“That was her major in college, and she’s working in a theater, so I’m assuming the answer is yes.”
“Good, because I’m giving her a pair of Ma’s earrings, and I bought her a coffee table book about Broadway musicals of the 1970s.”
If you already know what you’re giving them, why did you ask? Ronnie thought. And then, You’re buying a coffee table book for a couple whose apartment probably isn’t big enough for a coffee table? Although, of course, Suzanne and Matt wouldn’t be buying, she imagined Lee saying. They’d be regifting.
Ronnie kept her mouth shut, wiping down the kitchen counters and sweeping the floor, half-listening while Suzanne blathered about the impossibility of shopping for her own grandchildren, two of whom, evidently, had asked for a birthday gift of a specific kind of sneaker that was both insanely expensive and impossible to find.
“I sent Sam and Sarah those DNA kits for their birthday last week, so at least they’re taken care of,” Suzanne said. Ronnie felt her heart stop. She jerked her head up and lurched toward the phone.
“What?” she asked.
“Those 23andMe kits,” Suzanne repeated. “Amazon had a sale, on Prime Day. And I’ve been watching that show on PBS, with that African American professor, where they get some famous person to come on, and they analyze their DNA and tell them where they’re from, and if they’re, like, related to any presidents, or serial killers.” The relish in her voice suggested that she much preferred it when the celebrities turned out to be related to criminals and not politicians.
Ronnie’s tongue felt like it had gotten very heavy, and her lungs felt like they couldn’t expand to take in air. “Did you send the kits already?” she made herself ask.
“Yes,” said her sister, oblivious to Ronnie’s distress. “Or I guess Jeff Bezos did. I emailed them and told them to send them back right away, so we’ll be able to discuss it when we’re all together. That’ll give us something interesting to talk about, right?”
Something interesting, Ronnie thought. Her blood was pounding in her ears, and she could taste old pennies under her tongue.
Ronnie made some excuses and ended the call. She stood in her kitchen, the hand that held the phone pressed against her chest. For the first time since his death, she was glad that her husband wasn’t there, glad that Lee hadn’t lived long enough to see what might happen next.
Rosa
Rosa had been leaving her car after a shift at the hospital when the phone call came. “Mom? Mami? It’s me. Gabe.”
“Hello!” she said, feeling her heart lift, as it always did, when she heard her son’s voice, the way he’d always announce himself as if she didn’t know who was calling.
“I have news! Can you put me on FaceTime?”
Heart pounding, already guessing at the news, Rosa fumbled with her phone until she’d hit the right button and her son’s handsome, beloved face filled the screen. His girlfriend was there with him, and both of them were smiling. Rosa couldn’t help but smile back as Gabe and Ruby told her that, indeed, they were going to be married, in three months, on Cape Cod over the Fourth of July weekend.
“I’m so happy for you,” Rosa said, over and over. I’m thrilled, she said, and Cape Cod! I’ve never been there, and Ruby, I can’t wait to meet you in person!
“Ruby, can you send me your parents’ names and phone numbers? I’ll need to get in touch with them.” Both Gabe and Ruby assured her that they’d handle all the wedding planning, that it was going to be an intimate, casual affair; that Rosa didn’t need to do a thing except make the trip and be their guest, but Rosa had insisted. “Please. I want to congratulate them,” she’d said. Finally, finally, the call was over. Thirty seconds later, her phone dinged with a text. Sarah and Eli Danhauser, and an address in Brooklyn.