Ruby
"Are you really saying you'd rather go to work than go to the beach with me this weekend?"
I tear my eyes away from the book I'm reading to look over at my best friend - let's be honest, my only friend - Garrett. He's only two years older than me but he's like a giant, always towering over me. He's over six feet tall and I'm barely five foot two inches. Garrett has saved my life more than once, in my opinion. Letting me move in with him three years ago was the biggest one. I was only a kid, barely eighteen, and we barely knew each other. That's the first time he saved me.
"I have to work, unless you want to cover my half of the rent. Again," I tell him, shaking my head. My mess of brownish-red, thick, curly hair flops around.
"But it's already the first week of September. I want one more beach day before the stupid fall," he goes on, basically whining.
"You are lucky you don't work weekends. But I have to work," I remind him.
"Fine. Be responsible and shit," he teases and then hugs me before disappearing down the hallway towards his room.
We've been sharing this two-bedroom apartment for two and a half years, and he lived here almost one year prior to that, with a different roommate. We both had the same type of childhood - growing up in the foster system and with CPS knowing more about us than anyone else. He got adopted at age ten by the family who'd been fostering him for a year, and they helped him move out when he was twenty. I wasn't so lucky.
I've spent plenty of time since I turned eighteen being grateful for Garrett and for my life now, as an adult. I'm twenty-one, so barely that, but still. I've also spent time being angry for the shitty life I was given. The parents that I had, the things that happened to me. Hell, I still sit in my bedroom at night sometimes I think why me? But I'm thankful for this apartment and my job, at the museum across town, even if I do have to work on the weekends.
Garrett landed a desk job at a marketing firm, also thanks to his foster dad, Mike. He's been working there for three years and has moved up from coffee guy to a respectable content writer. It's so perfect for him and even though it's hard to not be jealous sometimes, I'm proud of him.
*
On Saturday morning, I watch as Garrett packs up his cooler and his backpack and wait for him to turn his attention to me. He's meeting a couple of his friends in Eastlake, only an hour from Youngstown, for a beach day. I've spent many days on that very beach with Garrett, so knowing he's going without me sort of stings.
"You can still call in sick?" he suggests, then shrugs, knowing I won't.
"My shift starts in two hours," I say, shaking my head at him.
"Fine. Have a wonderful day," he answers in a mocking tone.
"Say hi to Bet and Wally for me," I finish.
It's a seemingly normal day at the Youngstown Museum. The main floor is like an open play area for kids. There's a climbing structure and lots of big foam building blocks. The back wall has a massive aquarium. There's some interactive features like buttons to press to play clips of different styles of music. And there's a smaller area for babies and toddlers to enjoy. I work at the main desk, surrounded by all of this. It's fun, overall. I get to see the joy and happiness on kids' faces every day.
The second floor is the area where we get new exhibits each month or two. Right now, it's a dinosaur experience. The third floor is all modern art - paintings and sculptures. I don't get up to the third floor much.
I always work 10A.M. to 6P.M. on Saturdays. It's the entire day. There's usually one other person working the desk with me, but they also wander the floor and go up to the second floor to check on things throughout the day. Today, it's Charles. He's in his mid thirties and has an art degree. He teaches an art class at the community college during the week and works here on Saturdays. He's a nice guy, but we have exactly nothing in common.
I'm heading back to the desk from my mid afternoon break when I see a woman walk in the front doors. Something about her seems familiar... or something. I don't know her. She seems young, but well dressed. And she's got a young child - maybe five years old - with her.
I slip behind the counter and smile at Charles, who looks relieved to see me.
"I hate the desk," he tells me, which I already know.
I can't even reply before he's turning and ducking out of there. I watch as he crosses the room and heads towards the stairs as the woman approaches the counter.
"Hello," she says in a friendly tone. "One adult and one child, please."
I nod and press it into the computer to get her total. "24.50, please."
She reaches into her purse for her wallet but I see her glance at my name tag and then back up to my face. She stops and looks at both again. I'm a bit confused but I just wait, assuming maybe she forgot her card or something. As she places her wallet on the counter, her eyes meet mine again. The little boy is humming something to himself. It sort of feels like the world has stopped for a second, until she speaks again.
"This is going to sound crazy."
Whatever it is, it feels crazy, so I'm not even surprised. I had a weird feeling when she walked in. She's looking at me like she's about to tell me something important. What the hell?
"Is your last name Trenton?" she finally asks.
I suck in a breath. This woman knows me, somehow. She's not any older than me, and I don't think we've ever met.
Nodding, I answer. "Yes."
"Holy sh-" She stops herself. "I thought there was no way, but..."
"Um..."
"You look exactly like my boyfriend. Ryan," she finally says. "I know his sister's name is Ruby. Like you."
All the blood rushes away from my face and I feel like I might pass out. It's like I'm hanging upside down. Ryan is my brother. I haven't seen him since we were kids. I'll never forget the day we were separated. I was supposed to be happy for him, but I couldn't be happy. They were tearing us apart.
"Ryan Trenton," I say, after what feels like forever. "That's my brother."
"Yeah," the woman answers. She looks as dumbfounded as I feel.
I swallow hard, trying to make sense of this. "I've tried getting in touch with him on social media. I thought he lived in Buffalo."
I don't feel like I'm at work anymore. This conversation should be had somewhere more private, I know that. But I need answers. Now.
"I'm Kaylee," she says instead. "We just moved to Canton a few months ago."
Some other people come in behind them and get in line and I am snapped back to my reality. I have to get them paid and moved along, but I want to keep talking to her. I glance at the little boy. He doesn't look anything like Ryan.
Canton is only an hour from here. My brother, who I haven't seen in years, lives an hour from me? This is too much.
"Let me take your number. I can have Ryan call you?" Kaylee suggests and then just looks at me.
"Oh. Yeah, okay."
I take her card and process her payment and then write my cell phone number on a piece of paper and hand it over. Is this really happening?
I'm so glad I came to work today.
I have no idea if anything will come of this, but I can't stop thinking about my brother for the rest of my shift. I don't see Kaylee and the little boy leave. I don't even know if he'll actually call me, but I know she'll give him my number. Over the past two years, I've tried to find Ryan. He has a Facebook and an Instagram account, but neither seem to be active. My messages have gone unanswered.
Ryan was eleven and I was twelve when he got adopted. We were in a foster family together until then, but that family didn't want to keep us. We were just temporarily with them. They were okay, but not great. I remember the day our social worker, Sam, came to the house and told us that she had an awesome family that wanted to meet Ryan. I was so torn. They didn't want me. Within a month Ryan was torn away from me and went to live with the Jones'. We kept in touch for a few months but my foster family didn't like to let me use the phone and refused to take me to visit him. Six months later, I was back in a group home, waiting on a new foster family, and I lost track of Ryan. Sam tried to keep me in touch with him, but it wasn't really her job. The next foster family I ended up with was the one that ruined me.
Now I have a chance to see him again, if he wants to see me. God, I hope he calls me.