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fairy tale. I’m finding a hotel with a Jacuzzi tub.” I started to get out of the car.
“Ruby, I’m pregnant and looking for the father of my baby,” she said in such a low voice I could barely hear her. “If I can’t find him, I want to be able to tell Silas or Clarissa that I tried to find him, that it wasn’t his fault or my fault, that we didn’t mean for him or her to end up without a father.” Tears pooled in her eyes. “I don’t know what the hell I’m even saying.” She covered her eyes with her hands.
“I understand what you mean,” I said. “I really do, Stell. But I don’t know what our aunt is going to tell us that we don’t already know.”
“Can we just find out? Please? I can’t do this by myself, Rubes.”
I squeezed her hand. “Okay.”
We got out of the car and stared at the tiny house. There were two well-tended pink rosebushes on either side, which was a good sign. You couldn’t cultivate a garden if you weren’t a nice person, could you?
“Maybe I should change,” Stella said, reaching back into the car for her suitcase. She was wearing her jeans instead of the ubiquitous yoga pants, and a tiny white tank top (her uniform). She added the pink cotton ballet-wrap sweater she’d bought at the Kittery outlets and changed from her suede Pumas into pink platform flip-flops.
“Do I look okay?” I asked her, unsure what you wore to meet an estranged relative. An aunt.
“You always look okay,” Stella said. “And you’re not even wearing teacher clothes.”
I smiled. My teacher clothes were just nice pants, like from Ann Taylor or Banana Republic, and a blouse or shirt. I tended to get creative with shoes because I could. Today I looked like Stella. Jeans, a white T-shirt and a pale-lavender cotton cardigan tied around my waist. The shoes were also platform flip-flops, white with little pink hearts dotting the fabric. Tom bought them for me when we first started dating.
We stood there, staring at the house, neither of us moving an inch.
“I’m actually scared,” I whispered. “My heart is racing.”
“I think we should just go on up and knock on the—”
“Are you lost or something?”
We turned around to find a good-looking guy, early twenties tops, dripping with sweat. He wore a white T-shirt and blue running shorts. He managed to be both ruggedly handsome and pretty-boy at the same time.
“Um, we’re looking for the Miller-Geller residence?” Stella said in the form of a question.
He pointed at the little house. “You found it. Who you looking for? I’m a Miller-Geller.”
We stared at him. “We’re Millers,” I said. “Our father was, I mean, is, we think is, I mean we really don’t know if he’s alive or dead, actually. How ridiculous is that?” I clamped my mouth shut.
He stared back. “So you’re my mother’s brother’s daughters? The kiddie models? The twins that don’t look anything alike?”
At least he knew who we were. “That’s us.” I pointed at Stella. “That’s Stella. And I’m Ruby.”
He glanced between us both. “Glad you said so, because I wouldn’t have been able to tell you apart.”
Stella and I eyed each other.
“Kidding,” he said, grinning. “Um, is my mother expecting you? She didn’t say you were coming.”
“We’re passing through,” Stella said. “We were at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, and since you all live so close, we thought we’d just be brave and knock.”
He laughed. “You’ll need bravery. My mother has the personality of a crab. At low tide.”
“Great,” I muttered into Stella’s ear.
“I don’t know why you bothered to come all this way,” Sally Miller-Geller said, setting a plate of scones on the coffee table. “Again, I’m really sorry about the air-conditioning. It was working yesterday. Refill your iced tea?”
Anything for a moment’s reprieve from this woman. Her son was right. She was a total crab. I kept waiting
“Ruby, I’m pregnant and looking for the father of my baby,” she said in such a low voice I could barely hear her. “If I can’t find him, I want to be able to tell Silas or Clarissa that I tried to find him, that it wasn’t his fault or my fault, that we didn’t mean for him or her to end up without a father.” Tears pooled in her eyes. “I don’t know what the hell I’m even saying.” She covered her eyes with her hands.
“I understand what you mean,” I said. “I really do, Stell. But I don’t know what our aunt is going to tell us that we don’t already know.”
“Can we just find out? Please? I can’t do this by myself, Rubes.”
I squeezed her hand. “Okay.”
We got out of the car and stared at the tiny house. There were two well-tended pink rosebushes on either side, which was a good sign. You couldn’t cultivate a garden if you weren’t a nice person, could you?
“Maybe I should change,” Stella said, reaching back into the car for her suitcase. She was wearing her jeans instead of the ubiquitous yoga pants, and a tiny white tank top (her uniform). She added the pink cotton ballet-wrap sweater she’d bought at the Kittery outlets and changed from her suede Pumas into pink platform flip-flops.
“Do I look okay?” I asked her, unsure what you wore to meet an estranged relative. An aunt.
“You always look okay,” Stella said. “And you’re not even wearing teacher clothes.”
I smiled. My teacher clothes were just nice pants, like from Ann Taylor or Banana Republic, and a blouse or shirt. I tended to get creative with shoes because I could. Today I looked like Stella. Jeans, a white T-shirt and a pale-lavender cotton cardigan tied around my waist. The shoes were also platform flip-flops, white with little pink hearts dotting the fabric. Tom bought them for me when we first started dating.
We stood there, staring at the house, neither of us moving an inch.
“I’m actually scared,” I whispered. “My heart is racing.”
“I think we should just go on up and knock on the—”
“Are you lost or something?”
We turned around to find a good-looking guy, early twenties tops, dripping with sweat. He wore a white T-shirt and blue running shorts. He managed to be both ruggedly handsome and pretty-boy at the same time.
“Um, we’re looking for the Miller-Geller residence?” Stella said in the form of a question.
He pointed at the little house. “You found it. Who you looking for? I’m a Miller-Geller.”
We stared at him. “We’re Millers,” I said. “Our father was, I mean, is, we think is, I mean we really don’t know if he’s alive or dead, actually. How ridiculous is that?” I clamped my mouth shut.
He stared back. “So you’re my mother’s brother’s daughters? The kiddie models? The twins that don’t look anything alike?”
At least he knew who we were. “That’s us.” I pointed at Stella. “That’s Stella. And I’m Ruby.”
He glanced between us both. “Glad you said so, because I wouldn’t have been able to tell you apart.”
Stella and I eyed each other.
“Kidding,” he said, grinning. “Um, is my mother expecting you? She didn’t say you were coming.”
“We’re passing through,” Stella said. “We were at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, and since you all live so close, we thought we’d just be brave and knock.”
He laughed. “You’ll need bravery. My mother has the personality of a crab. At low tide.”
“Great,” I muttered into Stella’s ear.
“I don’t know why you bothered to come all this way,” Sally Miller-Geller said, setting a plate of scones on the coffee table. “Again, I’m really sorry about the air-conditioning. It was working yesterday. Refill your iced tea?”
Anything for a moment’s reprieve from this woman. Her son was right. She was a total crab. I kept waiting
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