Chapter Thirty-Three #2
Riley’s voice deflated with a sigh. “Listen, I know Mom and Dad wouldn’t pay for this dress for you.
And I know you’d never ask them to. I wouldn’t either.
But just because we don’t have that kind of relationship with them doesn’t mean we can’t have it with each other.
Being around Jess’s family has made me realize there are other ways to be family.
We can talk more. We can visit each other more. And you can let me help you with this.”
It stunned me.
My sister had told me over the summer that she wanted to help with my store, but since the WNBA season was short, she couldn’t afford to miss any time with Jess before she started playing in the Turkish league during the offseason.
I’d laughed and told her it was fine. But Riley had been hurt that I had already assumed she wouldn’t be there.
Even though we were closer to each other than we were to our parents, it had never occurred to me that being there for each other was still a choice.
That we could do more to support each other, and that maybe that was also what she’d been trying to get me to do all year: support her.
“I’m sorry.” I wilted. “I should have been helping you this whole time, too.”
“I mean. We’ve both been a little busy.”
We released pitiful laughs at the understatement.
“Don’t tell Mom,” Riley said, “but she might have been right that planning a wedding this big in one year was a mistake.”
I suspected it was less work than opening a new business, but as the big sister, I let this slide. Which reminded me that I’d let other things slide. “God, I haven’t even asked yet. How’s Jess coping?” Her team, the Atlanta Dream, had lost its first two playoff games and were already out.
“Jess is tough. She’s disappointed but glad they at least made the playoffs this year. The team is headed in the right direction.”
“I’m glad she’s okay.”
“So, does this mean you’ll let me buy the dress?”
I remembered what Macon had said about me having a hard time accepting help and how true that had felt. I swallowed my pride. “Yes. Thank you.”
“Good. Because I already bought it while we were talking. It’ll arrive next week. I seriously do not have any fucking time to waste.”
“You and me both,” I said.
“You and me both,” she said.
The malodorous fragrances had finally faded, and the stock—crisp new arrivals—was delivered in overwhelming quantities.
The scent was a homecoming, even as our thirsty hands dried out from touching all the paper and cardboard.
We were behind schedule, and one Monday, Sue and Alyssa and Elijah showed up to help.
I savored this generous reunion and familiar camaraderie.
Elijah wielded a box cutter in the back room while Sue and Alyssa assisted me on the floor.
“Too bad Macon couldn’t join us,” Sue said, as we organized the history sections.
“He’s helping his mom today,” I said, “but he’s already done so much around here.”
“Yeah,” Alyssa said slyly, “those sunflowers by the registers sure are beautiful.”
My skin warmed at the implication. “I assume you recognize them because he also brought in some for the library.” Macon often brought in bouquets for the front desk. Mine had been left in the mosaicked entryway a few mornings prior.
“We didn’t get any sunflowers,” Alyssa said.
“No, we did not,” Sue said, adopting the same sly tone.
My heartbeat skipped and picked up.
“Ever since you left,” Sue said, “he’s been miserable.”
“Sounds like regular Macon,” I said, still thinking about the flowers.
“No,” Alyssa said. “He’s moping . He’s full-time unhappy now.”
I paused, a stack of ancient history in hand. He’d complained about work to me but had given no indication that his grievances were anything out of the ordinary.
“You know,” Sue said, shifting books beside me slowly and methodically, “he used to want to work at the reference desk.” The reference desk was at Rowe Memorial.
It was the main library downtown, only two blocks away from my store.
“I thought it was strange how he stopped talking about it when you showed up.”
Reference librarian was the job I’d always privately believed he’d be great at, even though he’d never mentioned it to me. He’d always seemed content in his current position.
Sue went on, “He didn’t even apply for Val’s job when she retired two years ago. I tried to convince him to do it, but he shut me down.”
I swallowed. “Guess he changed his mind. Guess he’s happy doing what he’s doing.”
“Silly me,” Sue deadpanned. “And here I was thinking he wasn’t switching jobs because he’s in love with you.”
Two workers shouted and began hammering in the restroom. I jumped and then cowered, wincing at each blow. Sue and Alyssa exchanged a grin.
“We’re friends,” I said. This was true. “Our relationship has always been platonic.” This was less true. I had many friends, but I only wanted to sleep with one of them.
“Well, since you’re such good friends”—Sue thumped a row of books against the end of a shelf for emphasis—“maybe you can encourage him to apply for the reference job that’ll be opening up later this year. Ted is moving to Portland.”
“Oregon or Maine?” I asked, because I needed the subject to change.
Sue had said love . She thought Macon was in love with me.
The word cracked and splintered my heart open, and the painful shards rattled around inside my chest for days.
Making me wish it were true. Making me wonder if it was.
Causing me misery and ecstasy and no end of suffering.
And then another heartbreak happened.
We did not meet my goal.
Although the equinox had passed, the weather was still warm, and the trees were only hinting at what was to come.
I’d been scrutinizing their leaves all month, praying for them to take their time—to give me more time—and they had miraculously obeyed.
(Not miraculously. Climate change.) But October was now a whisper away, and the tourists who’d booked their reservations early were already swelling the streets, yet our shelves were still half empty.
I was devastated. It felt like the store had failed before it had even begun.
If we missed peak tourism, our holiday sales might not be enough to keep the store alive. We’d be opening only to close forever in January. I couldn’t endure another January that reset my entire life. It was unimaginable to be so close to losing everything again.
“We’ll be able to open in a week,” Mika said, comforting me in my office.
I gestured to the two pictures I’d hung: the framed Mary Brisson postcard and a photo of Len frowning, cigarette dangling from his lips, feet kicked up on his crowded desk. “Look how disappointed in me they are.”
“ You are disappointed in you because you gave yourself an unattainable goal. We’re doing great. Don’t give up on us now.”
“I’m not giving up.”
“I know you aren’t.” Her smile turned teasing. “So stop acting like it. Besides, I have news that will cheer you up.”
The outside signs were ready for delivery.
Mika and I had decided it was crucial to shell out some real money for them, and I was nervous to see if our gamble had paid off.
She had hired two local artists: a metalsmith to sculpt our name in distinguished gold capital letters that would span the green length of the storefront, and a woodcarver to create a swinging sign that would hang above the sidewalk.
The swinging sign was reminiscent of an old woodcut illustration, a carved stack of books with a big stylized B to match the gold B above it.
Mika was still concerned about the name I’d chosen. Getting signs with the right aesthetics was a way to compromise.
The signage went up on the last day of September. The store glimmered like a jewel box. It looked timeless and cultured. Worthy of notice, worthy of existence. All four of my employees—I had employees now—stood with me, admiring the spectacle in the twilight.
“I know I already asked what the name means, but I’ve forgotten,” Amelia Louisa confessed.
I felt his presence before I saw him. The energy and excitement swirling around inside me shifted to greet him as he approached us from behind.
“Bildungsroman,” Macon said to Amelia Louisa, his eyes locked on the golden letters. “It’s a novel that spans a protagonist’s formative years, often from youth into adulthood.” His gaze cut away to find mine, brimming with admiration. “It’s perfect.”
“It even ties in with the history of the building, the old deli.” I pointed at the mosaicked entryway. “Roman’s.”
“I love it,” he said sincerely. Still looking at me.
Love . I beamed up at my bookstore. “I do, too.”