"Makes sense," Jamie said. "I can see how you'd need to handle urgent work matters on theSaturday eveningof yourbrother'swedding. Totally understandable."
"Okay, hold the hell on," Ruth said. "My firm doesn't give a hot fuck about my brother, his wedding, or Saturdays. I'm a senior associate which means I'm at my desk twelve—but usually sixteen—hours a day and available to the partners at all times. The only time I didn't have my phone on me the entire weekend was during the ceremony and I was slightly panicked because of it."
It was my turn to share a frown with Jamie.
"That's kinda fucked up," Jamie said.
"Yes, thank you, I know that," Ruth whisper-yelled.
The food arrived and we took a minute to organize all the items we'd ordered to share. I dug into my scrambled egg avocado toast in the hope it would get ahead of all the alcohol I'd chugged this morning. Ruth dropped a slice of French toast on my plate and shoveled some of my home fries onto hers.
Jamie leaned back in her seat, tapping a finger to her lips. She ignored her chicken and waffles even as Ruth cut a segment for herself. Then, "Must've been one helluva work call for you to show up to that brunch on wobbly legs."
Ruth cut a frayed stare in Jamie's direction. "Mergers and acquisitions will do that to you."
"You know what's so wild," Jamie went on, "is how that preppy football player friend of your brother's was missing at all the same times." She dipped her finger into the ramekin of maple syrup on her plate and then popped it in her mouth. "And when he walked into the brunch, he didn't look like he'd gotten much sleep. He looked a little rumpled, if you know what I mean."
"Even if I did make some astoundingly bad decisions at the wedding—which I'm not saying I did—I wouldn't advise anyone to divulge that kind of information at a busy restaurant." Ruth glanced to the tables beside us, both close enough to reach over and steal a muffin from their bread baskets. "Especially with so many rabid sports fans in this city. And you're also my brother's wife's best friends, so that makes it all a little boggy for me."
"Ah. Right." I hadn't adjusted to the fame that came along with Emme's husband but Ruth had much more experience. "If you did want to tell us anything, I can promise we won't let it get back to your brother. Or Emme, if that's important to you."
"We love our cones of silence here," Jamie said. "Like attorney-client privilege but for our misadventures with the man-children who don't deserve us."
Ruth bobbed her head, still hacking away at the French toast. "If I did engage in some truly heinous, shameful behavior with a football player-shaped individual, I'd probably be very busy hoping no one noticed. I definitely wouldn't want to talk about it because I'd probably die of embarrassment in the process and it's really not a good time for me to die. My apartment is a pigsty and someone would have to deal with that, which just seems like an unfair way to leave things. My mother's been through enough. She doesn't need that too."
Jamie nodded, saying, "Speaking of good times to die, have I told you two about the state of my life recently?"
"Please tell me you've cleared this UTI," I said.
"Shit, okay, no boundaries here," Ruth said under her breath.
"That's better," Jamie said, "but I'm still on the sex hiatus because of the recurrent UTIs and I awake every day to the realization that I'm still living with my dad. Even worse, I've turned into a brunch girl."
"What's wrong with being a brunch girl?" Ruth asked. "Brunch is fantastic."
"It's not aboutbrunch," Jamie said. "It's about this moment of my life where I feel like I'm stuck in a waiting room but I don't know what I'm waiting for or what's going to happen when the door finally opens."
The three of us were quiet for a heavy moment. I put my fork down. I needed to absorb those words before I took another bite.
"I don't think I like that analogy," Ruth said. "But I think that's because I'm in a waiting room too."
"I think we're all in waiting rooms right now," I said.
"Thanks, I hate it," Jamie said with a miserable grin. "But I'm lucky I have this stone-cold pack of weirdos there with me."
"Wait." Ruth held up a hand as she shook her head. "What?"
"Complimentary, I swear," Jamie said.
"Just go with it," I told her.
We lingered over brunch for another hour but didn't return to the topics of Jude or anything that might incriminate Ruth. We made plans to meet up for another brunch and an evening of sitting in my backyard and witnessing Bagel the beagle's remarkable zoomies.
When I dropped into a seat on the train, it dawned on me that I wasn't drunk. Tipsy, perhaps, but only in the sense that I wouldn't mind parking myself on the old wrought iron chaise I'd snagged at a yard sale a few years ago and taking a nap. Summer was meant for afternoon naps in the backyard. Especially if Bagel warmed up to me enough to join me on the chaise.
That was all I needed. A lazy afternoon with my new dog friend, and maybe a book that I wasn't reading with the goal of picking out text-dependent questions. This was fine. I was good.
Except I wasn't.
