“That’s all you want?” Remy says, gesturing to my salad. “The burgers here are great.”
So I saw online, but I also saw that they’re easily a thousand calories and I can’t afford that. “Yep, this is it,” I say, poking at the lettuce with my fork and trying to look excited. “I was just in the mood for salad and chicken.”
“Gotcha.” He scoops up his burger and takes a huge bite, and such a wave of longing sweeps me that I can hardly breathe. I haven’t eaten anything like that since Gloria’s assault, and I miss real food.
Under the table, I snap my rubber band on my wrist, and it helps clear my mind and remind me why I’m doing this. I got another reminder earlier; when I was leaving work to come meet Remy Elle Warhol was in the front lobby and she swept her eyes over me and said, “Looking good, Valerie. Very E.W.” Knowing that my boss feels I better fit her esthetic makes me feel confident about getting the promotion, so I’ll stay with the diet.
For Gloria too, of course, although it doesn’t seem to be—
“Do you have any idea,” I say, not wanting to let that thought into my head, “why Gloria was at the ferry so late that night?”
He grimaces. “She’s a night owl, to be sure, but that seems late even for her. Not something you saw her do either?”
I shake my head. “We weren’t that close, honestly, that I’d know. But no.”
“I wondered if she was maybe out with a guy, to be there so late,” he says, dipping a fry in ketchup, “but the cops didn’t say anything about anyone else being on the security footage with her. Right?”
I agree, and from the calm way he eats his fry I realize that my thought they’d been dating had been incorrect.
Does that mean…
I force that thought out of my head. It doesn’t matter whether he’s single. I’m not trying to date right now. On my diet I don’t have the energy, and between trying to get promoted and researching Gloria’s life I don’t have the time.
Maybe Remy can help with that research. “Was there anything going on with Gloria, that you know of? Anything that might have been upsetting her, that maybe she was somehow trying to solve at the ferry?”
It sounds ridiculous to me as I say it, and he frowns. “What could she solve at the—”
I wave my hand. “I know, it’s stupid. I just wondered if maybe there was something. If you knew of anything.”
He considers, swirling another fry in the ketchup pool on his plate.
When he doesn’t speak, I feel like he’s sifting through what he could say, deciding what he will say, and I don’t like it. “If you know something that’ll help, even if it embarrasses her or whatever, you have to tell me. I need to know.”
“I—” He looks up. “Sorry. No, of course I will, just trying to get my thoughts straight. I do have to say she seemed a bit stressed lately. Not upset exactly, just… not relaxed. Uptight. Not her usual happy-go-lucky self.”
So, more like me, then.
“And I also know she wasn’t looking forward to celebrating your parents’ anniversary. But I don’t know why.”
Surprised she’d have talked to him about that, I suck down half my rum-and-diet-coke, which I chose because it was the lowest-calorie drink I could find on the menu, in one go, and the booze gives me the strength to say, “Because of Anthony, our brother. Because he died.”
“I… knew about that,” he says, looking sympathetic. “She didn’t talk about him, about how he died or anything, but I did know you two had a brother. But what’s the connection?”
“Our parents, well, Mom in particular, used to go on and on about how when they hit forty years married we needed to throw them a huge party. That’s the ruby anniversary, and Mom loves rubies, so we always knew we’d do it. She wanted to renew their wedding vows, with Anthony walking her down the aisle and Gloria and me as bridesmaids. But then…”
He waits, and I find his calm silence supportive. Though I don’t know him well, I don’t feel like anything I can say would shock him. Not that I’m going to say much. “Anthony… he died almost exactly twenty years ago. It was… an accident, but it was my fault and….” I rub my hand over my mouth. “So, well, you see the problem.”
“If it was an accident, it wasn’t your fault, but I get it. He can’t be at the anniversary, so it can’t be how it was supposed to be.” Remy reaches out and lays his hand over mine. “Poor you. Poor all of you.”
I look down at our hands, fighting for calm. I never talk about this; Andy’s the only one I told in recent memory, and that only because when he’d wanted to name his new kitten Anthony I’d been horrified. Now I remember why I never tell: because I can’t keep myself together when I do.
“So that would explain why she was stressed,” Remy says after a few moments. “With that coming up, who wouldn’t be? Are you sure your mom and dad still want the party?”
“I…” I raise my head and stare at him. “I’ve just always assumed they would. Or at least, that we had to do it. It was always in the plan. You know?
He takes a breath like he’s going to argue, and I don’t want that so I say, “Anyhow. Let’s move on. I found a few weird things in Gloria’s stuff. Can I ask you about them?”
He looks uncomfortable, probably because I cut off whatever protest he was going to make, but he says, “Go for it.”
I reach into my purse and pull out the picture and bag of buttons. As he examines them, I dig deep in a particular pocket until I find the plastic triangle of Swiss cheese. When I lay it on the table with a soft click, he looks up, then bursts out laughing.
“You know what this means?”
“Oh, yeah,” he says, still chuckling. “I went to a performance of ‘The Mousetrap’ with her a couple years ago and they gave them out. Hers fell out of her pocket on the way home and she was whining about it, so as a joke I wrapped mine up and gave it to her for Christmas a week later. She gave it back to me for Valentine’s Day, then I gave it to her for Easter, and so on. It’s probably been back and forth twenty times now, and the last was when I gave it to her again this Easter.”
I’m smiling at the story, but my smile fades as his does, and I know we’re both wondering whether Gloria will ever be able to continue their joke.
“Okay,” I say quietly after a few moments. “Well, now I know. That can’t have anything to do with what happened to her.”
I pick it up, intending to return it to my purse, but he says, “Could… can I have it?”
Studying the cheese in my hand, I don’t speak. It’s his, but… but his request means he doesn’t expect to ever receive it from her again.
“No,” he says, his voice rough. “Actually, I take that back. She’ll give it to me herself, later. When she’s healthy again. That’s what I want.”
I nod, not trusting myself to speak, and retuck the cheese carefully into its pocket in my purse. After a few sips of my drink I’m able to say, “And the rest? The buttons and the picture?”
He picks the photo up and stares at it, then shakes his head. “Never seen that guy before, I’m afraid. And as for the buttons, I have no clue. Are they all different or do some match?”
I hadn’t considered checking them that closely, but it’s a good idea so I pour them out on the table and we spend the rest of our lunch searching through the buttons and teasing each other when we can’t decide whether two are identical.
In the end, we’re left with the realization that they are in fact all different save for three bright blue ones that feel vaguely familiar to me though I don’t know why, and I’m left with the realization that if I did have the time and energy for a boyfriend this is the one I’d want.