Chapter 14 Now #2
My phone buzzes with her answer. I. LOVED. IT.
My phone buzzes again. SO. FUCKING. MUCH. THE ENDING!!! *SOBS*
I turn my phone toward Mr. Fleischer. “Lauren loved the book, too.”
He sneaks a glance toward my screen, then leans in. “Well,” he grumbles. “At least she has good taste in books. Swears like a sailor, but—”
“Coming from you!”
“I,” he says archly, “am old. Which means I get to be a hypocrite and not a damn soul gets to call me out.”
I smile. “Is that what it means?”
“One day, toots, when you’re shriveled up into a pruney version of yourself, like me, you’ll understand. Hopefully, you’ll have pulled your head out of your ass by then.”
I gasp. “About what?”
“Just take the selfie, already.” He leans closer, pressing his temple to mine. I hesitate for a moment, smarting a little from what he’s said, but then I lift my phone, angle it down, and take the picture. I send it to Lauren and text her: Mr. Fleischer loved it, too!
My phone buzzes. Tell that old coot he has good taste in books. But he still needs to get his eyebrows waxed.
I do not tell him that. But Mr. Fleischer’s leaning in already, squinting at my screen before I can exit out of our message.
His laugh is loud and hoarse and delightfully unexpected. He dabs the corners of his eyes. “ ‘Old coot.’ God, she’s a pill.”
My phone buzzes with another text from Lauren. You doing okay, after your meeting with Fern?
Mr. Fleischer’s sharp tone pulls me from our text conversation as he says, “Who the hell are you?”
“Mr. Fleischer.” I squeeze his hand gently, pocketing my phone with the other. “That’s no way to greet first-timers.” I peer over my shoulder, gearing up to apologize for our one-man unwelcoming committee, then freeze. “Jen?”
She’s smiling, but I can see nervousness turning it tight at the edges. Her hands are clasped in front of her. “Hey, Thea. I… hope it’s okay for me to be here?”
I shoot up out of my seat. “Sure. Yes. Of course. Absolutely.”
“Please keep going,” Mr. Fleischer quips. “I need to brush up on my affirmative synonyms.”
I shoot him a warning look. “You need a cookie to perk you up, Mr. Grumpus. I’ll have Ro bring one right over.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “Fine. But make sure it’s oatmeal raisin.”
“Nothing but the grossest for you, Mr. Fleischer.”
“Okay, butterscotch breath.” He points a finger to his open mouth and mimes an overdramatic gag. “Talk about gross.”
“Those butterscotch chocolate chip cookies are divine, and I will hear no slander!”
“Yeah, yeah.” He waves his hand. “Get on with attending to the interloper.”
I spin back toward Jen, who’s standing there still, her smile a little more relaxed. “Sorry about that,” I tell her. “Mr. Fleischer keeps me on my toes.”
“I can see that,” she says, her gaze darting from him back to me.
She clears her throat. “Sorry for… springing this on you. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision. I’ve been on the hunt for Mia’s white-knit cardigan, to pack it for the beach, and Alex said he thought she might have worn it here last week, for the Holidays in July event.
Maybe she’d left it here? I figured I’d come by and try to find it, so I looked up the store hours, then I saw there was a book club discussion tonight for The Grace Year, which is…
” She sighs, setting a hand on her heart.
“It’s one of my favorites. Fingers crossed, eventually they’ll let me add it to the seniors’ English curriculum. ”
My stomach twists, hearing her say that, seeing her here.
Over the past two years, Jen’s never seemed too keen to talk, so she and I haven’t interacted much beyond pleasantries.
I’ve been okay with that, keeping her at arm’s length, never close enough to let proximity kick up all sorts of painful questions I know will only lead to bad feelings: what Ethan saw in her that made her worth throwing out his “reconnect with himself” reason for our divorce; her status as a mother not being a deal-breaker, despite his “not being ready for kids” decade-long explanation for keeping motherhood from me; what made her someone whose ex-husband at least tried to win her back, to fix things with her, when mine couldn’t even be bothered to go to one session of couple’s counseling, who quit on me when I simply asked him to try.
I know all these thoughts and the feelings underpinning them are distorted, a reflection of my broken self-image that I’m still piecing back together, after growing up the way I did and spending a decade and a half with a man like Ethan.
But they are thoughts I still have every time she comes into my orbit.
So of course, of all nights—when I’ve just taken the biggest risk of my professional life; when I’m days away from spending a week with her; when the old wounds from recognizing how little I inspired in Ethan that he never, not even once, wanted to take me to this treasured family vacation home of his, are fresh in my head; when I’m about to lead a book discussion for a book I loved but to which I am very unsure how other people will respond—she’s here.
At least, I tell myself, she loved the book.
“Why don’t you grab yourself something from the coffee bar,” I tell her. “On me. I’ll go look for Mia’s sweater.”
“Oh no, I’ll buy it,” she says quickly. “You don’t need to—”
“I insist,” I tell her. “On me, please.”
I smile at Jen the way I have smiled at so many people so many times before. Not quite meaning it, but trying to trying to muster up warmth and kindness when I feel anything but.
As she smiles back, wide and genuine, relief loosening her shoulders, I’m reminded, in the same way my “make myself small” sometimes does something good, makes space for someone who needs that, this “fake it till you make it smile” can do something good, too—show someone warmth, give them kindness, when they dearly need it.
Which, as I head toward our box of lost and found, on the hunt for Mia’s sweater, makes me wonder, with her beachfront wedding just days away, her happily ever after stretched out before her, why Jen, of all people, seems to have needed just that.
To my relief, the book is not a flop. It leads to an intense conversation at points, but overall, our book club agrees The Grace Year was well written and thought-provoking. Jen is quiet during our discussion, so much so that by the end of it, I’m surprised to see she’s still here.
By the time most members have left, I finish folding and stacking chairs.
Ro is closing down the coffee bar, and Hailey, who worships at my feet since I managed to contain the damage on her embargoed book flub, is sweeping the floor.
Jen lingers nearby with Mia’s sweater in hand, talking to Kat, a smart, friendly member around Jen’s age who also has a kindergartener.
Jen glances my way as Kat calls goodbye before heading out the door.
Then she walks toward me.
“Can I help with anything?” she asks.
I smile. “That’s nice of you to offer, but no, we’re basically done, right?” I turn to Ro.
They wave me off. “Yep! All I have to do is close up. Get out of here.”
“Thanks, Ro.” I turn toward Jen, who’s still standing there, a growing sense that there’s something she wants to talk about, something she has to say to me.
Maybe she’s just going to come straight out and tell me about the surprise wedding we’re in for this week. I can’t think what else it would be. Whatever it is, even though I’m dreading it, I say to her, “I’m going to grab my bag, if you want to walk out with me.”
“Sure!” she chirps. She sounds even more chipper than Hailey, which I didn’t think was possible.
Her enthusiasm spikes my anxiety. I head through the store, leading us down the back hallway to the staff room. My heart knocks hard against my ribs.
It’s awkwardly silent as Jen hangs in the doorway while I pack up my bag, slip it over my shoulder, then power down my computer for the night.
Relief whooshes through me as I spot the small stack of books that I’d set aside for Mia—some early reader copies, some damaged final ones the store won’t put on the floor.
I scoop them up and turn to Jen with the books in hand.
“Can I send these with you?” I ask. “I figured Mia might enjoy some new reads on the drive to the beach.”
I hold my breath, remembering what Alex said earlier today, his reverse-psychology plan to trick Ethan into driving my dog, who suffers from car-ride-induced flatulence. Maybe it worked, or maybe it backfired and Mia will be driving with Jen and Ethan after all.
Jen hesitates. “Oh. Thank you, but… Ethan said Mia is riding with you and Alex.”
Said. The word hangs in the air, souring my stomach. Ethan said, not asked.
When Alex sought my thoughts on who should ride with whom, he told me Ethan was asking Jen for hers.
Sounds like Ethan did not ask.
Sadness seeps through me. Because that sounds very much like the Ethan I knew, the Ethan I was married to… the Ethan whom Jen is about to marry.
“Are you okay with that?” I ask her.
Jen shrugs, smiling faintly. “Sure. She’ll have more fun in the car with you two, anyway. I need to make some tweaks to my lesson plans before the school year starts, so I’ll do that while Ethan drives.”
“Oh,” I say. “Well, that’s good, at least. I forgot you’d be getting prepped for the school year already.”
“Mm-hmm.” She sniffs, her mouth suddenly twisting. “Thanks for finding her sweater. Mia said she had a lot of fun at the event.”
“Good.” I smile. “She seemed to. I…” My words die off, as I falter, surprised by what I’d been about to say next, what I genuinely felt, remembering Mia, who kept glancing toward the door, hoping her mom would show up. “I’m sorry you couldn’t make it,” I tell Jen.
“Me, too,” Jen says hoarsely. She bites her lip. Which I realize is trembling. Her eyes are growing wet. Mine widen with alarm. Because, unless I’m way off, I think Jen is about to cry. Hard.
“Come on.” I tip my head toward the hallway, and Jen follows as I lead her to our back door staff exit.