Overdue - 30

Our doors opened to the sweet brown scent of autumn. The temperature had finally dropped, and a crisp wind chilled the air. We bustled around like eager squirrels gathering nuts, still setting up shop and wondering how many people would notice that our closed sign had flipped to open. We’d decided to wait a day before setting out the A-frame sidewalk sign with its handwritten entreaty for customers to come in. We needed to make sure everything was running smoothly.

Our first customer was a tourist from Chattanooga, and her first purchase was a popular romantasy. She held up the novel and agreeably posed for a photo with me for social media. And then—as easy and impossible as that—we were in business.

Clyde the joke man passed her on the way out. “I’ve got a special one for you this morning,” he called out, dentures flapping.

“Hit me,” I said.

“Why did the librarian become a bookseller?”

I was touched before he even got to the punchline.

“Because she wanted to start a new chapter in life!”

“ Clyde ,” I said, almost tearing up.

“I would like to buy something,” he said. “Something cheap.”

It made me laugh. I sold him a greeting card for his granddaughter’s birthday—it turned out we shared the same date—and he had a skip in his grandfatherly step as he exited.

Macon arrived a few minutes later, popping in before work. The cheerful bell on the door surprised him, and he looked up. “A final gift from Len,” I said, hurrying to meet him. He was carrying a heavy-looking slow cooker. “Mika found it in one of the drawers.”

“It’s from the old shop?”

I nodded, beaming, and slipped the ladle out from underneath his arm. “We’ve already had two customers!”

“Oh my God. That’s great.”

I finally realized the importance of what he was holding. “Is this what I think it is?”

“Don’t tell my coworkers. I haven’t had a chance to make it for them yet.” The slow cooker was filled with pumpkin spice latte made with real pumpkin, not a flavored syrup. He usually brought it to the library on the first day of autumn. He set down the appliance behind the registers, and I lifted its lid to smell the heavenly brew. Coffee, pumpkin, cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg, cloves .

“Your timing is perfect. I’m actually a little cold. Didn’t think I’d ever be cold again.”

He took in what I was wearing, a short-sleeved blouse that he’d seen an infinite number of times before, and it dawned on him. “Your winter clothes are in Edmond’s room.”

I laughed. “I realized that this morning, too.”

“Well, stop by whenever.”

“It feels like an eternity since I was at your house.”

“I agree,” he said with an unexpected catch in his voice.

And there it was, that hum of electricity, that gravitational pull between us, and I know he felt it too because his body leaned in closer. His mouth parted as if he were going to ask me something. Or suggest something. But then my entire staff swooped in, descending upon the slow cooker, and his mouth and body closed up again. Our connection was severed.

He headed for the door, clearing his throat. “I just wanted to say congratulations. To all of you. And good luck.” The bell rang again as he exited.

Amelia Louisa inhaled a deep whiff of latte and sighed. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d ask for your permission to date him myself.”

I turned toward her sharply.

They all laughed at me.

“Like I said,” she said, grinning, “I know better.”

Every recent interaction with Macon had been laced with this tension of being observed. We hadn’t been alone in so long. I wondered what might happen the next time we were.

Frustratingly, I didn’t have the opportunity to stop by his house for another week. The store was busier—more noticed —than I’d expected, which was exciting for business but ruinous for my spare time. Our restroom remained under noisy construction. It was a mystery how we had managed to put together an entire store while my contractor had failed to finish a single room. I fantasized about skipping a year into the future: listening to the hushed shuffles of browsing customers, feeling settled into the pace of the business, and living … wherever I’d be living. Knowing that I still had to move made me anxious, and I had to keep forcing myself back to the present. The present, which was loud with power tools. Where I was worried about sales and the possibility of failure and losing that dream of the future. And all of my money, too.

But the present was also rich with hope. Our first local author showed up and signed stock and promised to send in her author friends. Amelia Louisa arranged our first event and, at the request of several customers, organized our first book club. Many of our earliest walk-ins gave us helpful advice. Others, who had never worked in retail, gave us awful advice. And several times a day, somebody strode through our door and exclaimed, “A bookstore! I didn’t think there were any of these left in the world. Aren’t you scared about—” and then they would name the Bad Place. These people never bought anything because they weren’t book people, so their words didn’t faze us. Everybody else was happy to have a bookstore in town again.

“How are you?” Macon asked when I finally appeared on his doorstep.

“Frazzled,” I said, but my smile was enormous.

“I’ve been wanting to stop by, but I also haven’t wanted to bother you. I know you need to get into the new rhythm.”

“Please bother me,” I said, unpacking the slow cooker from my backpack and handing it over. “It’s clean, but you’ll probably want to wash it again anyway.”

He lifted the lid to inspect the situation, and his brows rose to discover that the pot was packed with tightly rolled tank tops.

“Space is precious on a cargo bike,” I explained.

He nodded in appreciation. “Smart.”

“You should know Stephen is still talking about those lattes, and he’s not a talkative guy— Edmond!”

Edmond Dantès trotted into the room, and I dropped to the hardwood to greet him. He started purring as soon as I touched him, a soft sound like crackling static.

“Have you missed me? I’ve missed you.” I glanced up to say something to Macon but then caught sight of his bookshelves, which had been built but were not yet painted. I gasped. “You didn’t tell me you and Phil had started.”

“We’re working on the cat tree now. I’ve been sanding and oiling the wood.”

“And the chairs!” I made a beeline for his dining room. “I love them.”

“Do you mean it?” he asked nervously. He’d found a full set at the Habitat for Humanity store and had texted me a photo. They had a cute shape, and I’d liked them immediately.

“Yes. Screw my mismatched plan. These look great. They’re perfect.”

“Would you still recommend painting them?”

“God, yes.” They were a trashed-looking shade of putty. “Red.”

He looked doubtful, which made me smile again. “Like the accent color in your kitchen,” I said.

“I don’t have an accent color in my kitchen.”

“But you will once I finally get around to picking out the rug and curtains.”

It made him laugh. I loved making him laugh.

“What about the couch?” He motioned toward the living room again. “It’s been looking a little worse since the rest of the upgrade.”

“Destroy it. Burn it. Toss the ashes into the river and piss on them.”

I was on a roll, but he was taken aback. “Didn’t realize you had such strong feelings about it,” he said. “Noted.”

“That couch is a physical manifestation of depression.”

“What would you replace it with?”

“I’ll text you some links. Help me with the rest of my stuff?”

We unloaded the rack and pannier bags from my bike and carried everything inside. I’d only been able to cart over my summeriest clothing. I’d have to drop off another load later, but as I dug through my belongings in Edmond’s room, I grew worried. “Am I missing some boxes?”

“Shit.” Macon flinched. “Yeah, I moved a few into my bedroom to make it easier to reach the litter box. They’ve been there for so long they’ve become invisible.”

“Oh no.” I was mortified. “I’m sorry.”

“I promise it’s fine. Like I said, I forgot about them.”

“Well, I promise I’ll get them out of here as soon as I have a new apartment.”

I followed him into the only room that I’d never been inside of before. I’d seen more of it since that first night cat-sitting, as I passed nearby whenever I used the bathroom, but my inconvenient interest in it had prevented me from examining it up close. Macon’s bedroom was small but cozy. The walls were the same beaten-up white that his other rooms had been, the same color that his study and Edmond’s room still were. There was the large dresser and mirror that I remembered, as well as the matching side tables and lamps and a queen-size bed. The furniture was nondescript but sturdy, and the bed was draped in a surprisingly nice quilt.

“Who made that?” I asked.

“Bonnie. She gave it to me as a housewarming gift, even though the house itself was already practically a gift.”

“That was sweet of her. How’s she doing, anyway?”

He thought about his response. “She answers when I call. She sounds okay. That’s more than I get from her when times are bad.”

I nodded, unsure what else to say.

He gestured to the quilt. “That was one of the only things I had left when Dani moved out. She even took the mattress,” he added.

This statement jumped out as if it were written in bold ink. It sounded like he wanted me to know that his mattress was new. (At least I hoped it was new. I hoped he hadn’t found it wherever he’d found the couch.) Was he remembering how he’d carried the mattress that I had shared with Cory to the dumpster? Was he thinking about how this was the first time that I’d ever stepped foot inside his bedroom?

As I searched through my boxes, his energy seemed to pulsate. “Have you started looking for a new place?” he asked.

“I’ll look in January when the store slows down. Or goes out of business, ha. I can’t deal with anything else right now.”

“Oh,” he said quietly.

And it struck me: Did he think a relationship counted as anything else ?

With a pounding heart, I tested him. “Hey. I know you’ve never met them, but Brittany and Reza are hosting a birthday dinner for me next weekend. Mika and Bex will be there. And I know you hate parties, and I do, too, but this one will be small and simple. Like that one here at your house all those years ago? It’s okay if you don’t want to come, though,” I added, providing an escape. “You don’t know everybody, so it might be uncomfortable—”

“No,” he said. “I mean, yes.”

“Really?”

“You are inviting me, right? You didn’t actually say that.”

“Yes.”

He swallowed. “I’d love to come.”

My whole body tingled in response. It wasn’t a date. But it wasn’t not a date.

While I didn’t normally do anything special on my birthday, it had been a year , and thirty was a loaded number. I’d been hoping Macon would host the celebratory dinner, which would have been a tricky ask, but then Brittany and Reza had surprised me by showing up at the store, Amira in tow, and offering first. And now, just like that, Macon was in. I’d love to come . My mind played this on repeat for the next week, hearing the swallow beforehand.

On the twenty-second of October, Mika, Bex, and I arrived early to Brittany and Reza’s house, bearing wine and my favorite foods. (I’d instructed Brittany and Reza not to cook; they didn’t need any additional burden right now.) Macon surprised me by arriving on time, although it dawned on me that I’d only ever seen him arrive late to work. He’d been punctual whenever I’d asked him to be somewhere. In addition to my requested dishes, he was also carrying two bouquets of garden flowers, a big one for me and a smaller one for the hosts.

“Where’s mine?” Bex joked, and Macon looked so insecure that I wanted to hug him.

I hugged the flowers instead. Flowers! He’d brought me flowers again.

“How thoughtful,” Brittany said. “Thank you.” She still had a lingering distrust of him because of the incident in January. We’d both been so busy that I hadn’t been able to fill her in on how much he’d been helping me. But Macon didn’t know that her opinion of him was low, and I was relieved that she had decided to behave.

I officially introduced everyone who didn’t know each other, and then we unwrapped the containers and heated what needed to be heated. Evidence of an infant was everywhere—bottles drying, piles of burp cloths, a carrier, a bouncy chair, blankets on the floor—but the house had been vacuumed, and it smelled warmly of beeswax. Two honeyed tapers were lit on the table like they’d been at Ramadan. And once again, Brittany’s appearance was polished and on point.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” I said, feeling guilty.

“We’re just grateful that you were okay with us hosting,” Reza said. They weren’t ready for babysitters or spending an entire evening away from home.

“Where is the baby?” Mika asked. “I’d love to meet her.”

“She’s asleep,” Brittany said.

All conversation froze.

“She’s in the back with a white-noise machine,” Reza said, reassuring us. “She’ll be awake soon enough, though.”

“I love her and want to spend every second of every minute of every day with her,” Brittany said. “And I’m fucking exhausted and need her to sleep more than two goddamn hours in a row.” Her polish had already worn thin, and it made me love her even more. She placed Macon’s flowers between the tapers before turning on us. “And don’t even think about giving me advice because we’ve tried it all, and I don’t want to hear it.”

After a brief and awkward pause, Bex gave her a dashing smile. “I’m confident that none of us have any advice to give you.”

Brittany exhaled. “Thank God.”

“Our moms have been a lot,” Reza explained.

We gathered at the table. Brittany sat at the end nearest to the hallway and Amira, and Reza sat across from her. Mika and Bex sat beside each other, and I sat beside Macon. Despite sitting beside each other for years, there had always been distance between us at the circulation desk, and we always sat across from each other at his house. As everybody tucked in and laughed and shared stories, I tried to remember the last time we had sat this close together. It must have been at one of the all-day all-staff meetings at the main library. We always sat beside each other in the sea of folding chairs, but that was in fluorescent lighting with a hundred coworkers, and this was in candlelight with two couples and us.

His profile was achingly familiar. The line of his nose and chin, the slope of his shoulders. But his hands looked larger and more alive as they moved beside me. Our elbows bumped, and our forearms brushed. Each time, we murmured an apology, reining our limbs back in. Though our arms were clothed, my skin shivered. Macon felt solid. Not abstract, like in my murky thoughts before slumber, but like muscle and sinew and bone. He was wearing a nice button-down that I’d never seen before, and I was wearing a dress that he’d never seen before, and I felt pretty and happy, surrounded by my friends in the flickering glow.

As the meal progressed, Macon even opened up and began sharing stories, too. Everybody was enjoying themselves. I couldn’t have asked for a better birthday.

“We forgot to toast!” Mika said.

Our wine glasses were almost empty, but everyone turned to look at me.

Mika lifted hers. “Ingrid, you’ve had a horrible and sensational year.” Everyone laughed. “But I’m proud of everything you’ve accomplished, and I’m so grateful to be back inside a bookstore. Thank you.”

Bex raised their glass. “And I’m thrilled to have no financial stake in it.”

Everyone laughed again, and Brittany added, “To Ingrid and her bookstore.”

“To Ingrid and her bookstore,” everyone chorused.

My skin was flushed with joy and prosecco as everyone clinked glasses. Macon’s and mine clinked together last. He held my gaze as he spoke. “Happy birthday, Ingrid.”

I was beaming. “Happy birthday, Macon.”

Everyone froze in surprise—then burst into fresh laughter. When I realized my mistake, my flush transformed into a full-bodied blush. Macon’s eyes lit up with delight, but he was the only one who wasn’t laughing.

“I’ve had a very busy year, and I’m very tired,” I said.

“Happy birthday, Mika.” Bex clinked their wife’s glass, which started a new round of everybody wishing everybody else a happy birthday. Amira cried from the nursery. Brittany and Reza both vaulted to their feet, but she waved for him to sit back down and left.

“So, when is your birthday, Macon?” Mika asked.

“November twenty-third,” I answered.

Everybody stared at me again. “I can name all of your birthdays, too,” I said defensively. And then, to remove the pressure from myself, I said, “He’s also having a big one this year.”

Their collective gaze shifted, and I immediately regretted thrusting him into the spotlight.

“Forty,” he said. It made him the oldest at the table by six years. There was a subtle undercurrent as they processed that he was a full decade older than me. When we were younger, a difference like that would have meant something, but it had long stopped mattering to me.

Mika smoothed away the tension with a warm smile. “Happy early birthday.”

“Hey,” I said to Macon, diving straight back into awkwardness. I blamed the wine. “This is the first time since we’ve known each other that we’ve both been in our thirties.”

Macon’s expression tightened. “For a whole month and a day.”

The tension ratcheted up another notch, and I realized I still hadn’t taken my attention away from him. I shifted toward the others and brightened my expression. “Well, this isn’t where I expected my life would be at this age, but … I like where it’s headed.”

“I’ll cheers again to that,” Bex said with a third raise of their glass.

But it turned out that Macon wasn’t done. “Where did you think you’d be?”

The directness of his question in front of people he hardly knew surprised me. Perhaps the wine had loosened him, too. “Definitely not in an under-construction micro-studio,” I said.

Everyone but Macon laughed again.

“In my own house,” I said, because he was waiting for an honest answer. I couldn’t look at him, though. “With somebody I love. But the bookstore has been a wonderful surprise.”

“Do you ever want kids?” Reza asked.

“Reza!” Brittany admonished from the baby’s room. I laughed and called back that it was okay. But now everyone at the table was interested in my response. The intensity of Macon’s gaze told me he was interested in my response.

“No,” I said.

“Even if you find the right guy?” Reza asked.

Something smacked against the hallway wall. Mika leaned back in her chair to see what it was. “Brittany threw a stuffed bunny.”

Reza looked sheepish. “That means I shouldn’t have asked, and you don’t have to answer.”

“I don’t mind,” I said. Although I did, a little, but only because of Macon’s presence. Yet I also wanted him to hear my response. “Cory wants children. I don’t. It’s one of the reasons why we broke up.”

“Oh,” Bex said, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. There were many reasons. And we’re both happy with our choices.”

“We’re considering adoption,” Mika said quietly.

Bex shied but took Mika’s hand. They gazed at each other with so much love that it hurt my heart. “You’d be great parents,” I said.

Macon’s preference was the only one left unstated, and once again, it felt paramount to steer the conversation away from the topic. I started to ask Reza a question about Amira when Macon spoke up unexpectedly. “I’ve never been interested in having children either.”

His eyes were on Reza, but he was talking to me. He wanted me to know.

I sat very still.

“My relationship with my college girlfriend ended because of that,” he said.

“Oh,” I said. I hadn’t given much consideration to his girlfriends before Dani, although I knew there’d been two previous serious relationships: one in high school and one in college. Around the time he and Dani had broken up, in one of his darker moods, he’d referred to himself as a serial monogamist.

Another delicate silence descended, thankfully broken by Brittany’s loud reappearance. She was still zipping up the top of her jumpsuit. “Who wants cake?”

Somehow, Reza had managed to find enough time to bake an elaborate dessert: three layers of airy lemon cake with tart raspberry jam between each and a gorgeous ring of whole raspberries on top. “It’s more summery than autumnal,” he said, “but lemon seemed cheerful. Like you.”

He hadn’t witnessed a shred of my cheerfulness that year, so it felt good to hear that he still thought of me that way. I couldn’t help but glance at Macon. He nodded in agreement.

“Lemon cake is my favorite,” I said to Reza.

Brittany slapped a hand against the side of her head. “We forgot candles.”

“This is perfect,” I said. “Just as it is.”

“Blow out the tapers,” Bex said, and the others agreed. And who was I to turn down a wish? They placed the candlesticks before me, and I closed my eyes. Surrounded by love, I felt my fears about the future dissolve. I wished for my friends to all have a good year.

We devoured the cake, the conversation moved along to safer topics, and everybody helped clean up. When Brittany and Reza began sagging against each other, I steered the party toward the door.

And then Macon surprised me again.

He hugged me goodbye.

It was the first time he’d purposefully touched me since the shove in his car, the first time he’d hugged me since I was crying in his house. The contact was so charged I nearly whimpered. Breathing in his familiar and comforting scent, I clung to his back tightly and for longer than I normally would have. His heartbeat quickened against my chest.

“Happy birthday,” he said, voice so low and close that it resonated through me.

He started to pull away, then changed his mind and kissed my cheek. It was the way that any friend would kiss another friend’s cheek, except my knees weakened. And then he stepped away from me so quickly that his stubble scratched my skin.

I was frozen and speechless.

“It was nice to meet you,” he said with a wave to Brittany and Reza.

“Oh, Ingrid, I forgot,” Reza said, wide awake again. “Brit wanted to show you Amira’s room. Thanks for coming, Macon!” He slammed the door closed behind him.

My four friends stared at me.

“Why isn’t that happening?” Bex asked.

“I can’t believe you two aren’t fucking,” Brittany said. Her eyes widened. “Are you fucking?”

“No!” My voice lowered in case he could still hear us. “And I don’t know why it’s not happening. I would very much like for it to happen.”

Brittany, Reza, and Bex all hooted.

I turned to Mika for guidance, but she shook her head. “It doesn’t make sense to me either. It’s been clear since the day I met him that he’s into you.”

“Yeah,” Brittany said, “I used to hate him for turning you down, but I like the guy I met tonight. You should try again.”

Bex wheeled on me. “What does she mean, ‘turning you down’?”

“You don’t know?” Reza looked excited.

“You just told me you had a crush!” Now even Mika was getting worked up. “You didn’t tell me you’d tried to hook up with him.”

“I tried to kiss him, and he emphatically said no.”

“When was this?” she asked.

“January,” Reza said. “We drove her around afterward trying to hook her up with somebody else.”

“That didn’t work either,” Brittany said.

“Happy birthday, Ingrid,” I said. “Let’s talk about the most humiliating night of your life.”

“Well, whatever was holding him back,” Brittany said, “it’s gone now.”

“He literally just kissed you,” Reza said.

“Ten months later and on the cheek,” I said.

Everyone jumped to argue about whether that counted as a move, and then Mika said simply, “He’s shy.”

We all stopped.

“That’s it.” Bex’s hands dropped to their hips. “I think that’s actually it.”

“But we’ve been friends for years ,” I said.

“Yeah, but isn’t that what makes it scary for you, too?” Mika said. “That you’re afraid you’ll ruin what you already have?”

“I did try. More than once. Sort of.”

“No,” Brittany said. “He’s a shy librarian, and you’re a badass businesswoman, and that means you’re going to have to make the first move—again.”