Chapter 21 Shira
Shira
It’s still dark outside when I wake up—although does it really count as waking up if you never actually went to sleep?
I closed my eyes for a while, but I was too aware of the passing time to relax.
Lying in Jonny’s arms, his heartbeat was a steady reminder of the ticking clock.
Each pulse bringing me closer to the end of all this.
Jonny shifts beside me, and I freeze, holding my breath until his steadies. He pulls me tighter against him and mumbles something that sounds an awful lot like “stay.”
And oh, how I wish I could.
I don’t remember the exact moment everything changed, when I went from counting the days until I could go home to counting the days until I had to leave.
But here we are on the last day, the day I was both desperate for and dreading.
And there’s nothing I want more than to stretch these last seconds into minutes and the minutes into hours and the hours into days. I want more days with Jonny.
But staying a few more days wouldn’t change anything. I still live in Chicago. That’s where my friends are, where my job is, where my life is. My real life. This was never supposed to last. Talia would remind me that’s literally the definition of a fling, which was all this was ever meant to be.
Maya always says that people come into our lives for a reason, a season, or a lifetime.
And as much as I’d like to think Jonny and I could be a lifetime, I know he’s either a reason or a season.
The reason: making me see myself in a whole new light.
And if it’s a season, well, that’s coming to an end, too.
Jonny starts snoring again, a soft whistle on the inhale and a tiny puff on the exhale.
The sound makes me smile—everything about this man makes me smile and conjures up so many little moments.
How can we have so many memories when we’ve only spent four weeks together?
How can I feel so much, feel so different, after just a month?
Once I’m sure he’s asleep, I lift his arm and slide out, placing it gently back on the bed. Jonny makes another sound, this one like a laugh. I wish I could crawl inside his mind and see what movie is playing in his dreams. One of us? Or of a Christmas morning past?
It’s officially Christmas morning, I realize. The day people literally use as a metaphor for how happy someone looks, like a kid on Christmas morning.
I want Jonny to have that kind of holiday, not one that starts with me making him sad. The best gift I can give him now is trying to stave off a little of that sadness. Besides, we said everything we needed to say last night—there’s no reason to draw things out with a tearful goodbye.
By some small miracle, I’m able to get dressed, zip up my suitcase, and carry it all outside without waking Jonny up.
I take out the trash and leave the keys on the counter, hoping the Petersons won’t mind that I didn’t strip the bed.
The last thing I do is kiss the note I left on my pillow for Jonny.
Hopefully, he’ll understand that it was better for me to leave this way. If it came down to me actually driving away from him, I’m not sure I’d be able to do it.
It’s nearly seven a.m. by the time I’m on the road. The streets are all empty; I’m the only person in Azalea who’s out this early.
Instead of turning right to head out of town, I find myself turning left, toward the Christmas market. Out of habit, maybe. Or more likely, out of a sadistic need to put myself through the long goodbye I saved Jonny from.
I pass the taqueria where Jonny McKay, the town troublemaker, first crossed my path.
I pass the restaurant where he took me out for dinner, and the Dairy Queen where we went for ice cream.
I pass the town square, where I tried to cover up the fact that I’m a Jewish girl who doesn’t know all the Christmas songs. The same town square where Jonny built me a giant menorah from scrap materials to help make me feel at home, and reminded me of how and why I’m so proud to be who I am.
I pass Main Street, where just last night I got to experience my first ever tractor holiday parade, which was its own kind of magic—pure holiday joy.
And finally, I come up to the holiday market. Or now, I guess, the old textile mill. Without the stores inside, without all the books and goods and holiday treats, it’s just a building. Four walls that hold nothing but the ghosts of memories.
It’s sad, but inevitable. Every book has a last chapter, a last page. It all comes to a point where the only two words left to say are: The end. And I suppose this is that moment for the old mill. And for my Azalea story.
Two hours later, I’ve dropped off the rental car, and the shuttle bus has dropped me off at the Dallas Love Field airport. The terminal is eerily quiet; there isn’t even a line to check my bags.
It’s a good thing, and yet…
I’m about to roll up to the counter when my phone rings. Jonny’s face appears on the screen, a picture of him from last night in the tractor, wearing a Santa hat and goofy grin. It rings, and rings, and rings. I hold my breath, waiting for it to go to voicemail.
I can’t handle talking to him right now. He’s going to be mad. Or worse, hurt. But with some distance, hopefully, he’ll understand that I made the best decision. For him, if not for me.
The ringing stops only to start again, and my eyes fill with tears looking at Jonny’s smiling, happy photo, knowing that on the other end, he’s anything but.
It rings again, and a few tears escape, salty tracks sliding down my cheeks. I still can’t talk to him. Not now. Not yet.
But there is someone I can talk to—and since it’s after nine a.m., she might be awake.
I roll my luggage over to the Starbucks and sink into an empty chair. Maya answers my FaceTime call on the second ring.
“Merry Christmas,” she says in a sleepy, sing-song voice. She’s sitting up in bed, her hair in a messy bun.
“Hi,” I say, my voice wobbly with emotion.
My best friend’s face falls as she takes in the sight of me. “What’s wrong? What did that asshole with the big magic dick do?”
“Nothing,” I manage to croak out. “If anything, I’m the asshole.”
I tell Maya about last night and this morning, my decision to leave without saying goodbye, and how I’m now wondering if that was the right thing to do.
“It was kind of a dick move,” she agrees.
“I know, but I couldn’t,” I say, sniffing. “Saying goodbye would have been too hard.”
“Babe, you can’t skip past the hard things—you really have feelings for this guy, don’t you?”
That’s all it takes for the tears I’ve been holding back to finally fall. “I know it was just supposed to be a fling, but…”
“Shira, sweetie, we encouraged you to have a fling because we wanted you to put yourself out there. We didn’t want you to sit at home moping all day, waiting for the month to be over.
We wanted you to turn this shitty situation into an opportunity—and that’s exactly what you did.
It’s okay if Jonny’s more than a fling. I’m proud of you for being brave and going for it with him! ”
“I know, but that’s part of the problem,” I say. “The way I’ve been with him—I’ve never acted like this before. It felt real, but what if this is just some version I made up?”
“Or what if this is the real you? The you that’s been there all along, hidden under layers of trying to be what everyone else expects. Maybe Jonny’s the first person who’s made you feel safe enough to let her show.”
A few tears slip down my cheeks. “I don’t know.”
“Why don’t you change your flight?” she suggests. “Stay a few more days.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because,” I say, sounding like a petulant child.
“Because why?” Maya says defiantly. I should know better than to act immature with a woman who spends all day teaching third graders.
“Because I have plans tonight—with you,” I remind her. “And I’ve missed all our other holiday traditions this year.”
“Shira, I love you, but we can get Chinese food and watch a movie literally any other night.”
“But I don’t want to disappear like Anya did,” I say, the tears falling even faster.
“Wait, what?” she asks. “What does Anya have to do with anything?”
“She got her happy ending, and it doesn’t include us. She moved ten miles away, and it’s like she doesn’t exist. I don’t want that to happen to me—first you fall off the group text, and then you fall out of the friend group, and then…”
“Babe,” Maya says, her voice firm. “First, you aren’t Anya.
Second, relationships take work—even friendships.
And no matter where you are or who you’re with, you aren’t going to lose us.
And I don’t think we lost Anya, either. She’s just in a season of her life where she doesn’t have time for us. But when she does…”
“We’ll let her back in the group chat?” I ask, wiping my tears with the back of my hand.
“If she wants,” she says. “Although I’m not sure she’ll love getting three hundred alerts a day about the shenanigans her single friends from college are getting into.”
“I really don’t like change,” I admit.
“I get it,” Maya says. “It can be scary—but it’s also how we grow. Look at you, Shir. You’ve changed so much over this last month. You’re more confident and comfortable with who you are—who is amazing, by the way.”
“I do think this has been good for me,” I admit.
“So are you going to stay?”
“I don’t think I can,” I say, new tears stinging my eyes. “He’s probably mad at me because of this morning. And I really don’t want to miss our tradition tonight—I’ve missed you guys so much. And I have to get back for work, anyway.”
“Not until Monday,” Maya says. “That’s five days away. If I had the option of letting a hot man who is literally obsessed with me bone me for five more nights—I’d take that over cold crab rangoon any day.”
“He’s not obsessed.”
She fixes me with a stern look. “Shira Schwartz, the man built you a giant menorah and had the town—where you were the only Jew—throw you a Hanukkah party.”
I sigh, thinking back to that night, and the shock and surprise of turning around the corner. The realization that it wasn’t a Christmas carol they were singing, but a Hanukkah version they sang just for me. I push the thought away.
“Yeah, but I have to get ready for my meeting with Conor—he wants a presentation on everything I learned being ‘boots on the ground.’”
“And what did you learn?” Maya asks.
“I haven’t started making the PowerPoint yet.”
“Fuck the PowerPoint. What did you learn?”
“I don’t know,” I say.
“Bullshit,” Maya says, never one for mincing words. “Tell me one thing you learned.”
I shake my head, thinking maybe I would have been better off if I’d answered Jonny’s call instead of calling Maya.
“I learned that stories have the power to change people’s lives; that working ten hours a day on my feet is exhausting, but it’s totally worth it when you’ve helped a person find their next favorite book.
” My throat tightens as I think about all the different people I got to know in Azalea, how grateful they were for the bookshop.
“I learned that it’s never too early, or too late, to become a reader.
That sometimes, people just want to talk to someone about a book they read. And that I….”
“You what?”
That maybe I can belong somewhere I never expected to.
The thought hits me like a lightning bolt, and I quickly shove it away, terrified of what it might mean.
“Conor doesn’t want to hear any of that,” I say, shaking my head. “He’ll want to know about the ROI, the demographics, and the cost-benefit analysis.”
She lets out an exaggerated yawn. “Boring.”
“So is the job.”
“Exactly!” Maya shouts so loud that I lower the volume on my headphones. “You only want the promotion because you want to prove that you can get it. You want the validation even though your asshole boss couldn’t see a good thing if it slapped him in the face.”
She’s right. I took this job because it was the only one I could get after graduating from college. I stayed because I was good at it, and a job was a job. And, yes, of course, I wanted my boss to recognize my value and worth.
“It’s not like I can just quit,” I say. “I need to pay rent. And I don’t know what else I would want to do—even if I wanted to stay in Azalea, the market is gone. The bookstore is gone. Even Jonny is going to be gone soon.”
“Okay,” Maya says, which is not helpful in the slightest.
“Okay?” I repeat, my voice rising in frustration. “What am I supposed to do with that?”
“Come home,” she says, shrugging. “We’ll hug your brains out, eat so much Chinese food that it will make our bellies hurt until we’re hungry two hours later, and watch cheesy, unrealistic rom-coms.”
“And then what?” I ask, my voice small.
“And then we’ll figure it out. You can always go back—there’s got to be at least a dozen flights between Dallas and Chicago every day. Or he could come here to visit—you said he’s leaving soon anyway, right?”
“Right,” I say, but it all feels wrong.
“You’re going to be okay, Shir,” Maya says. “It’s all going to be okay.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“I’m always right,” she says. “I’m a teacher.”
That gets a laugh out of me. “True.”
“Safe travels, babe—we’ll see you soon.”
I hang up and dry my eyes, then sit for a moment, thinking back to something Maya said.
What if this is you? The you that’s been there all along, just hidden under layers of trying to be what everyone else expects. And Jonny’s the first person who’s made you feel safe enough to let her show.
I think that’s the real lesson I learned running the bookshop—that we’re drawn to books because every one of us holds a multitude of stories. And just like you can’t judge a book by its cover, you can’t judge a person. Or a town.
At the end of the day, we’re not just the main character of our own story, but we have a role to play in the stories of everyone whose path we cross.
If we’re brave, we can discover a whole new side of ourselves.
But when we hide or shrink ourselves down to what we think other people want, we rob the world of something beautiful.
The person we have the potential to be and all the stories we have left to live.
If I go back to my old life and pretend like none of this changed me, it’ll be like closing the book before the ending. I’ll never know how the story could’ve gone. And I’d regret that for the rest of my life.
I stand, heart pounding with the kind of reckless hope I’ve been too scared to allow. I’ve spent so long being careful, fitting in, bending to other people’s expectations. What if I chose something for myself? Where I want to belong. Who I want to be.
And in that moment, I know what I have to do. I need to call on all the bravery and boldness I’ve been practicing this month. Hopefully, I’m not too late.