Chapter Thirty-Six
Thirty-Six
I swear I’m not trying to mope, but I also don’t know how to mask how I’m feeling, the way so many humans seem to be able to.
It’s not just my sorry state; now that Miguel has decided the store is closing and he’s destined to be alone, everything seems unappealing.
I couldn’t even bring myself to finish my special food this morning.
Really, I don’t think Amelia understood what she was asking for. Maybe she overestimated his capacity for love, to say nothing of my intelligence.
“?Y tú también, Harold?” Miguel says, throwing himself on the sofa. He’s stripped down to his underwear, although I’m not sure if this is a sustained cry for help or the result of his decision to barely use air-conditioning to save cash.
Me, too, I think, lifting my head momentarily to acknowledge I’ve heard him.
“Come on up here, dog. You look miserable down there.”
I eye him from my bed. Surely this is a trap; I’m never allowed on the sofa.
“Come on,” he says, patting the spot beside him. “I’ll give you a lift. Besides, it’s not like we’re expecting company. Miriam won’t be back for a few days.”
Yes, and that’s part of the problem—she’s possibly the only person who could talk sense into him right now!
Still, I rise cautiously and let him lift me onto the cushion.
Then I circle for a moment, trying to find the right angle, before curling up just far enough away that he and I aren’t touching.
“You sure you’re okay?” he says, reaching out to pet my head. “I hope those medications are doing what they’re supposed to.”
I don’t mean to sigh, but the sound escapes all the same. “Is it the girl?” he asks. “You really liked her, didn’t you?”
You think?
“I’m sorry about what happened with her mom, but I promise it’s better this way.
The minute you begin a relationship, you’ve just invited loss into your life.
I mean, if you really think about it, there’s no such thing as a happy ending—not if you really follow the story all the way to its true conclusion.
And we don’t need any more loss. Do we, boy? ”
Just days earlier, I did agree with him. I don’t anymore. I’m ready to accept the inevitable loss, however painful, if it means more love. Besides, Amelia said she knew what was best for him, and I have to believe her; I just have to.
Miguel’s computer’s open on the coffee table.
He reaches forward and flips it closed. “Maybe that’s why Jonathan hightailed it to Europe.
He may not have written those books, but he’s still wiser than I’ve given him credit for.
I have to wonder what it would be like to just…
just disappear, maybe move through the world anonymously.
I mean, I’d still want to reach out to Miriam, let her know I’m okay.
And she can let the cousins know, since Titi Ceci doesn’t remember me anymore. ”
This time, my sigh’s on purpose, but Miguel’s so lost in his delusions that he doesn’t even hear me.
“Honestly, Harold, the fact that disappearing sounds idyllic means it really is time for me to close the store. Or maybe I could sell the business, and Dane, Brenna, and Riley could run it without me. We all know they’d be better off that way.
The only one who really needs me is you. ”
“Like hell we’d be better without you,” says a voice from behind us, and Miguel springs straight into the air like a cat who’s spotted a cucumber.
Dane’s standing in the doorway to the living room. His sunglasses are perched atop the bird’s nest on his head, and he’s carrying a paper bag. “Sup, Harold?” he says, tilting his chin at me as I rise to greet him. “I heard you had a gnarly fall, so stay put.”
“?Ay, Virgen, Dane!” exclaims Miguel. “Are you trying to kill me? How’d you even get in here?”
“Opposite of killing, chief. I came to check on you.” Dane squints at him. “Gotta say, I took you for a tighty-whitie guy. Kind of happy to see you in boxers.”
Miguel glances down but makes no attempt to cover himself. “Have you not heard of knocking?”
“I totally knocked. You didn’t answer, but I saw your car was here, and the back door was unlocked.”
Dane knocked? I missed that, which is weird—there are few things I enjoy more than barking at the door. I didn’t hear him walk in, either. Oh, I really am on the decline.
“Why would I answer?” scoffs Miguel. “I don’t need to be sold on salvation, and I’m sure as hell not buying a set of encyclopedias.”
“I’m agnostic, and the interwebs have rendered encyclopedias irrelevant.” Dane lifts the paper bag. “I brought us breakfast, but I’m gonna need you to put some pants on so I can actually eat. Mm-kay?”
Remarkably, Miguel trudges upstairs and throws on the clothes he was wearing the day before. Then he pours a couple of mugs of coffee, hands one to Dane, and sits next to him on the sofa.
“Don’t know why you’re here,” Miguel says, his mouth full of the enormous muffin Dane just passed him.
“Come on, dude. I could tell when you called last night that you’re in a bad way. Fiona’s gone, you’re talking about closing the store, and I hear you told Riles to accept another gig. I’ll take ‘crisis’ for five hundred, Alex.”
“I am not in crisis, Dane.” He sighs. “Okay, maybe I’m not doing so hot. How upset is Riley?”
Dane licks a crumb off his finger, then points the digit at Miguel.
“She’s not great, but in classic form, she’s more worried about you than herself.
Why don’t you let us help you figure out how to bring in some cash, fast, so you don’t have to choose the nuclear option?
The beginning of September is just weeks away.
That’s time for us to come up with something. ”
“I own a calendar.”
“Hmm.” Dane sinks his teeth into his muffin, then glances around as he chews.
“Listen, chief, I meant what I said. I can totally work for free for a while to help you save money. This is a sweet little place. I could move into your basement or something to make sure it’s fair.
No offense to Harold, but you could probably use the company. ”
He’s not wrong about that, but Miguel glowers at him. “After seeing you pop out of my spare bedroom, that is literally my worst nightmare.”
“I know you speak two languages better than I can manage one, but I’m pretty sure you’re misusing the word ‘literally.’ ”
“Stop while you’re ahead.”
“Roger that—though my offer stands. Also, if you really do close the store and need a new gig, my aunt runs a marketing firm in Grand Rapids. Says she’s always looking for warm bodies. You could probably write press releases and stuff.”
Miguel freezes. “A desk job?”
Dane takes a sip of his coffee. “Yepperdo.”
“Surrounded by dozens of employees, too many of whom will stop at my cubicle countless times a day to talk about asinine television shows I’ve never heard of? And ask if I want to eat lunch with them and a bunch of other cogs I have nothing in common with?”
“That’s usually how that works.” Dane nods to himself. “Though it’s probably more like hundreds of employees.”
Miguel shudders. “I take back what I said about you living in my basement. That is my worst nightmare. Literally.”
“See? You’re not selling the bookstore. You can’t.”
“You’re not half as clever as you think you are.”
“Debatable.” Dane drains the last of his coffee, then walks off with his mug. “Hey,” he calls from the kitchen. “You going to call Fiona and make things right, or what?”
“Or what,” he mutters. When Dane returns, he adds, “I regret having mentioned that to you.”
“You willingly volunteered those deets for a reason, chief. It’s not good to keep it all bottled up inside.
And like I said, I’m not going to tell anyone that Fiona’s the real Oz.
The more I think about it, the more I get why she waited to say anything.
She’s in a tricky situation. Who knows how her agent and publisher will react if they find out she’s been writing the books all along?
And you know some of JMB’s fans are completely bonkers.
I’m sure it stings, but she had good reasons. ”
Miguel glances toward the window. “Maybe she did. Maybe I should have been kinder to her. But the fact remains that I still feel like a fool. I wasted time with Fiona when I should have been finding a real solution to keep the bookstore open and paying more attention to Harold’s health.
I’ve failed Amelia, nearly murdered her beloved pet, and squandered our dream.
It’s over, Dane. Everything good is over. ”
Dane puts his mug on the mantel and strides over to where Miguel’s seated. He puts his hands on his shoulders and squats in front of him. To my surprise, Miguel doesn’t move or tell him to scram.
“I know it feels like that, chief, and that sucks,” Dane says quietly.
“But it just so happens that you’re still here.
Yeah, your literary idol isn’t who you thought they were—but don’t you think you were into Fiona because that beautiful brain of hers wrote the very same book that made you feel seen?
Heck, it doesn’t even matter whether you decide to keep the bookstore open.
Just stop telling yourself you don’t want love and everything good is over.
Because I knew Amelia, and although I never told you this before, I read most of her books. ”
“You did?”
“Focus, my dude—that’s not where I’m going with this.” Dane presses his forehead against Miguel’s. “What I’m trying to say is, the story you’re telling these days? As your friend and hers, I need you to hear me when I say: It’s not the one Amelia would’ve written for you.”