Chapter Thirty-Three
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
The inside of my head was a to-do list that never shrank.
For each item crossed off, a dozen new ones appeared, mounting and intensifying the pressure.
Everything was riding on opening the store when the temperature dropped, but in the meantime, Ridgetop had just had the hottest August on record, and September wasn’t faring any better.
Stubbornly, I continued to work with open doors and a borrowed fan, sweating out every gallon of water I drank.
I sweated so much that I hardly had to use Kindred’s restroom.
My own was still under loud and hectic construction.
The moments when time slowed down—the moments I was with Macon—stood alone like islands.
He was still on vacation but occupied with his garden.
One evening, though, he drove me to a bicycle shop.
Via a lengthy text argument, he’d talked me into testing out an electric cargo bike to replace my car, at least temporarily.
The insurance money I’d be saving, plus the little I got for selling my old car for parts, would cover the cost. I was more eager to hang out with him than to ride the bike, but after only a few minutes of zipping around, I was sold.
We took turns, and he looked as youthful and enthused as I’d ever seen him.
“I’ll let you borrow my car if you let me borrow this bike,” he said seriously, and I laughed.
“Head trauma is on the rise because fewer people wear helmets on e-bikes, so promise me you’ll always wear one,” he said seriously, and I swooned.
I recognized now that some of his cautiousness—things like texting to see if I’d arrived home safely and driving a make of car known for its high safety ratings—was a result of being raised by a fearful mother.
Still, I liked that he worried about me .
I liked that he wanted to keep me safe. I bought the bike and a cute mint helmet and pedaled happily back to work.
The next island was the day we moved the shelves and other fixtures from Carla’s garage into the store.
It was all hands on deck—Macon; Mika; Bex; Bex’s business partner, Craig, and his truck; two altruistic black belts from their dojang who also did CrossFit and liked to show off their strength; and Richard and his van.
I couldn’t believe how many people showed up to help.
As we finished loading the last item into the van, Richard, gaunt yet full of vigor, lingered as he said goodbye to Carla. I nudged Macon. “You think?”
“I do think,” he said, touching the spot on his arm. Sweat was rolling down his forehead, and his glasses were crooked and smudged.
I pointed to the glasses. He took them off and handed them over.
I breathed on the lenses and carefully wiped them with my shirt.
I’d been cleaning them for years, although I couldn’t remember the last time I’d done it.
I’d cleaned Cory’s glasses, too, whenever I found them lying around our apartment.
“Thank you, cleaning fairy,” he’d call out when he put them back on.
“Isn’t it nice to be able to see the world again?” I said, handing them back to Macon.
“Don’t see what’s so nice about the world,” Macon grumbled. This was our usual exchange. But his eyes sparkled cheekily as he got into his car.
Suddenly I noticed Carla was standing behind me. I thanked her again for everything, but she ignored it. “He reminds me of Len,” she said.
“Richard?”
“No. Your beau.”
“Oh, he’s not…”
Her expression twinkled. “You’re welcome. And yes,” she said before I could remind her, “I’ll call you when I’m ready to move.” I had already opened Macon’s passenger door to get in when she added, “And bring your beau again. I like him.”
“She likes you,” I said to Macon, both of us ignoring the other half of what she’d said. The CrossFit black belts had also mistaken us for a couple, as had the bike salesman.
“Looks like Richard has some competition,” he said.
I laughed, secretly pleased that our chemistry was apparent to outside observers. Secretly pleased to be returning to the store in his car, not anybody else’s.
But it was a frustratingly long time before I saw him again.
My work was nonstop, and with the bartering spirit still going strong, Macon made a deal with his neighbor: yard work in exchange for helping to build his own bookshelves.
Then his mom discovered mildew in her bathroom walls, which turned into its own saga.
Just as the door to something new had been cracked open, we stopped being able to see each other as often, and never without anybody else around.
Mika finally joined me full-time, and I tried to turn on the air conditioning as a welcome present. It did not turn on. Figuring this was something the landlord would pay for, I was shocked to examine the lease and discover the HVAC system was my responsibility.
I wrote the repairperson a harrowing check.
Stephen from the East branch was officially hired, and then my third employee walked in after seeing the signs in our windows.
I recognized her immediately by her colorful leg tattoos—big floral blooms and beloved kidlit characters.
She was the server from the diner who had witnessed my breakup with Cory.
Jo had worked in a children’s bookstore in Georgia as a teenager and in college.
She was still young, but she was sharp and enthusiastic and knowledgeable, and I hired her on the spot as my children’s specialist.
“We need one more person,” Mika said. “Somebody willing to do events and social media.”
Stephen was a bit of a Macon (and Len) and had already claimed the back room job of opening shipments and fulfilling online orders, but it was Macon himself who sent me my final employee: Amelia Louisa Hatmaker, the library patron who had gifted us the hot-air balloon voucher.
Her husband just left her for a younger woman , he texted.
Her résumé sucks because she hasn’t worked in twenty-five years, but I think she’d work hard to prove herself.
I liked Amelia Louisa, and she had the extroverted personality for community outreach that the rest of us lacked.
After my own breakup experience, I was concerned about her ability to handle everything amid the turmoil, but Amelia Louisa turned out to be a godsend.
(A Maconsend.) Efficient and organized, she also threw herself into setting up the computers and point-of-sale system.
Stephen, Jo, and I ordered books while Mika filled our gifts section with sustainable goods, recycled notebooks, fountain pens, greeting cards made by local artists, and Ridgetop-appropriate stained-glass suncatchers shaped like classic novels.
With each new task, our decision fatigue grew, but whenever one of us had a meltdown over quantities or editions or translations, Amelia Louisa reined us back in with the skill that came from being the mother of two rambunctious teenage boys.
We didn’t have a history together or a rhythm like I’d had with my library coworkers, but I could already imagine baking everyone’s birthday cakes.
Cory’s birthday arrived, and he began a new decade without me.
It made me sad but not mournful. My thirtieth was fast approaching, too.
I texted my well wishes, he responded straightaway, and then we exchanged several friendly messages.
He’d heard about my store and was astonished and proud of me.
You know , he said, that never would have happened if we were still together.
He was right, but the thought had never occurred to me before.
“I thought about inviting him to the wedding,” Riley confessed over the phone.
“You always did get along,” I said.
“Speaking of, have you bought your dress yet?”
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“I’ll take your silence as a no.”
“Oh God. I’m sorry. I just paid for this huge repair that I hadn’t budgeted for.
” My mind raced to find the money. It was fortunate that I’d been saving on apartment rent throughout this ordeal because that banked money had been rescuing me from these surprise expenses.
Unfortunately, my sister hadn’t picked out a regular dress.
It was designer and outrageously expensive.
It cost the same amount as a theoretical month of rent, which, this month, I had given to the HVAC unit.
“I literally can’t afford it. But I’m sure I can find one that looks similar.
It’ll be okay if I don’t match the other bridesmaids exactly , right? Since I’m the maid of honor?”
“Iggy. Stop freaking out. It’s okay.”
“I promise I’ll get your approval on whatever I find before I buy it.”
“Iggy! Stop it. I’m buying you the dress.”
I felt ill. “What?”
But she sounded happy. “Thank God, something I can finally do to help you. Yes. I’m paying for your dress. It’s a gift. And we’re both going to be happy about it.”
“I can’t let you do that. That dress is four figures.”
“Yeah, and I’m the asshole who picked it out. I’m throwing a wedding that might get media coverage, so it’s made me paranoid about everything looking perfect—”
“Wait. You think your wedding might get media coverage?”
“ People covers high-profile WNBA weddings all the time.”
“Jesus.”
“I know.”
“Doesn’t that freak you out?”
“Yes. Hence, the dress. Which I’m paying for.”
“I still don’t think I can let you do that.”
“I’m not giving you the option.”
We sat in silence.
“You’re stewing, aren’t you?” she said.
“I’m trying to figure out how to pay for this.”