Chapter Twenty-Three
I pull Adam’s shirt over my head and return to the circulation desk.
Gabe ends his call when he sees me. “I heard what happened. I’m so”—he presses a finger to his lips—“sorry.” His voice quakes and shoulders shake, belying his words.
I grunt. “You’re not sorry at all.”
He points at my T-shirt. “Where’d you pick that up? The big-and-tall shop?”
I knot Adam’s admittedly large shirt at the bottom so it rests, hopefully more attractively, at my waist. “It’s Adam’s.” I regret the admission immediately when Gabe’s mouth drops open.
“He gave you his shirt?” He asks the question slowly, drawing out each word as if he can’t believe what he’s saying.
I sink into my chair. “Yes. He didn’t want me to have to wear my dirty sweater all day. It’s not a big deal. He was wearing it under his Henley.” I pull up the hold list on the computer to avoid eye contact with Gabe, but I feel his stare on my cheek.
“You were in the bathroom together when all this lending of shirts went down?”
“Yes.”
“So he took off his shirt to give it to you?”
I swing my head to face him. “Yes! It’s not the first time I’ve seen him with his shirt off.” I wince. “I just mean because we live together and all. It’s bound to happen.”
“ Something’s bound to happen, I’m sure.” He barks out another laugh, creating temporary wrinkles on his otherwise smooth brown skin.
I glare at him. Gabe doesn’t know about my moment with Adam on the couch because I only told Carley and Audrina. He also doesn’t know about our accidental trip to second base in the bathroom at home, and I’m definitely not telling him now. I ignore him and eventually he stops laughing.
The eventful morning morphs into a quiet afternoon, aside from a small group of tweens sitting at a table in the YA section.
So far they’ve spent more time debating which K-pop star is the cutest and giggling than studying, but we’ve refrained from “shushing” them since the remaining tables in the area are uninhabited.
I smile tentatively at one of the kids, a white girl with freckles and mousy brown hair in waves who got up to use the bathroom, but instead of returning to her classmates has been pacing in front of the desk, alternating her gaze between me and her phone for the last few minutes.
I asked if she needed anything and she said no, but she’s still standing a few feet away, looking lost.
The girl, who’s wearing a soft-pink top and flower-patterned wide-leg jeans, looks up from her phone again and wipes her dark eyes.
They’re red and puffy, and although it could be seasonal allergies, based on her averted gaze I’m guessing she’s been crying.
In a fit of protectiveness over this stranger, I tense up in fear the other girls are leaving her out or otherwise being mean. Girls that age can be cruel.
She tosses yet another pitiful glance my way.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” I ask the question gently, hoping it’s clear I’m not accusing her of anything but simply offering help if she needs it.
She chews on an unpainted fingernail and gives a slight nod of her head.
Though I’m sure she’s lying, I nod and return my attention to next month’s programming schedule on the computer.
“Actually…” She approaches the desk and whispers, “I just… um…” She looks behind me in the direction of where her friends are sitting at a long table, then to Gabe, who’s tapping the keys of his computer pretending he’s not eavesdropping, and back to me.
My hands clench in apprehension over what she’ll say next.
She whispers, “I got my period for the first time, and I don’t know what to do.”
I gasp. This is not what I expected her to say.
Gabe stops typing but keeps his eyes down.
She blinks and her eyes fill with tears. “My mom is at work in a meeting, and my friends don’t know I’ve never had it before.” She frowns. “I didn’t lie. I just never said.”
I suck in a breath, the memory of my own first period fresh like it was yesterday and not twelve years ago. My mom was also at work that day, and Nana picked me up at school. “Do you have something?”
She shakes her head slightly and tugs on the navy hoodie wrapped around her waist. “There’s nothing in the bathroom. I used toilet paper.” She wipes her eyes.
I sigh and mentally add “have awkward conversation with Jenny about putting a pad and tampon dispenser in the public bathroom” on my to-do list. “Come with me.” I stand and, without a word to Gabe, guide her to the staff bathroom where I unlock the door and use my own money to extract a pad.
Teaching this girl how to use a tampon is not in my job description.
Handing her the small box, I say, “Do you know what to do?”
She accepts the package and nods. “I’ve practiced.” Her cheeks flush red.
A smile escapes. “Did you read Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret by any chance?”
“I saw the movie.” She giggles.
I grin. “Okay. I’ll leave you to it, but I’ll be right outside if you need me.”
I lean against the wall and wait. My mind wanders back in time to when Nana came to the school and sat in the nurse’s office while I used the pad she brought from Audrina’s stash at home.
She let me leave school early and treated me to Dairy Queen on our way home.
I miss her so much I ache from it. I change the subject in my mind to a shirtless Adam in the same bathroom just a few hours earlier, except now I ache in other places.
A few minutes later, the girl comes out. Her eyes are no longer red and she actually looks delighted.
“Everything good?”
She nods excitedly.
I grin, assuming her experience so far has not included cramps. “Good. Do you need anything else?”
Her phone vibrates before she can answer. She whispers, “I’m fine, Mom. The librarian helped me.”
I stand up straighter at the librarian moniker.
“Gross, Mom!” She rolls her eyes, and I guess her mom probably said something about being a woman now. I hold in a chuckle. “I will.” She looks up from her phone and smiles shyly. “Thank you for your help.”
“You’re welcome.” With a pat on her shoulder, I return to the desk. Delighted there’s no queue of patrons, I relax into my chair and close my eyes.
“Look alive, Finkelstein.”
Gabe’s voice wakes me out of my resting state.
“I’m not dead. Just mentally exhausted.” Getting “juiced” by miniature patrons, almost taking off my shirt in front of Adam in the bathroom, and providing emotional support to a newly menstruating girl seems like a lot for one day in the life of a library assistant.
“Helping a girl with her menses wasn’t on your bingo card for today?” His eyes twinkle.
I open my mouth to tease him about his use of the word “menses,” but the words get trapped in my throat when a woman enters the library.
She’s about my age with long blond hair, wearing a plaid shirt jacket over cropped jeans and brown suede booties.
Something about her hits a familiar nerve, but I can’t place it.
She gives Gabe and me a passing glance before heading to the adult section and walking up and down the aisles without looking at any of the bookshelves.
Then she peers her head into the teen section, where the girls are now debating the best Taylor Swift song.
“Why are you following that patron’s every move?” Gabe whispers, lifting his chin in her direction.
“She looks familiar,” I whisper back. Where have I seen her before? The answer is just beyond my reach. Then it hits me, and I gasp.
“What is it?”
In a hushed tone, I say, “She’s the girl from Keybar! The one who was with Adam.”
Gabe’s mouth drops open and he gives her an extended once-over. “Oh, yeah. I see it now. She’s cute.” He cocks his head. “You jealous?”
My stomach tightens. “No! Of course not.” Rude.
“I think the lady doth protest too much.”
I ignore this comment. “I bet she’s looking for him.”
She can walk the aisles all she wants, but she won’t find Adam on the floor since he’s behind us in the back room sorting supplies for our upcoming May-flowers craft event for tweens and teens.
I’m tempted to wait her out until she gives up and leaves, but I’m also curious what their deal is.
Adam came with her to Keybar but he left with me.
He’s never mentioned her or brought her around the apartment, and it’s only been two weeks since I fooled around with him, which means nothing unless they’re exclusive, but still.
I’m dying to know who she is to him, even while acknowledging I might not like the answer.
I find his contact in my phone.
Sabrina: I think you have a guest
Adam: Who is it?
I’d rather not admit to recognizing her in writing, but he’ll find out soon enough when he sees for himself who it is.
Sabrina: The girl you were with at Keybar is strolling the aisles and she’s not looking for books
He appears approximately thirty seconds later.
“Where is she?” He scans the room. “Oh.” When he sees her, his expression turns pinched.
This could be attributed to a number of factors, including but not limited to: his displeasure at seeing her, him wishing he didn’t have a juice stain on his sweatshirt, or him rethinking his decision to eat sour-cream-and-onion potato chips with lunch. My vote is for option one.
When he joins her on the floor, her face lights up and she draws him into a hug. He hugs her back but seems stiff… like he’s not comfortable with the affection… but this could also be due to his breath reeking of the chips he ate with lunch. Either way, it’s none of my business.
He glances over his shoulder and catches me watching them.
I quickly look down. When I raise my head again, they’re no longer in my line of vision.
“They went upstairs.”
“Who?”
Gabe smirks.
“I hate you.”
I try to focus on work, but my mind would rather be tortured with images of Adam making out with Keybar Girl in the bathroom, break room, or even against the new “Spring into Reading” display I helped create upstairs on the early readers floor, since that’s where Gabe said they went.
Maybe Adam’s secretly an exhibitionist except for when it comes to being caught in the act by his grandma.
The desk is quiet so I walk the floor, straightening chairs, reminding kids to use their library voices, and confirming none of the patrons using the computers need my help.
Then I stroll the aisles searching for colored strips of paper peeking out of books.
As part of his training, Adam leaves them so we can double check he’s shelving the books in the right spots.
“When can we take off my training wheels?”
I startle at the sound of Adam’s voice and roll my shoulders back, pretending I haven’t been concentrating on not thinking about him for the past twenty minutes. “It’s not my decision, but I think soon.” As subtly as possible, I skim the floor behind him. There’s no sign of the girl.
Adam’s eyes drop to my waist and back up. “My shirt looks good on you.”
My first thought is, Not as good as it looks off of you , but by some miracle, I don’t say it out loud. “Thanks again for lending it to me.”
He smiles, then checks the clock on the wall. “Almost closing time. No class later, right?”
A pleasant hum vibrates under my skin at the unexpected knowledge Adam keeps track of my schedule and knows I don’t have school on Wednesdays. “Correct.”
“Walk home together?”
“Sure.” We nod to seal the deal, and I turn away mere seconds before cracking a smile I’d prefer he doesn’t see. We go our separate ways for the last twenty-five minutes of work.
If there are no issues with the 6 Train, the commute from the library to our apartment by subway takes less than five minutes, but unless it’s raining, snowing, 100 percent humidity, or the wind chill is in the single digits, I walk.
It’s none of the above today so we walk, the route dependent on the color of the stoplights we hit along the way.
Adam easily keeps the pace of a born-and-bred New Yorker, expertly dodging other pedestrians.
I focus on silently chanting: I’m not going to ask about the girl. Not going to ask about the girl.
“Cool about you having a visitor today.” Fuck me. I bend to tighten my shoelace even though it’s already double knotted.
“Cool isn’t the word I’d use.”
I straighten. “No?”
“I’m not a fan of unplanned pop-ins at work.”
“Was it important?”
“She said she was in the neighborhood and remembered I worked there.” He tucks his hands in the pockets of his beige bomber jacket.
“Aha. The old ‘in the neighborhood’ line. Your girlfriend isn’t the most creative at the writers’ table.” I hold my breath. I have no business being thirsty since our agreement to keep things platonic between us was mutual—at least outwardly.
“She’s not my girlfriend.” He looks at me and quickly away.
“None of my business.” We keep walking. She’s not his girlfriend. I smile, and though I can’t bring myself to look at him, I feel him smiling too.
The air is charged when we arrive at our building and ride the elevator to our floor, like we’re on the precipice of something. It’s an effort to remind myself we both agreed to keep things platonic. I can no longer remember why we did that.
The elevator doors open, and the sound of Rocket’s barking fills the air. It’s not his regular excited bark. It’s higher-pitched and sounds frantic. We race down the hall and Adam opens the door, calling out, “We’re home! Grams?”
Rocket darts out of the kitchen, into the living room, and back so quickly, I’d think I imagined it if he weren’t barking so fast and furious.
We glance at each other and follow Rocket.
Marcia’s on the floor, holding her chest. “Call 911,” she gasps.