Chapter Thirty-Two #3
Ken Fondness shot him a hassled look before stalking away. Afraid he was still within earshot, Macon and I communicated silently. I pointed with excitement at the library copy of an old boat book sitting beside his computer. Macon raised both fists in the air with glee.
Ken Fondness returned with the form, and we chilled. Macon filled it out while Ken Fondness typed something up.
“It’s nice to see you away from the library,” I said. I couldn’t stop myself.
Ken Fondness looked up from his computer screen. He didn’t point at his sign to get me to shut up, but he glanced at it irritably.
I beamed back at him.
Macon finished the transaction, and we scooted out the door with ten minutes to spare. “I love him,” I gushed in the elevator. “I love grouchy old men.”
“I’m aware, and I’m grateful for it.”
The temptation dangled right there, but I was too hyped to allow myself to read anything into it. I would pocket that and save the indulgence for later. “Do you think he recognized us?”
“Of course he recognized us. And I think seeing us together outside of the library has now tarnished his opinion of me.” Macon’s tone was droll but his smile was teasing, because Ken Fondness had still never forgiven me for my pirate blunder.
I laughed as we exited back on the main floor.
As we passed a huddle of lawyers, Macon lowered his voice. “He’s been doing the same job for thirty-six years and no one can remember him taking a day off.”
“He eats an egg salad sandwich and a banana every single day for lunch.”
“Excuse me,” a man said, interrupting our riffing. He was middle-aged, but it was a rough middle age. His face, limbs, and hair were long and rangy in a reckless way, and he was wearing a T-shirt with an ugly cartoon kid on it. “Are you in a hurry?”
“Yes,” Macon said.
Even though I was the one in a hurry, I was curious, and I was in a giddy mood. “That depends.”
Macon glared at me.
“We’re getting married, and we need a witness.” He gestured to an exhausted-looking woman in a nearby sitting area. Three young children were squirming all over her, and two of them were sobbing.
“Oh,” I said. “Well, I guess I—”
“How long would it take?” Macon asked the man while still scowling at me.
“It’ll be fast,” the man said. “A couple of minutes. I’ve done it before.”
“Sure,” I said, no longer at ease.
“Great.” The man clapped his hands and led the way. Reluctantly, I followed. “Come on, troops, let’s go!” he said.
The tired woman and her upset children gathered their belongings. Over my shoulder, I threw a pleading look to Macon, who was staring at me in disbelief. But then he just shook his head and trudged along behind us.
Inside the courtroom, a pissed-off judge kept telling the woman to quiet her kids. Macon and I stood in the back of the unremarkable room, the third child joined in the crying, vows were spoken, and then it was over. I signed a piece of paper, and Macon and I left.
“Felicitations,” I said in horror.
“He knew he was getting married today, yet he chose— he chose —to wear a Cornholio shirt.” Macon glanced at me and then clocked the generational difference again. “ Beavis and Butt-Head ? You didn’t miss much.”
“I mean, I’ve heard of it.”
“I thought it was funny when I was twelve.”
“Do you think that woman’s children are okay?” I asked.
“No,” he said.
We were both still shuddering as he drove me to the mechanic. “What does marriage even mean when people can just… go and do that?” he said. “Why bother at all?”
Cory and I had once believed that we might get married at the courthouse this autumn.
(It was almost this autumn.) I imagined standing beside him in the same bare-bones room before the same irate judge and felt ill.
“Fuck,” I said, remembering something else.
“I still have to buy my maid-of-honor dress. Riley picked out one that’s expensive. ”
“Maybe your new friend will lend you his T-shirt,” Macon said bitterly.
When we arrived at the mechanic, Harvey said, “Your engine block cracked because you didn’t get a new radiator or hoses last spring.”
“Can’t I get them now?” I asked.
Harvey scoffed. “You’re beyond that fix now.”
“So…”
“So you need a new engine,” he said, “which will cost more than that car is worth.”
“So…”
Harvey frowned at me like I was an idiot, which I suppose, in that moment, I was. “So I’m saying you need a new car .”
Macon and I transferred the contents of my Volkswagen into his Volvo, all the bits and bobs from my glove compartment and floorboard and trunk, and then we drove to my store to deliver the tile.
Tears streamed down my face. I loathed myself for crying in front of him again, and I loathed myself for using his car as a moving van again.
“This fucking year,” I said.
“This fucking year,” he agreed in a tone that was calm and steady and depressed.
“I can’t afford a car right now. Not even another shitty one. I can barely afford that dress for the wedding.” He parked and made a move to get out, but I stopped him. “I need a minute. I don’t want the contractor to see me like this. I have to look responsible.”
“You are responsible.”
“My car would disagree.”
“Well, I’ve always hated your car, and I’m glad you finally killed it before it killed you.”
I rummaged around in my bag until I found a tissue. When I blew my nose, it honked like a goose. What was one more humiliation in front of him?
“Maybe… don’t get a car,” he said.
“What? Macon. I need a car.”
“But what if you don’t? You live a ten-minute walk from here, and there’s a grocery store within walking distance, too. You could get away with not having one for at least a few months.”
“What about when I have to go to the salvage store across town?” I gestured to the boxes of decorative tile in his back seat. “I can’t ask you to help me every time.”
“Why not?”
Because you’re not my boyfriend . I didn’t say it, but I let it sit between us all the same. The silence grew uneasy. “Because you have a job,” I finally said.
“No, you’re right,” he said, skirting past the awkwardness.
Another dark silence descended. A minute later, he sat back up.
“Okay.” He was trying so hard to fix this problem for me.
“If you don’t have a car, you can cancel your insurance.
Set that money aside and then use it to hire a car whenever you need to go somewhere farther away. ”
The weight of it all was so demoralizing.
“It would only be temporary,” he said.
“Like the studio. Like my savings.”
“Hey.” He waited until he had my attention. Until I actually looked at him. “You’re doing a good thing here. Your bookstore is going to be great.”
“ Pfft .” I turned away toward the nameless storefront.
A goldendoodle was drinking water from the bowl I’d set out for dog passersby.
The trailing flowers in the hanging baskets ruffled in the breeze.
In the windows were Mika’s two large hand-painted signs in a sweeping calligraphy: BOOKSTORE COMING SOON !
WE CAN’T WAIT TO MEET YOU ! My heart lifted a teensy bit.
“Oh my God,” Macon said suddenly. “I haven’t even told you about cheeseburger leg yet.”
My frown was already softening. “What?”
“Months ago, back when we weren’t—”
He was going to say talking , but I waved him past it.
“Anyway. I had this dream where I rolled up the bottom of my pants, and the skin on my calves was hanging off in these meaty, ground beef–looking, patty-sized shapes. It was a condition called cheeseburger leg.” He grinned at my bewilderment.
“You were there, and you were appalled that I hadn’t gone to the doctor, but it had only been a week. ”
I put my head in my hands. “Stop trying to cheer me up.”
“I thought it might go away on its own.”
I turned my head so it was still resting in my hands but facing him.
He lifted one of his pant legs as if to show me. “Those patties were really painful.”
“Okay,” I said.
“Okay what?”
I shoved his arm. “I’ll be okay. You can stop now.”
Every time I touched him, his fingers found the place where mine had just been. He was still laughing as his hand went unconsciously straight to the spot. “I just hope the condition isn’t hereditary,” he said. “I’d never be able to get my mom to the doctor.”
Finally, I burst into laughter.
His smile widened—and then he shoved my arm back. The brief touch was light but thrilling. My palm went straight to the spot, covering it as tightly as a promise. I would give him the time and space that he needed. He was letting me in, and the wait would be worth it.