15. Nicole
Chapter fifteen
Nicole
I t’s another four days before I see Adam again. It makes sense. He’s off Thursday and Friday since he’s working the weekend. I want to avoid him. I want to pretend nothing happened. I pushed him away. It’s what I want, so I shouldn’t feel disappointed that it’s working.
But, in truth, I’m walking around a little lost. I’m so used to talking to Adam now, joking around with him. I haven’t even gotten a meme from him since before Soapbox. He doesn’t send them every day anymore, but usually it’s at least a couple of times a week.
I’m embarrassed, and I’m ashamed. I saw the hurt on Adam’s face in our meeting the other day, and I know I caused it with how cold I was toward him. And he didn’t even do anything. It was all me. By now, he’s certainly given up. I would if I were him .
Monday morning, I run into Tasha in the break room, and she tags along with me to my office when I tell her I have a project for her. I unlock the office door and am stunned to see a large, framed poster hanging on the wall to the left of my desk. It’s huge—like five feet wide and four feet tall. The image is a photograph of the gardens right outside the library—what would be my view if I had an office on the exterior side of the hallway. I stop so abruptly that Tasha bumps into me from behind.
“Sorry,” I mumble as I move closer to the picture to examine it better.
It’s lovely. The frame is nothing extravagant, just simple poster framing. The photo looks to have been taken with a high-quality camera—even blown-up this big, the image is crisp. Colorful flowers—pink hibiscus, white gardenias, and purple azaleas—frame a cement pathway shaded by four palm trees. Beyond that, the imposing architecture of Harkness’s primary building stands tall. The primary building, which now houses the dining hall and some of the dorms, was a luxury hotel built in the 1880s by a well-known oil tycoon who spared no expense on the design or materials. The background is the unblemished blue of the sky. It’s beautiful.
“Where did this come from?” I wonder aloud.
“Really?” Tasha answers, reminding me of her presence. “Where do you think it came from?”
I turn to stare at her. “No,” I protest. “I’m sure it’s something Herb had put in all the offices.”
With impeccable timing, at that moment, Herb pops his head into the office. “Nicole,” he says. “I’d like to see you and Adam in my office at 9:30 please. Does that work for you?”
“Yes,” I answer. I start to ask about the poster. “Herb — ”
“Hey, nice picture,” Herb interrupts. “I hope you didn’t put any holes in the wall hanging it.”
He pops out again, and I turn to see Tasha with her arms folded across her chest giving me a smug smile.
“As I said,” she smirks, “where do you think it came from?”
I shake my head, not wanting to jump to conclusions. Surely after the way I’ve been treating him, Adam wouldn’t do something like this for me. Although, I remember, I did tell him a couple of months ago how I wish I had some natural light in my office. The poster isn’t natural light, but it’s definitely more welcoming than the blank wall.
Tasha fiddles with something on my desk and holds a folded piece of paper out to me. “Let’s find out,” she says. “This has your name on it.”
Indeed, written in meticulous print in black ink on the front of the piece of paper, is simply Nicole .
I unfold it to find a printed-out meme. The image is of a super cute Pomeranian puppy’s face. Around it are the words:
“Here’s a cute puppy to brighten your day.”
It’s not signed, but there’s no doubt who left it on my desk, and therefore who hung the poster in my office. The gesture floors me. My eyes start to sting, and I have to blink hard to keep the tears at bay .
Tasha, who I’ve forgotten again, puts a hand on my shoulder. Tilting her head, she catches my eyes and says softly, “Nicole, with all due respect, I know you are a full-grown adult, but what are you doing?”
I laugh and shake my head. I’m not sure myself. I murmur a goodbye as she leaves to take her spot at the front desk.
My phone pings. It’s a text from Adam. Well, a meme in two comic strip-style panels. In the first panel, a goldfish says to another goldfish “You wanna hang out later?” The second panel zooms out to show the two goldfish alone in a small fishbowl. The second goldfish answers, “Yeah, probably.”
I chuckle and shake my head. He’s a little wrong though. I don’t want to hang out with Adam because of a lack of options. I want to hang out with him because he’s genuinely nice to be around.
I’m surprised by how much I enjoy hanging out with him. At the same time, I don’t want to lead him on or give him any impression that I want to be more than colleagues. I cringe, thinking that inviting him into my apartment late at night is not the way to get that point across. But if there’s a chance we can go back to our work relationship and how it was before Soapbox, I’m definitely on board.
I catch Adam outside Herb’s closed office door just before 9:30. He watches me approach, apprehension written on his face and in the way he grips his hands together. I smile at him, a true, honest smile that I feel to the tips of my ears. His shoulders slump in relief. He smiles back, the warm, wide grin I’ve gotten used to. I stop in front of him, my hand finding his like a magnet.
“Thank you,” I whisper. “I’ve been awful. I’m sorry.”
“Let’s forget about it,” he says, squeezing my hand.
I hesitate for a moment, then ask shyly, “Can I hug you?”
Instead of answering, he pulls me in and wraps his arms around my back. My arms loop up and around his neck, my head resting ever so gently on his chest. Every part of me that’s touching him feels hot, like I’m standing too close to a fire. My pulse quickens, and I lean into the embrace.
Herb’s office door opens, and we quickly pull apart. “Oh,” Herb squeaks, startled. “I was, um, just looking for you two. Come in, please.”
He disappears into his office as Adam blushes and I chuckle. Adam thrusts out his arm gallantly, ushering me through the doorway.
We each take a seat in Herb’s office. With everything that’s happened already this morning, I haven’t had a chance to obsess over this meeting. Herb hasn’t given any clues as to what it’s about.
With that thought, Herb clears his throat and asks, “How’s the graphic novel project going?”
“Great!” I respond enthusiastically. “We should be ready to start circulating the books, in what?” I look to Adam. “About two weeks?”
Adam nods his agreement. “I just need to finish cataloging, and Nicole is working on the marketing plan.”
Herb claps his hands together once and says, “Excellent. I’ve got to tell you, I’ve been seeing more and more buzz about graphic novels in the academic library chatter since you proposed this idea in the fall, Nicole. As a matter of fact,” he pauses here as he pulls something up on his computer screen. “I think the two of you should submit to present about this project at the National Library Association Annual Conference.”
“Really?” I ask, trying to veil my excitement. The NLA conference is the biggest library industry conference in the country. Presenting there would be huge on my résumé.
“Yes. The conference is in New Orleans in mid-April, but presentation proposals are due at the end of next week. You’d have to submit something right away if you’re interested. We have some library budget dollars available to pay your way to the conference if your presentation is selected, if we scrimp a little.”
I look at Adam, but his face is pale. I turn back to Herb.
“Sounds like a great opportunity,” I say. “Adam and I will discuss it, and we’ll let you know if we decide to submit.”
As we step into the hallway, Adam starts, “Nicole — ”
I cut him off quickly. “Let’s talk in your office.”
He nods and we walk down the hall.
When we’re settled in with the door closed, I jump in before Adam can tell me all the reasons we shouldn’t submit to do the presentation. “I think we should do it,” I say. “I know you’re not a fan of public speaking, but presenting at NLA would be so cool!”
Adam hesitates. “The last thing I want to do is disappoint you,” he says. “But I’m not sure I could get through a whole presentation. When I say I don’t like public speaking, I mean I get really bad nerves. My hands shake. I’ve even been known to, um,” he pauses, his ears turning red, “vomit. Maybe you should just do it by yourself? ”
“I don’t want to present about the graphic novel collection by myself. We worked together on this, and you contributed a lot of good ideas that you should get credit for.”
Adam shrugs helplessly. “I don’t know, Nicole.”
“Oh!” I exclaim. “What if I help you prepare? Like teach you some tricks and exercises you can use to calm your nerves before the presentation?”
“What, like picturing the audience in their underwear?” he asks doubtfully.
“No, that trick sucks,” I scoff. “Other things. Breathing exercises. Visualization. That kind of thing.”
Adam studies my face. I put my hands together in a supplicating gesture and mouth, “Please?”
He sighs. “Yeah, okay. Sure. Let’s do it.” I cheer and Adam hurriedly adds, “But, if our proposal is accepted, you have to meet with me one-on-one at least three times before the conference to practice and help me learn your techniques.”
“Deal!” I say and put out my hand.
He grabs it and shakes, the concern on his face giving way to a quiet smile.
With the deadline looming, Adam and I meet for lunch almost every day over the next week to decide on a title, write our abstract, and finalize the proposal. I’m wildly happy with the result. On the final day before submissions close, we triple check everything and click “Submit.”
“Now we wait,” Adam says, arching his eyebrows dramatically.
“Now we wait,” I agree.