Chapter 19 #2
“They both wanted to read Slaughterhouse-Five with me. I told them about how it was a banned book and stuff. We all thought it was really good.”
“I have a break in ten minutes. How about I get you three some drinks and then I’ll come join you so we can talk about it?”
They each order iced tea lemonades, and once Rose has taken over, I take off my apron and leave my station.
Jo has been sitting at a café table to the side, doing something businessy on her laptop. She eyes me as I walk past her.
“What?” I say. “I’m on break.”
“I know you are,” she says. “That’s not why I’m eyeing you.” She doesn’t add anything else, so I give her a raised-eyebrow go on look. “It’s just good to see you happy.”
I chat with them for fifteen minutes, discussing the book’s anti-war themes and how it was inspired by Vonnegut’s own experiences as a prisoner of war.
Kurt makes an astute comment about how the character seems to have PTSD, and Tisha discusses the novel’s treatment of women and how even though it can be misogynistic at times, she’s still glad she read the book.
“It’s been controversial since its publication and still, decades later, is at the center of book-banning efforts,” I tell them.
“That makes me feel lucky to have read it,” Tisha says.
I nod at her. “You are lucky. I think it’s your duty as a young reader to consume literature thoughtfully, and that includes reading books others may not have easy access to. That’s how you can fight book banning in your own life.”
As we’re wrapping up, they ask for another recommendation. We agree we’ll meet again in a month and discuss Toni Morrison’s The Bluest Eye.
It’s been a long time since I felt this feeling. It’s a delicate tingle in my brain, like a wave of happiness that numbs all other feelings momentarily. By the time I quit my job a couple of months ago, I’d all but lost that feeling, and that numbness was replicated by emptiness.
I’ve felt so much better since quitting and even better since moving to Boston, but getting to reclaim some of the joy that was taken from me and my students by an angry parent and a politically motivated school board makes me feel on top of the world.
At my core, I suppose I’ll always be a bit of an English teacher, even if I don’t want to go back to doing it full-time.
Jo follows me into the back room. “So,” she says.
I slip my apron over my head, tying it behind my back. “So.”
“I’ve been crunching some numbers on my laptop.”
Turning to the sink to wash my hands, I’m careful not to make eye contact with her. “And?”
“We’re doing okay, but barely.”
Not surprising. There’s been a slow stream of customers. Probably as many as there were when her parents managed Jo Jo’s, but definitely no more.
“And I’ve been thinking of ways we can bring more people here,” Jo continues.
“And?”
“And I was wondering if you want to host a book club here. Maybe one evening a month. The focus could be reading banned books, if you want. Gets more people to Jo Jo’s to buy coffee and also encourages people to spend money supporting banned books.
We’re open late anyway, so we won’t even have to extend our hours. ”
I open my mouth to respond, but she cuts me off.
“Listen. I know you left teaching. And I know you’re probably afraid if you start connecting moments like that one”—she nods in the direction of Kurt’s table—“to your job, it’ll lose its charm.
But this wouldn’t be like teaching. This would just be about bringing people together over books and creating a space for them to talk freely.
And you’re so good at this. I mean, those three high schoolers shouldn’t be interested in anti-war novels from the 1960s.
And yet they are, because you told them some people don’t want them to read it.
People love doing things they’re not supposed to. ”
I snort. “Jo. You didn’t let me answer.”
“I know, I just—”
“I think that’s a great idea.”
Jo jumps up and down, her hands clasped against her chest. I roll my eyes, but she sees the grin on my face and gives me a huge hug.
“This is part of your job, of course. I’ll pay you for it.
And I just—” She pauses, taking a deep breath as her face grows more serious.
“I know you were wanting to try something new, but I also know it didn’t need to be this,” she says, gesturing around.
“And I know you say you’re excited about working here, but it’s not lost on me that you’re probably doing this because you want to be a good friend and support me. ”
“Maybe a little,” I say quietly, reaching out and giving her hand a squeeze.
“I needed it, to be honest. But also, just know the moment you want to do something else, all you have to do is say the word. I’m going to be fine even if you decide to move to, like, North Dakota. Rose and I have got this.”
“North Dakota?”
She shrugs. “Most random place I could think of.”
“I’m not going to move to North Dakota. But, heard. I promise I won’t stay in this job out of obligation.”
The chime above the front door rings, and when I look over, my heart sinks from my chest to my stomach as I register that Stephanie is now standing inside Jo Jo’s, looking around for someone. When she catches my eyes, she gives me a soft smile. Damn it.
She’s wearing a head-to-toe groutfit and no makeup. She looks like she just rolled out of bed, but it’s nearly four o’clock. I’ve only had two interactions with Stephanie, but I know enough to tell that this is out of character. I notice a chip in her red nail polish as she approaches the counter.
Jo had asked me whether I wanted it to be the case that Harrison broke up with Stephanie for me. I’d said it was complicated, but right now it’s feeling very uncomplicated: I do not want to be responsible for the pain that this woman is clearly experiencing.
“Hey, Emma,” she says quietly as I approach her.
“Hey,” I say. “Are…you okay?”
She smiles weakly. “I’m glad you’re working today. I wanted to talk to you.”
Even though she’s confirming what I expected to be true, I gape at her, and my heart falls from my stomach to my knees. Mercifully, I gather the mental strength to turn to Rose. “Hey—all good over there? Mind if I continue my break for a minute?”
She fist bumps me. “All right, girl. That’s what I’m talking about. Slacking on the clock.”
I give her an obligatory eye roll, then lead Stephanie to a table in a corner, far away from anyone’s (Kurt’s) nosy ears.
“I, uh—” she says, clearly struggling to form words. “Are you okay?”
I blink at her. “Me?” She nods. “Yeah, I’m…okay,” I tell her hesitantly.
She glances around as if making sure no one is snooping.
I feel certain Jo is, but I have no qualms about that.
“I don’t want to put you on the spot, and so I’m really sorry if this is uncomfortable, but, um, I got lunch with Alexander this week during work,” she says, and my heart stutters, realizing what she’s about to say, “and he said some things that, well, that made it clear he didn’t behave appropriately toward you. ”
“Oh,” I whisper. There’s blood rushing to my face as though I’m upset, even though this conversation is about Alexander, not about me. Then again: If I wasn’t upset, why didn’t I tell anyone, including Jo, what happened?
“That’s not really the right phrase to describe how he acted,” she says, closing her eyes and shaking her head. “But I also don’t want to put words in anyone’s mouth when I just heard about it secondhand and drew assumptions.”
“No, I—uh…” I stutter. “I don’t know what he said to you—”
“Enough,” she interrupts, then waves at me to continue.
“Yeah, the date went poorly. Like, really poorly. And I know you’re friends with him—”
“Sorry,” she cuts in. “I know I keep interrupting, but I feel the need to clarify that we are not friends anymore. I hope it’s okay that I did this on your behalf, but I made sure he knew that he was a shithead.”