Overdue - 28

The inside of my head was a to-do list that never shrank. For each item crossed off, a dozen new ones appeared, mounting and intensifying the pressure. Everything was riding on opening the store when the temperature dropped, but in the meantime, Ridgetop had just had the hottest August on record, and September wasn’t faring any better. Stubbornly, I continued to work with open doors and a borrowed fan, sweating out every gallon of water I drank. I sweated so much that I hardly had to use Kindred’s restroom. My own was still under loud and hectic construction.

The moments when time slowed down—the moments I was with Macon—stood alone like islands. He was still on vacation but occupied with his garden. One evening, though, he drove me to a bicycle shop. Via a lengthy text argument, he’d talked me into testing out an electric cargo bike to replace my car, at least temporarily. The insurance money I’d be saving, plus the little I got for selling my old car for parts, would cover the cost. I was more eager to hang out with him than to ride the bike, but after only a few minutes of zipping around, I was sold. We took turns, and he looked as youthful and enthused as I’d ever seen him.

“I’ll let you borrow my car if you let me borrow this bike,” he said seriously, and I laughed.

“Head trauma is on the rise because fewer people wear helmets on e-bikes, so promise me you’ll always wear one,” he said seriously, and I swooned.

I recognized now that some of his cautiousness—things like texting to see if I’d arrived home safely and driving a make of car known for its high safety ratings—was a result of being raised by a fearful mother. Still, I liked that he worried about me . I liked that he wanted to keep me safe. I bought the bike and a cute mint helmet and pedaled happily back to work.

The next island was the day we moved the shelves and other fixtures from Carla’s garage into the store. It was all hands on deck—Macon; Mika; Bex; Bex’s business partner, Craig, and his truck; two altruistic black belts from their dojang who also did CrossFit and liked to show off their strength; and Richard and his van. I couldn’t believe how many people showed up to help.

As we finished loading the last item into the van, Richard, gaunt yet full of vigor, lingered as he said goodbye to Carla. I nudged Macon. “You think?”

“I do think,” he said, touching the spot on his arm. Sweat was rolling down his forehead, and his glasses were crooked and smudged.

I pointed to the glasses. He took them off and handed them over. I breathed on the lenses and carefully wiped them with my shirt. I’d been cleaning them for years, although I couldn’t remember the last time I’d done it. I’d cleaned Cory’s glasses, too, whenever I found them lying around our apartment. “Thank you, cleaning fairy,” he’d call out when he put them back on.

“Isn’t it nice to be able to see the world again?” I said, handing them back to Macon.

“Don’t see what’s so nice about the world,” Macon grumbled. This was our usual exchange. But his eyes sparkled cheekily as he got into his car.

Suddenly I noticed Carla was standing behind me. I thanked her again for everything, but she ignored it. “He reminds me of Len,” she said.

“Richard?”

“No. Your beau.”

“Oh, he’s not…”

Her expression twinkled. “You’re welcome. And yes,” she said before I could remind her, “I’ll call you when I’m ready to move.” I had already opened Macon’s passenger door to get in when she added, “And bring your beau again. I like him.”

“She likes you,” I said to Macon, both of us ignoring the other half of what she’d said. The CrossFit black belts had also mistaken us for a couple, as had the bike salesman.

“Looks like Richard has some competition,” he said.

I laughed, secretly pleased that our chemistry was apparent to outside observers. Secretly pleased to be returning to the store in his car, not anybody else’s.

But it was a frustratingly long time before I saw him again. My work was nonstop, and with the bartering spirit still going strong, Macon made a deal with his neighbor: yard work in exchange for helping to build his own bookshelves. Then his mom discovered mildew in her bathroom walls, which turned into its own saga. Just as the door to something new had been cracked open, we stopped being able to see each other as often, and never without anybody else around.

Mika finally joined me full-time, and I tried to turn on the air conditioning as a welcome present. It did not turn on. Figuring this was something the landlord would pay for, I was shocked to examine the lease and discover the HVAC system was my responsibility.

I wrote the repairperson a harrowing check.

Stephen from the East branch was officially hired, and then my third employee walked in after seeing the signs in our windows. I recognized her immediately by her colorful leg tattoos—big floral blooms and beloved kidlit characters. She was the server from the diner who had witnessed my breakup with Cory. Jo had worked in a children’s bookstore in Georgia as a teenager and in college. She was still young, but she was sharp and enthusiastic and knowledgeable, and I hired her on the spot as my children’s specialist.

“We need one more person,” Mika said. “Somebody willing to do events and social media.”

Stephen was a bit of a Macon (and Len) and had already claimed the back room job of opening shipments and fulfilling online orders, but it was Macon himself who sent me my final employee: Amelia Louisa Hatmaker, the library patron who had gifted us the hot-air balloon voucher. Her husband just left her for a younger woman , he texted. Her résumé sucks because she hasn’t worked in twenty-five years, but I think she’d work hard to prove herself.

I liked Amelia Louisa, and she had the extroverted personality for community outreach that the rest of us lacked. After my own breakup experience, I was concerned about her ability to handle everything amid the turmoil, but Amelia Louisa turned out to be a godsend. (A Maconsend.) Efficient and organized, she also threw herself into setting up the computers and point-of-sale system.

Stephen, Jo, and I ordered books while Mika filled our gifts section with sustainable goods, recycled notebooks, fountain pens, greeting cards made by local artists, and Ridgetop-appropriate stained-glass suncatchers shaped like classic novels. With each new task, our decision fatigue grew, but whenever one of us had a meltdown over quantities or editions or translations, Amelia Louisa reined us back in with the skill that came from being the mother of two rambunctious teenage boys. We didn’t have a history together or a rhythm like I’d had with my library coworkers, but I could already imagine baking everyone’s birthday cakes.

Cory’s birthday arrived, and he began a new decade without me. It made me sad but not mournful. My thirtieth was fast approaching, too. I texted my well wishes, he responded straightaway, and then we exchanged several friendly messages. He’d heard about my store and was astonished and proud of me. You know , he said, that never would have happened if we were still together. He was right, but the thought had never occurred to me before.

“I thought about inviting him to the wedding,” Riley confessed over the phone.

“You always did get along,” I said.

“Speaking of, have you bought your dress yet?”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“I’ll take your silence as a no.”

“Oh God. I’m sorry. I just paid for this huge repair that I hadn’t budgeted for.” My mind raced to find the money. It was fortunate that I’d been saving on apartment rent throughout this ordeal because that banked money had been rescuing me from these surprise expenses. Unfortunately, my sister hadn’t picked out a regular dress. It was designer and outrageously expensive. It cost the same amount as a theoretical month of rent, which, this month, I had given to the HVAC unit. “I literally can’t afford it. But I’m sure I can find one that looks similar. It’ll be okay if I don’t match the other bridesmaids exactly , right? Since I’m the maid of honor?”

“Iggy. Stop freaking out. It’s okay.”

“I promise I’ll get your approval on whatever I find before I buy it.”

“Iggy! Stop it. I’m buying you the dress.”

I felt ill. “What?”

But she sounded happy. “Thank God, something I can finally do to help you. Yes. I’m paying for your dress. It’s a gift. And we’re both going to be happy about it.”

“I can’t let you do that. That dress is four figures.”

“Yeah, and I’m the asshole who picked it out. I’m throwing a wedding that might get media coverage, so it’s made me paranoid about everything looking perfect—”

“Wait. You think your wedding might get media coverage?”

“ People covers high-profile WNBA weddings all the time.”

“Jesus.”

“I know.”

“Doesn’t that freak you out?”

“Yes. Hence, the dress. Which I’m paying for.”

“I still don’t think I can let you do that.”

“I’m not giving you the option.”

We sat in silence.

“You’re stewing, aren’t you?” she said.

“I’m trying to figure out how to pay for this.”

Riley’s voice deflated with a sigh. “Listen, I know Mom and Dad wouldn’t pay for this dress for you. And I know you’d never ask them to. I wouldn’t either. But just because we don’t have that kind of relationship with them doesn’t mean we can’t have it with each other. Being around Jess’s family has made me realize there are other ways to be family. We can talk more. We can visit each other more. And you can let me help you with this.”

It stunned me.

My sister had told me over the summer that she wanted to help with my store, but since the WNBA season was short, she couldn’t afford to miss any time with Jess before she started playing in the Turkish league during the offseason. I’d laughed and told her it was fine. But Riley had been hurt that I had already assumed she wouldn’t be there. Even though we were closer to each other than we were to our parents, it had never occurred to me that being there for each other was still a choice. That we could do more to support each other, and that maybe that was also what she’d been trying to get me to do all year: support her.

“I’m sorry.” I wilted. “I should have been helping you this whole time, too.”

“I mean. We’ve both been a little busy.”

We released pitiful laughs at the understatement.

“Don’t tell Mom,” Riley said, “but she might have been right that planning a wedding this big in one year was a mistake.”

I suspected it was less work than opening a new business, but as the big sister, I let this slide. Which reminded me that I’d let other things slide. “God, I haven’t even asked yet. How’s Jess coping?” Her team, the Atlanta Dream, had lost its first two playoff games and were already out.

“Jess is tough. She’s disappointed but glad they at least made the playoffs this year. The team is headed in the right direction.”

“I’m glad she’s okay.”

“So, does this mean you’ll let me buy the dress?”

I remembered what Macon had said about me having a hard time accepting help and how true that had felt. I swallowed my pride. “Yes. Thank you.”

“Good. Because I already bought it while we were talking. It’ll arrive next week. I seriously do not have any fucking time to waste.”

“You and me both,” I said.

“You and me both,” she said.

The malodorous fragrances had finally faded, and the stock—crisp new arrivals—was delivered in overwhelming quantities. The scent was a homecoming, even as our thirsty hands dried out from touching all the paper and cardboard. We were behind schedule, and one Monday, Sue and Alyssa and Elijah showed up to help. I savored this generous reunion and familiar camaraderie. Elijah wielded a box cutter in the back room while Sue and Alyssa assisted me on the floor.

“Too bad Macon couldn’t join us,” Sue said, as we organized the history sections.

“He’s helping his mom today,” I said, “but he’s already done so much around here.”

“Yeah,” Alyssa said slyly, “those sunflowers by the registers sure are beautiful.”

My skin warmed at the implication. “I assume you recognize them because he also brought in some for the library.” Macon often brought in bouquets for the front desk. Mine had been left in the mosaicked entryway a few mornings prior.

“We didn’t get any sunflowers,” Alyssa said.

“No, we did not,” Sue said, adopting the same sly tone.

My heartbeat skipped and picked up.

“Ever since you left,” Sue said, “he’s been miserable.”

“Sounds like regular Macon,” I said, still thinking about the flowers.

“No,” Alyssa said. “He’s moping . He’s full-time unhappy now.”

I paused, a stack of ancient history in hand. He’d complained about work to me but had given no indication that his grievances were anything out of the ordinary.

“You know,” Sue said, shifting books beside me slowly and methodically, “he used to want to work at the reference desk.” The reference desk was at Rowe Memorial. It was the main library downtown, only two blocks away from my store. “I thought it was strange how he stopped talking about it when you showed up.”

Reference librarian was the job I’d always privately believed he’d be great at, even though he’d never mentioned it to me. He’d always seemed content in his current position.

Sue went on, “He didn’t even apply for Val’s job when she retired two years ago. I tried to convince him to do it, but he shut me down.”

I swallowed. “Guess he changed his mind. Guess he’s happy doing what he’s doing.”

“Silly me,” Sue deadpanned. “And here I was thinking he wasn’t switching jobs because he’s in love with you.”

Two workers shouted and began hammering in the restroom. I jumped and then cowered, wincing at each blow. Sue and Alyssa exchanged a grin.

“We’re friends,” I said. This was true. “Our relationship has always been platonic.” This was less true. I had many friends, but I only wanted to sleep with one of them.

“Well, since you’re such good friends”—Sue thumped a row of books against the end of a shelf for emphasis—“maybe you can encourage him to apply for the reference job that’ll be opening up later this year. Ted is moving to Portland.”

“Oregon or Maine?” I asked, because I needed the subject to change. Sue had said love . She thought Macon was in love with me. The word cracked and splintered my heart open, and the painful shards rattled around inside my chest for days. Making me wish it were true. Making me wonder if it was. Causing me misery and ecstasy and no end of suffering.

And then another heartbreak happened.

We did not meet my goal.

Although the equinox had passed, the weather was still warm, and the trees were only hinting at what was to come. I’d been scrutinizing their leaves all month, praying for them to take their time—to give me more time—and they had miraculously obeyed. (Not miraculously. Climate change.) But October was now a whisper away, and the tourists who’d booked their reservations early were already swelling the streets, yet our shelves were still half empty.

I was devastated. It felt like the store had failed before it had even begun.

If we missed peak tourism, our holiday sales might not be enough to keep the store alive. We’d be opening only to close forever in January. I couldn’t endure another January that reset my entire life. It was unimaginable to be so close to losing everything again.

“We’ll be able to open in a week,” Mika said, comforting me in my office.

I gestured to the two pictures I’d hung: the framed Mary Brisson postcard and a photo of Len frowning, cigarette dangling from his lips, feet kicked up on his crowded desk. “Look how disappointed in me they are.”

“ You are disappointed in you because you gave yourself an unattainable goal. We’re doing great. Don’t give up on us now.”

“I’m not giving up.”

“I know you aren’t.” Her smile turned teasing. “So stop acting like it. Besides, I have news that will cheer you up.”

The outside signs were ready for delivery. Mika and I had decided it was crucial to shell out some real money for them, and I was nervous to see if our gamble had paid off. She had hired two local artists: a metalsmith to sculpt our name in distinguished gold capital letters that would span the green length of the storefront, and a woodcarver to create a swinging sign that would hang above the sidewalk. The swinging sign was reminiscent of an old woodcut illustration, a carved stack of books with a big stylized B to match the gold B above it.

Mika was still concerned about the name I’d chosen. Getting signs with the right aesthetics was a way to compromise.

The signage went up on the last day of September. The store glimmered like a jewel box. It looked timeless and cultured. Worthy of notice, worthy of existence. All four of my employees—I had employees now—stood with me, admiring the spectacle in the twilight.

“I know I already asked what the name means, but I’ve forgotten,” Amelia Louisa confessed.

I felt his presence before I saw him. The energy and excitement swirling around inside me shifted to greet him as he approached us from behind.

“Bildungsroman,” Macon said to Amelia Louisa, his eyes locked on the golden letters. “It’s a novel that spans a protagonist’s formative years, often from youth into adulthood.” His gaze cut away to find mine, brimming with admiration. “It’s perfect.”

“It even ties in with the history of the building, the old deli.” I pointed at the mosaicked entryway. “Roman’s.”

“I love it,” he said sincerely. Still looking at me.

Love . I beamed up at my bookstore. “I do, too.”