My Rebel Seatmate Is My Daughter Chapter 2

"Where are you?"

The woman’s voice was crisp, authoritative, carrying a heavy chill through the receiver.

"Ma'am..."

I cleared my throat. I couldn't bring myself to say her name.

After a long, suffocating pause, my face flushed hot, and I gathered my courage. "Hello, ma'am. I'm a classmate of Ruby's—"

She cut me off before I could finish.

"Right. Tell her to come home."

Click.

The line went dead.

I stood in the empty classroom, gripping the phone.

Roxanne.

Do you really have so little patience left for her?

As I stood there wondering how to return the phone, a flurry of text messages popped up on the lock screen.

"Ruby, got the cake. Come pay for it."

"Rubes, where are you?"

An address followed.

I stared at the lock screen.

I tried her birthday.

Incorrect.

I tried her mother's birthday.

Incorrect.

I tried the birthday of the cat we used to have.

Incorrect.

Finally, guided by some ghost of a memory, I typed in my birthday.

The phone unlocked.

My chest seized.

A wave of thick, suffocating sorrow clawed its way up my throat.

After eighteen years of being gone...

Someone in this world still remembered me.

I rubbed my eyes hard, memorized the address, and headed out into the fading afternoon light.

When I arrived at the bakery, Ruby and a group of her friends were being physically shoved out the door by the owner.

The man was red in the face, waving a pair of tongs. "Fucking freeloaders! Get out of my shop!"

"Kids these days, lying through your teeth!"

"If you don't have the cash, just say it! Don't give me this 'I forgot my phone' crap!"

Seeing their leader get humiliated, a few of the girls—sporting heavily dyed hair and torn jeans—grabbed the metal patio chairs, ready to start a riot.

I sprinted forward and grabbed Ruby’s arm, pulling her back. "No fighting."

"I brought your phone."

Ruby looked at me.

Her eyes were a storm of complicated emotions.

But she snatched the phone, tapped her digital wallet, and paid the man.

The owner’s demeanor flipped instantly. He muttered apologies and rushed to box up the cake.

I stood on the sidewalk, waiting.

I could hear the whispers from her friends behind me.

"Is that the new boyfriend?"

"No way. She was just with that college guy last week."

"Probably dumped him. Ruby never keeps a guy around for more than seven days."

I frowned.

Who taught her to treat people so recklessly?

I looked through the bakery window.

Ruby was sitting at a small table, her posture perfectly straight, writing on a small card with absolute focus.

I thought she was writing a note for some boy.

I stepped closer.

When I saw the words, my feet rooted to the floor.

Happy Birthday, Mom.

She had written it, crossed it out.

Written it again. Crossed it out again.

The ink was bleeding into the heavy paper.

She didn't know what to say to her.

Finally, she settled on a single, distant line:

Wishing CEO Blake continued success.

My heart ached with a bitter, acidic sting.

This kid.

She wasn't nearly as rebellious as she pretended to be.

She remembered her mother’s birthday.

She remembered that Roxanne hated sweets—the cake had zero fondant, and she had specifically ordered the lowest sugar option.

She was so much more thoughtful, so much more fragile than I could have imagined.

Before I left, I looked at her. My voice was very soft. "Your mom is waiting at home for you to have dinner."

That woman... she always hated being alone.

Especially on her birthday.

Go home. Keep her company.

Ruby didn't answer.

She picked up the box and turned toward the door.

But right before she walked out, she glanced back at me.

Her voice was barely a whisper, light as dust.

"Thank you."

Watching her walk away into the dusk, I couldn't help but think of Roxanne.

It was a lifetime ago.

When Roxanne was a delinquent, she was far more feral than her daughter.

Wild, reckless, a total firecracker.

She would sleep through tutoring sessions, and the second her friends called, she’d bolt.

Nine times out of ten, I’d catch her in the alley behind the local dive bar.

And when I caught her, I’d drag her back by the collar.

We lived across the hall from each other back then.

Once I started tutoring her, her mother essentially handed over total custody of her life to me.

Her mom had given me this heavy, old wooden yardstick.

She used to hit Roxanne with it, but it never did any good.

By the time it was passed to me, the numbers had worn completely off the wood.

But somehow, that stupid piece of wood worked.

Whenever Roxanne saw me holding it, she’d shrink back and quietly follow me to the library.

During our senior year, she finally settled down.

And miraculously, she got into a top university.

The day the acceptance letters came in, both she and her mother cried.

Roxanne had thrown her arms around my neck, burying her face in my chest, her tears soaking right through my shirt.

Her "thank you" carried a weight that shattered me.

She looked up at me and said, "I’ll listen to you from now on. Always."