Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Ella
“Eat, Pray, Love is a cliché post-breakup read for a reason. It’ll heal you in ways you don’t even know.”
—Stewart’s Staff Pick
The New Yorker article went viral and #SaveTheLastPage was trending nearly everywhere.
Hundreds of people were making videos and sharing stories of their favorite memories at the store.
There were stories about how people met their partners searching for books in the same aisle.
Or going to The Last Page after school, desperate for the newest book in their favorite series.
Since Henry wasn’t on social media, I spent an hour scrolling through TikTok showing him the different posts. There was a giddy energy, like we were right on the cusp of everything we worked for.
Sponsorships started to pour in, and some vendors were willing to station themselves inside the store and sell their food at discounted prices. A florist near us was going to hold a bouquet-making class. Ticket sales skyrocketed.
The store was busier than ever, too. People came in troves. They bought books, knickknacks, tote bags. The booksellers were worked to the bone, restocking the books and merch as often as they could.
By the end of every day, I was exhausted.
The fair was a month away and Henry and I often stayed back after hours to work on it.
For a while, we had to put our explorations of New York on pause because we were so busy, but this Sunday we finally decided to take a breather (mostly at the nagging of the booksellers).
Henry had picked out a place for us to go and wanted to surprise me with it.
We still hadn’t mentioned the kiss to each other. When I initially made that binder for Henry, I just wanted to prove him wrong and show him that New York was worthy of his attention. But now, I genuinely wanted Henry to like the city. To maybe even see himself here.
Was it normal to be obsessed with someone after a kiss?
It wasn’t like I’d been kissed like that very much.
Sure, I’d had boyfriends, but it had always felt like puppy love.
And a kiss inside a meaningless hookup was exactly that: meaningless.
More often than not, I was too busy with my nose stuck in a book to ever really care about what was going on outside of it.
I never had that whimsical first love kind of feeling.
And nothing had ever felt like my kiss with Henry.
As he led me down Sixth Avenue, I tried to push those thoughts from my mind.
We had decided on friends and, reluctantly, that’s all we would be.
And in August, maybe he’d extend his trip or maybe we’d become something close to Joey and Stewart—falling in and out of each other’s orbit and far too okay with how messy it was because we were with each other.
The “if” sent me down heartsick spirals.
When he stopped in front of Five Guys, he shot me a smug look.
“Are you in the mood for a burger?” he asked cheekily, opening the door. As soon as we entered, the smell of greasy food hit me.
I smiled tightly, knowing where he was going with this. “Not really.”
“Then follow me.”
Hesitantly, he wrapped his hand around mine and I tightened my grip, intertwining our fingers, hoping he wouldn’t let go. He led me through the restaurant to a door in the back that opened up to a set of stairs and a small speakeasy.
The bar sat against the wall with tables lined up against the other wall. Even though it was a Sunday evening, it wasn’t too busy. There were some lone drinkers at the bar, and a group of friends in the corner with their fries and burgers.
“I saw this online,” Henry said proudly. “Isn’t this so cool?”
“The coolest,” I said, hoping enthusiasm conveyed in my voice. But Henry had spent enough time with me now to read right through me.
He narrowed his eyes, studying me. “Okay, out with it.”
“What?”
“You don’t like it.”
“That’s not true!”
“There’s something you aren’t saying,” Henry pressed. He crossed his arms around his chest. “Out with it.”
“There’s nothing wrong with this place, but …” I relented. “It’s like a well-known secret.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s a little common among tourists. Everyone in the West Village knows about this place because every influencer has posted about this ‘hidden gem.’ ”
Henry groaned and the sound raised every hair on my arm.
I wasn’t an inherently sexual or romantic person.
But everything Henry did was just sexy. My mind flitted to what that would sound like in bed, with his body on top of mine or my hands wrapped around him.
I rearranged my features to appear impassive, even as my heart thumped against my chest.
“Here I thought I was going to impress you.”
“It’s just a running joke between Julie and I that every tourist thinks this is the coolest place in New York. I shouldn’t have said anything!”
“No, no, I’m glad you did. Let’s go somewhere else.”
“No way, I want a drink.”
Henry smiled. “I’m not so prideful that I can’t admit my pick is bad. I really don’t care, Carmella. Show me your city.”
I bit my lip, studying him. A man without an ego. Innovative.
“You up for a walk?”
“Do I have a choice in this city?”
I laughed. “Alright, follow me.”
A little ways away from the inner part of the West Village was Little Island. It was a man-made park on Pier 55, not too far from Chelsea.
It was a thirty-minute walk from Five Guys and neither of us even considered hoping on the train or the bus. The late-June weather was often oppressively hot, but this was one of the nicest days we’d had in a while. A cool breeze whipped my hair around, the wind preventing me from overheating.
But Henry’s pace turned the thirty-minute walk into a forty-five-minute one.
Henry had never thought about walking fast a day in his life, so it seemed.
When there were five seconds left at a crosswalk, he didn’t hustle across the street.
Instead, he stood there and waited. And when we’d get to a crowded street, instead of trying to escape, he lingered, like none of it bothered him.
In the past few months, I’d learned to push down my frustration over how slow he was.
But that didn’t stop New Yorkers from brushing past him with an irritated look.
“Don’t all football players have a temper?” I asked when the third person had done it.
His brows furrowed. “No.”
“Aren’t they all, you know, trigger happy when it comes to being physical?”
“I don’t think that’s a trait of footballers, but some men,” he said. “But I see your point. There were definitely guys like that on my team, but you’d be surprised at how many of them are gentle giants.”
“Is that what they called you?” I asked teasingly. When the tips of his ears turned pink, I gasped. “No way! They totally did!”
“Just my mom,” he said. “I think she was proud of it.”
“She should be,” I said. “I’d hate for my little brothers to grow up to be mean, violent assholes. Gentle men over aggressive ones any day.”
We had stopped at a busy crosswalk and he turned to face me. “If you don’t mind me asking, why don’t you still live with them? Isn’t that common in Hispanic households?”
“Sure, some people live with their parents after they’ve graduated or even until they’re married.
I thought about staying a bit longer.” The light turned and we continued on.
“But I never really got any independence. My school was kindergarten through senior year and it was just a few blocks away from my parents’ place, and I didn’t dorm when I went to college.
“I didn’t want the first time I lived without them to be when I was married, because then what?
I have no life skills and have to depend completely on someone else?
It’d be different if my parents were less involved, but my mom liked to cook dinner.
My dad freaked out if our rooms were messy.
When I moved out, for the first time in my life I felt like I was an adult. ”
“I get that,” Henry said quietly. “I dormed throughout college, and afterward, I thought about moving home. But I ended up getting an apartment near my office in my hometown. I didn’t realize how bad I was at being an adult.”
I laughed. “The first time I cooked chicken, I cut it up into tiny little pieces so I could make sure there was no pink in it. It stressed me out so bad that I just made buttered noodles instead.”
“Hey, that’s a fine dish.” Henry smiled. “You must miss them, though.”
“Of course I do. It’s weird, I’ll call them on the phone and it’ll feel like we’re miles and miles apart, even though they’re basically just an hour away. The distance between us all is physical, though, not emotional.” I hesitated. “They’re struggling. Pretty bad, I think.”
Henry frowned. “What do you mean?”
“My dad lost his job. He was the manager at a Whole Foods and, you know, we were never rolling in it, but for a while things were stable. They tried to hide it from me, but my little sister clued me in.”
“I’m sorry, Carmella,” Henry said, sincerely. “I know that can’t be easy.”
“I’m not used to being helpless,” I said, half hoping my fears would get lost in the breeze. “I always have a plan. A way to fix things and help, but … with all of this going on with the store …”
“It’s going to be okay,” he said, determinedly.
We had stopped at a crosswalk and he turned to face me, his hands on my shoulders.
“I know you and I know this is a burden you’re going to bear anyway.
But I’m telling you, there is no one in that store who believes we’ll close.
Because if you’re in charge, then everything just falls into place. ”
“I hate that,” I whispered. “Sometimes I really hate it. Half the time, I like being in control and knowing that I can fix things. But sometimes? I wish nobody asked it from me. Does that make me a bad person?”
Henry shook his head, a soft smile. “Bad people don’t question if they’re bad. You couldn’t be a bad person if you tried.”