Ruth Blackwell | - Jayma Reid

Ruth had spent twenty years believing that love was a liability, a line item that never balanced. But standing in Jayma’s wreck of an apartment, with cat hair on her black sweater and blue paint smeared on her wrist, she felt something she couldn’t account for.

Ruth started bringing Jayma things, too. A used copy of Their Eyes Were Watching God because Jayma mentioned she’d never read it. A small tube of cobalt blue oil paint because Jayma complained she’d run out. Small gifts, precise as line items, each one a declaration she couldn’t yet make aloud. Ruth Blackwell - Jayma Reid

It was Ruth.