Overdue - 8

Groundhog Day . Not the holiday, but the booth. I felt the weight of the movie as if Kevin had sat me here as a bad joke. Cory and I were both late again, and I sensed we were about to have the same conversation as before, too. He had requested another meet-up at the diner, and I wasn’t entirely sure why, although the location seemed right to me, too. Perhaps it felt like neutral territory. Perhaps the apartment already felt more like mine. Did it unsettle him to imagine who might have been there in his absence? I wondered if I should tell him that nobody had, that it felt wrong to bring somebody home who wasn’t him.

When he finally arrived, he looked wilder than at our previous meeting. The mania had been turned up a notch. The comparison to the character Phil Connors felt accurate, except that Cory and I had chosen this time loop and Phil had not. We hugged before sitting down and discovered that the looseness and distance between our bodies had also increased.

Our friendship was still there, though. Cory was grinning at me, and it spread into his voice. “ You had a date. My coworkers saw you.”

I blushed and dropped my gaze. “Yeah. I figured they’d tell you.”

“So? Did you?” If it had been a text, a dozen question marks and exclamation points would have followed the words.

I nodded, and he cackled with glee. Halted and sat there in silence. Shook his head and knitted his brow. Fell motionless again. “You know,” he said. “I don’t know how to react to that.”

I laughed once, low. “Imagine how I feel.”

“This is weird, isn’t it?”

“That’s the word I keep using.” Underneath the table, I gripped my thighs for support. For the first time, I realized that I hadn’t worried about him bringing a ring tonight. And looking at him now, I was positive my instincts were correct.

“Iggy, I have to say it. I’m still not ready.”

I had expected a powerful rush of relief, and it came. Yet an irrational part of me was also hurt and upset. I didn’t want him to come home, but I wanted him to want to come home. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to marry him, but I wanted him to want to marry me.

“Say something, Ig. Talk to me.”

My fingers clawed deeper into my legs. “I need another month, too.”

He’d been leaning toward me, but at this, he collapsed back into the booth. “Oh my God. You scared me. For a second, I thought we weren’t on the same page anymore.”

It was a strange thing for him to say. Sure, we were still on the same page, but our page was currently in two separate books. We were acting out two separate stories.

“You do still want this, though? Us?” I asked.

He sat up again, nervous and ready to reassure me. “Of course. February was just such a short month, you know?” His expression shifted into fear. “Do you still want this?”

“Of course,” I said, because I thought I did. I reached for his hands—I needed to touch him—but just then two red plastic tumblers of water thunked onto the table between us. We jumped. It was Hank, the same lithe server we’d had a month earlier.

“Hey there,” he said. “I’ll be taking care of you folks tonight. Can I get you something else to drink?”

“A Coke, thanks. Actually, I think we’re ready,” Cory said, glancing at me to confirm. “I’ll have the chicken tenders and fries, and she’ll have the grilled cheese and tomato soup.”

Hank tapped his shaved head and then strolled gracefully away to place our order.

Cory said something I didn’t catch.

“Huh?” I was still watching Hank. “ Groundhog Day vibes are strong tonight.”

“What? Oh yeah. The table.”

That wasn’t quite what I had meant, though. We were out of sync and confused, but what mattered most was clear: Our groundhog had seen its shadow. We both needed more time.

I texted Gareth from the diner’s parking lot. Lunch tomorrow?

Our schedules weren’t compatible, so we arranged a date for the weekend instead. But I’d forgotten the following day was a Thursday, his library day, and was excited when he pointed out that we’d see each other anyway. I wore a dress to work and put some effort into my hair.

“Aw, look at you,” Alyssa said when I walked in. She was sitting behind my station doing the morning desk shift. “Cory must be coming home.”

I started at the name.

“Sue and Macon said it wouldn’t happen,” she continued. “Elijah was less sure. But I knew Cory would be back.”

Heat flashed through me. “You’ve all been placing bets?”

“Not betting. Speculating.”

I thumped my tote bag down on the desk. “Well, you’re wrong.”

“Who’s wrong?” Sue asked, appearing from the annex. It wasn’t a general question. She had been eavesdropping on our conversation.

I’d been dreading having to tell them but couldn’t avoid it. “Cory and I extended our experiment.”

“Ha!” Sue said to Alyssa, who looked disappointed in me. I wasn’t sure if it was for moral reasons or because she’d lost.

Macon slouched into the building. “We were right,” Sue said to him. “No Cory.”

I expected him to brush her off—he was always grouchiest upon arrival, so it was too early for gossip—but instead he stopped. Stared at me. I glared back. “Are you okay?” he asked, and then the others remembered their manners because they asked, too.

Before I could respond, Elijah swaggered in for his shift. He hooted when he saw me. “It’s that guy!”

“What guy?” Sue and Alyssa asked.

“Thursday-night dude. I forgot you asked him out. You’re all dressed up for him, right?”

I hadn’t been aware that Elijah had overheard my fight with Macon about asking out Gareth. Alyssa leaned forward eagerly. “What Thursday-night dude?” she asked. She and Sue didn’t know about Gareth because he always came in after they were already gone.

Macon stalked into the annex to put his lunch in the fridge. When he returned, the other three were still crowded around me, hounding me. “Leave us alone,” he barked.

Elijah and Alyssa scattered. Sue lifted her hands in surrender and moseyed away, but then she glanced back over her shoulder. One eyebrow was raised.

Us . Macon hadn’t said leave me alone or leave her alone . He’d grouped us together again. It was a small thing, but I clung to it.

“Thanks,” I said.

He flumped into his chair in an exhausted response.

How had he known that Cory and I would need another month? And what did he think about it? I hated that his opinions still mattered so much to me, but thankfully, I had a distraction. As the clock drew nearer to the Gareth hour, my adrenaline surged. I wasn’t sure why I felt less embarrassed about Macon seeing me with Gareth than seeing me with Justin. Maybe because he already knew about Gareth, or maybe our fight had made me stubborn. Or maybe I was just so frustrated that some unkind part of me wanted to rub it in his face.

He never gave me the opportunity. The instant Gareth appeared, Macon disappeared to water the plants. It didn’t matter, though. I was thrilled to see Gareth again. We didn’t hug, and he didn’t peck me on the cheek like Justin had done. His initial approach was bashful, but then we flirted exhaustively, and by the time he finally left—after spending much longer at the desk than usual and being throat-cleared out the door by another waiting patron—I felt delirious with wantonness.

Macon slammed the watering can down onto our desk, and I jumped. The jarring clang of metal reverberated through the quiet library.

“Yo,” Elijah called out.

I stared at Macon in astonishment until he looked at me. He crumpled with embarrassment. “I have a headache,” he muttered, as if that made any sort of sense.

If I hadn’t known any better, I would have thought he was jealous. Except, actually, I was still pretty sure that he was. Excitement flickered inside me until anger flared and overtook it. I had tried, and he had said no, and he had no fucking right to be fucking jealous now.

My mood clearly showed, because Macon rose to the challenge. His back stiffened. His expression hardened. We stared each other down like two beasts in the wild.

“I found bacon in my mystery novel,” somebody sang.

Our attention jerked to the man entering the library. “My word,” Mr. Garland said, eyeing the two of us with delight. “What have I interrupted?”

“Nothing,” I said, as Macon said, “Bacon?”

“A strip of cooked bacon,” Mr. Garland confirmed, opening the hardcover in his hands. “The person who checked this out last must have been using it as a bookmark.”

Macon sighed. “For fuck’s sake.”

“That’s what I said,” Mr. Garland said. “I couldn’t wait to show it to you.”

Macon plucked out the bacon with two fingers, dropped it into the trash can, and inspected the greasy pages with disgust.

“Do you need me to order a copy from another branch for you?” I asked.

Mr. Garland waved a hand airily. “No, I just turned the page and kept reading. It’s a good one.”

Although the tension had been defused, Macon and I remained sullen and aggressive toward each other until late the following morning. The post-storytime rush was nearly over when the phone rang. I answered, and it was an older woman with an unsteady voice. “May I please speak to Macon Nowakowski?”

“Of course. He’s helping someone, but it’ll only be a moment.”

“Thank you,” she said.

As I waited for Macon to finish checking out a stack of picture books for a mother and her son, an affable preschooler who loved whales and sharks and especially whale sharks, I had a delayed reaction. The voice pinged in my memory bank along with the realization that the caller had correctly pronounced Macon’s last name. I clutched the phone against my chest.

He sensed the change in my energy and glanced over.

“I think it’s your mom,” I said.

His face fell. I stepped in to finish the transaction so he could take the call. In all the years I’d worked there, his mother had never phoned. I only recognized her voice because we’d met a number of times when I’d first started and she’d come into the branch. She still lived in town, but her agoraphobia had grown to the point where it was keeping her from leaving the house. Like her son, she was an avid reader, so now he brought the books straight to her. He also ran her other errands, cooked many of her meals, and did her yard work. Caring for her was essentially his second job.

“What happened?” he asked her. And then, “Is she okay?”

But his mother wasn’t the sole person he had to worry about, and it was obvious that today’s bad news had something to do with his aunt. Macon was an only child, his father had never been in the picture, and the only other family member he was close with was his mother’s sister, who had helped raise him before she’d gotten married and moved away. Her husband had passed away a few years ago, and shortly afterward, she’d injured her back trying to clean out the gutters. Her doctor had prescribed opioids for the pain. It went as terribly as these things could go. She’d overdosed more than once and had been in and out of multiple rehab facilities.

“Is she still there?” he asked.

Christina Castillo, the mom of the preschooler, was also listening to the call. We exchanged a worried glance. She gave me a tight nod— I hope everything will be okay —and then put on an overly animated expression to lead Miguel and his shark books out of the building.

“I’ll figure it out,” Macon said. “No, that’s okay. I’ll call Will. Yeah, I’m leaving right now. I’ll be careful.” He hung up.

“I’ve got this,” I said. “Go.”

“Bonnie was arrested again. She’s being transferred to another rehab facility, or she’s already been transferred—I’m not sure—but her neighbor called my mom, and apparently Bonnie’s place is a disaster. I’ve got to drive to Durham to sort it all out.” Bonnie’s stepson, Will, usually handled these situations, but he was living in Myanmar for the year while his wife did a stint with Doctors Without Borders. Macon had been expecting to have to step in at some point and help. He grabbed the back of his chair for his duffel coat, but it was already on. He’d been wearing it all day. He was making plans, half in his head and half out loud. “I’ll have to call my neighbors so they can feed Edmond— Shit. They’re on vacation.”

I stepped forward. “I can feed him. Mornings, right?”

“And evenings.”

“Oh. I thought his owner fed him at night?”

“Edmond doesn’t live with him anymore. He lives with me. He’s my cat.”

My head drew back. “Really? When did that happen?”

“Uh, end of January. Shawn moved to the coast and didn’t want to take him.”

“Oh my God,” I said. Because I couldn’t imagine leaving a pet behind. Because Macon hadn’t told me, and I’d been sitting beside him this whole time. It stung.

He disappeared into the annex to talk to Sue and returned a minute later, fishing for his keys in his pocket. “Mornings and evenings,” I said. “I can do that.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course. I can feed him, play with him. Get your mail. Whatever you need, for however long you need it.”

“I don’t want to inconvenience you. I know you’ve been busy—”

“Jesus, Macon. It’s not an inconvenience.” I didn’t mean for it to come out so short.

He stared me down again before relenting. “I’ll put a spare key underneath the smallest planter by the door, and I’ll leave instructions inside.”

I drove straight to Macon’s house from work. His neighborhood was older and darker than most in Ridgetop. Fewer streetlights. Street lamps . He was lucky to live in an area that still had the city’s original decorative posts. They gave off less light than the taller posts along the main roads but added a whimsical charm to the twisty, woodsy neighborhood. Macon had once told me that he preferred the lamps because they produced less light pollution, which was better for the birds and animals. I’d never considered the effects of light pollution before, but now I often did—all those miserable chickadees and chipmunks trying to sleep.

I’d been to Macon’s house once before, a long time ago, during my first year as a librarian. He had invited us all over for a dinner party: Sue and Russell, Alyssa and Tim, Cory and me. Our former coworker Richard and his wife, Lucy, had also been in attendance. Rail-thin and white-bearded, Richard resembled a skinny Santa Claus and was generally as mild-mannered, apart from his zealous diatribes on climate change. He and Macon still met up a few times a year to rage. Richard was in his mid-seventies when I was hired, already retired from the National Park Service. The paging job was supposed to be temporary—a supplemental income to help with Lucy’s medical bills—but he’d ended up working at the library for six years.

Next month would mark my fifth year. The library job was supposed to be temporary for me, too, until it wasn’t. I wasn’t sure when it had turned into my career. It was a good career, and I felt fortunate, so I wasn’t sure why I didn’t love it as much as I should. I didn’t know how to reconcile having a desirable job that I could do well yet still not be satisfied with. It stank of privilege. But even though I was bored and restless, I still panicked whenever Sue mentioned library school, which could get me a job away from the desk. It made no sense. She’d been nudging me again, and I knew I had to apply, but it wasn’t the right time. I couldn’t picture myself back in school any better than I could picture my life with Cory being anything other than what it already was. Why did my future always look so static?

I would apply to library school when Cory returned, I promised myself. When things were steady again and we were moving forward.

I slowed my car so I could read the house numbers, and sure enough, number twenty-four was exactly where I had remembered it. Strange how I could recall its location after all these years. Even in the dark, Macon’s house had been easy to find.

I parked in the driveway and checked the mailbox. Nothing was inside, so I went and found the key where Macon had promised it would be. His front door had a unique round window. I remembered this, too. It was dark now, but that night it had beamed like a sun.

His whole house had been warm and inviting that night. Candlelight in every room, soft bohemian wall hangings, plants and rugs and pillows, crystals and rocks arranged on the windowsills, and enough chairs that everybody had a comfortable place to sit. The dinner had been thoughtfully prepared, a full menu with courses, and Sue and Richard had each brought a bottle of wine. I’d felt bad that I hadn’t thought to bring a gift, but thankfully Alyssa hadn’t either. We’d been young and hadn’t known the rules of adults, and we’d exchanged giggles of relief away from the others. The food had been outstanding, the conversation lively, and my usual party jitters had relaxed with the easy companionship, everyone flushed with wine and laughter.

It wasn’t until now, as I crossed back over the threshold, that I realized how much I treasured those memories. Whenever Macon mentioned his house, I pictured it trapped in amber, warm and candlelit. But when my patting hand located the light switch—it was a little button, another charming detail—there were no candles, no pillows, no sparkling quartz or prisms. There was hardly even any furniture. His house was tidy and clean, but it was also sparse and empty.

I was looking at the absence of a person. The absence of Danielle . Because of course his ex-girlfriend had been at the dinner party, too.

A forgotten but familiar squirm wriggled through me. Macon and Dani had been partners for a long time. I had liked her well enough, but I had also not liked her. I had known her, but I had also hardly known her at all and had grasped on to every breadcrumb of information that Macon had ever dropped. She was one of those good people who’d made me feel bad for not being as good as her. She taught at the Appalachian School of Herbal Medicine, and she ate healthfully, like Macon. Meditated and did yoga. Never wore makeup, but she had perfect skin, so big deal. If I had perfect skin, I wouldn’t wear it either. But she was also a pessimist like Macon, only with far less levity. And she’d never seemed to like me much—I suspected I was too smiley, too unserious for her. But that night, in my memories, she had also been happy and filled with laughter.

“Edmond? Edmond Dantès?” I called out into the darkness that lay deeper inside the house. “We’ve never met before, but I’m your dad’s friend.” Although it felt silly, it seemed important to explain myself to the cat. Even if friend might not be the correct word. It was like talking to a young child and leaving out the difficult bits.

The house responded with silence.

I’d never had a cat, but growing up, my family had lived with a basenji. Trixie’d had a beautiful red coat with white markings, adorable pointy ears, a sproingy curled tail, and a calculating mind that knew exactly how long to wait for Riley and me to leave the room before destroying our favorite toys. Her bark had sounded like a yodel, she had stolen food directly off our plates, and she had refused to walk on grass. I had loved our mischievous and rotten dog, but Trixie had been devoted to my mom and hadn’t given a fig about the rest of us.

Cory had been raised with a number of Labradors. “They’re big, they’re playful, and they wear down my boys,” his mother had once told me. Cory was the youngest of three brothers, and when they were together, they all had fighting-wrestling energy. Cory and I did want to get a dog eventually. We planned to adopt a mutt from the shelter, but we were waiting until we had a fenced yard.

I felt a surge of triumph at this glimpse into our future: a dog. We would have a dog. Yet despite my love of dogs, this vision didn’t fill me with excitement or longing.

“Edmond? Ed? Eddie?” I set down the key and my tote bag and then inhaled, deep and slow. The air smelled like Macon. My heart panged with loss.

A black-and-white tuxedo cat slinked into view.

“Hi there. Am I allowed to pet you?”

Edmond seemed interested but uncertain.

“Want to show me the kitchen? It’s back here, right?” I pressed the buttons to turn on more lights as I moved through the house. My footsteps echoed through the quiet rooms.

Edmond followed behind me at a cautious distance.

The feeding and care instructions were on the kitchen counter, exactly where I expected to find them. The handwriting gave me a second pang. It felt good to be close enough to somebody to be able to recognize their handwriting. Seeing it was almost like seeing the person themself. The disheveled yet precise scrawl in front of me distinctly, unmistakably belonged to Macon. I touched the piece of paper and felt the indentations left by his pen.

Edmond stirred behind me, reminding me of my purpose. I fed him a mackerel and lamb mix, rinsed out the can, and plopped it into the recycling bin. The instructions informed me that changing his water bowl and cleaning the litter box were morning activities.

Beside the sink was a dish that contained two bars of soap. The note didn’t specify which was for my hands, so I guessed. Then I snapped a picture of Edmond eating and drafted an accompanying text. All is well! Hope you made it to Durham safely and hope your aunt is okay. After a moment of deliberation, I added a red heart emoji and hit send. I often added hearts to my texts, so I knew he’d understand that it was out of concerned friend-love as opposed to anything romantic. A text from me would be more suspect if it didn’t have a heart.

Edmond was still eating. His plate gently scraped against the tile floor, and the disgusting scent of wet meat wafted through the room.

“Mm, yum. Does that taste good?” I asked, bending down to pet him.

His ears flattened against his head, and he backed away from my outstretched hand. He wasn’t ready for any physical interactions with a stranger. I understood and respected that.

“Loud and clear, bud. See you in the morning.”

But halfway to the front door, I paused.

The ghostly loneliness of the house swept through me. It had been built in the thirties, and the structure itself looked as if it had resisted modernization. The floors, trim, and fixtures seemed to be original, and the overall appearance was of a lot of bare wood. The walls and surfaces were mostly empty. In the dining room sat a breakfast table, two chairs, and nothing else. The living room was unusually long, stretching across nearly the whole front of the house, and Macon had created a sitting area with a tired couch, a coffee table, and an end table with a lamp. Across from this setup was a dusty television. The rest of this large space was desolate apart from a scratching post and several fur-covered blankets and beds scattered around, proving my suspicions correct: Macon did spend more money on Edmond than on himself.

The darkness in the back of the house beckoned to me. I turned on the hallway light, and four doors appeared, three open and one partially closed.

In my memory, these rooms were small and the first one was a study, so I was pleased to discover that it still contained Macon’s desk and crowded bookshelves. Naturally, I took a few minutes to inspect the spines. His collection was separated into fiction and nonfiction, and everything was arranged alphabetically. Tons of classics and Everyman’s Library editions, some still stickered with prices from the used bookstore. Tomes about the environment and history and science and economics. Several worn and beloved novels from his childhood. Gardening books, some of which I recognized from our Friends of the Library sales. A cat care book that looked like it had been purchased new. My chest ached with recognition. If I had been shown a list of these titles, I would have known exactly who they belonged to. Everything here was right.

The room beside it used to belong to Dani. The walls had been crowded with furniture and other items, but the center of the floor had contained only a circular rug, a lavender zafu, and a low table with a bell. The room had stunk of incense. Now it smelled like a litter box. Honestly, the incense might have been worse. Cardboard boxes cluttered the floor, a perch was positioned in front of the window, and the litter box and all its accouterments were tucked into one of the corners.

Edmond darted past me, startling me, and leapt onto his perch.

“Does Macon call this ‘Edmond’s room’? I bet he does.”

Although he could have gazed out the window, his body was facing me. His vigilant eyes were green and intense.

I moved along. The next room was the bathroom—the old house had only one—and I took the opportunity to use it. It was even smaller than the one in my apartment, but it was also significantly more appealing. Like the rest of the house, the fixtures looked original, and the tile was in good condition. With a fresh coat of paint and some decorative touches, it could be darling. I washed my hands with another bar of soap that smelled like Macon. I sniffed my fingers, and sorrow draped over me like a shroud. Unexpectedly, tears threatened to well up.

Edmond was waiting for me back in the hallway.

“Oh. Hey there.” I reached out my fingers for him to sniff.

He didn’t budge. He was intrigued, but I required further observation.

The final room had the partially closed door. It was the only one I hadn’t seen on my previous visit. I glanced back at the cat as if he might tell on me, then gingerly pushed the door open. I couldn’t bear to turn on the light. Instead, I stood on the threshold of Macon’s bedroom and looked at what the hallway light was strong enough to reveal. It wasn’t much. A large dresser and a mirror, a bed that was made, two side tables and two lamps.

Sadness returned and enveloped me. Aside from the two chairs in the dining room, these tables and lamps were the only evidence I’d seen of a second person—or the hope of a second person. I didn’t know if Macon wanted to date again. It was one of those subjects that we never broached. His future self lived inside my mind in both versions: in another long-term relationship and peacefully alone for the rest of his life.

I pulled the door back to where it had been.

He hadn’t mentioned the porch light in his instructions, but I turned it on anyway. It was too upsetting to leave Edmond and the house in the dark. I locked the door and lifted the planter to return the key. But … it was mine to keep until he returned. I lowered the planter and tucked the key into my pocket. It glowed warmly inside.