“What elephant?” asked Miles, looking around.
“Is there going to be an elephant at the wedding?” asked Dexter. “Arjun at my school went to a wedding with an elephant.”
Ari ignored them, waggling his eyebrows at Ruby and Gabe. “Anything else you two want to tell us? Is Uncle Ari going to need to get his shotgun?”
Gabe’s brow furrowed. Then he ducked his head with a shame-faced grin, as Ruby flushed more deeply.
“No! God, no!”
Ari held up his hands, palms out. “Okay, okay! All good! Just checking!”
“Uncle Ari,” said Dexter, looking deeply disapproving, “you don’t really have a gun, do you?”
“It’s just an expression,” Ruby said.
“Well, mazel tov!” said Sarah, lifting her wineglass. “To the happy couple!” Her celebratory declaration, even to her own ears, was far too giddy, too hearty, patently fake. She watched as Eli, with his mouth full, raised his own glass, then started to cough.
Miles and Dexter raised their plastic cups. Miles did it carefully. Dexter sloshed grape juice on the tablecloth, even though his glass was only half full. Eli managed a strangled “Mazel tov,” before starting to cough again.
“Dad?” Ruby asked, as Eli hacked, bent over his plate with his face turning red. “Dad?”
“He’s choking!” yelled Dexter, jumping up and knocking his chair to the ground. Miles got up, too. So did Lord Farquaad, who’d sensed either danger or a chance to snag some roast chicken.
“I’m fine,” Eli wheezed, waving them off.
Sarah stood and bumped the edge of the table with her hip, knocking over the wine, sending dark red liquid cascading down over the tablecloth, soaking her legs, and dripping onto the carpet, which she’d had steam-cleaned the week before. Lord Farquaad grrred when the decanter bounced past his head. Sarah pictured the dog snapping at her ankle; pictured herself falling, pulling down the tablecloth as she went. She imagined the lit candles rolling onto the carpet; she pictured the curtains, then her beautiful home, then the whole of her beautiful life, going up in flames, burning down to nothing.
Eli kept coughing, then hiccuped, then reached for his napkin and finally managed to hack up whatever had gotten stuck in his throat. “I’m okay,” he said, waving away the glass of water that Gabe had poured. “I’m okay. Don’t worry. Everything’s fine.”
I’m not, thought Sarah, staring at her family, thinking that Ruby and Gabe’s engagement was not off to a particularly auspicious start.
Ruby
When dinner was over, Ruby and Gabe cleared the table. The boys helped them, carefully carrying glasses and dirty forks and knives into the kitchen （Miles stacked the plates neatly; Dexter grabbed whatever he could reach）。 “Bride’s side or groom’s?” Ruby overheard Miles asking Dexter, and she smiled, imagining the two of them in button-up shirts and bow ties.
Gabe put the food away, portioning it into Tupperware. Ruby washed the dishes that couldn’t go into the dishwasher. She felt a strange sensation, an unfamiliar tension in her chest. It eased a little when Gabe settled his hand at the base of her neck, rubbing gently.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine,” said Ruby. “That was just a little weird.”
“Mmm,” said Gabe, pulling her close. “They’re happy for us, right?”
She understood his confusion. Gabe hadn’t grown up with a father, or in close proximity to a marriage. During their time in Brooklyn, Ruby had seen him watching her dad and stepmother carefully, a little enviously, sometimes struggling to interpret a look or a joke or a gesture.
“Yes,” said Ruby. “They’re happy.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Gabe asked.
“What?”
“You shivered,” said her boyfriend. Ruby promised she was fine, that her dad and her stepmom were fine, that everyone was happy for them. She hugged Gabe, feeling that delicious sensation in her belly, a softening, melting feeling when he whispered “You’re my sweetheart” in her ear. Then he went to get a broom, and Ruby bent back to the dishes, feeling a dozen different things at once, her head a tangle of emotions that she couldn’t unpick or even name.
* * *
Gabriel Andrews was the first boy Ruby had ever loved. He’d also been the last boy she ever thought she’d have a chance with. Ruby knew she wasn’t beautiful. She could look cute, at best, and that was only on the days she put a lot of effort into her outfit selection and used at least three different products in her hair. Gabe was effortlessly gorgeous, with his slow, relaxed smile and his deep-set dark-brown eyes. She’d noticed him the day she began classes at NYU. She’d exited her dorm room on the twenty-fourth floor, stepped into the elevator, and been hammering at the button to close the door even though she understood, rationally, that those buttons didn’t do anything but make you feel like you had some control. The doors had finally started to slide shut when an arm shot through the gap between them, and a male voice called out, “Hold up!” The doors slid obligingly open. Someone toward the back of the elevator had groaned. And there was Gabe, who’d smiled a genial apology at the other passengers before plugging in his earbuds and spending the rest of the trip swaying to his own private soundtrack. He’d stood right next to Ruby, close enough for her to smell the soap on his skin and to hear, faintly, the sounds of circa-2000s Britney Spears. Ruby had been entranced.