One True Loves (33 page)

I laugh at the idea of Jesse kicking Sam's ass. It seems so absurd. Jesse could probably kick Sam's ass in about three seconds. It would be like one of those boxing matches where the one guy gets in a punch right off the bat and the poor sucker never knew what hit him.

Sam, my Sam, my adorable, sweetheart Sam, is a lover, not a fighter. I love that about him.

“I'm serious,” Jesse says. “This is an insane situation. If he can't see that, I will personally see to it that he is in physical pain.”

“Oh!” I say, joking with him. “No, don't do that! I love him.”

I don't mean it as a profound announcement, despite how profoundly I feel it. But no matter
how
I say it, it's sort of an uncomfortable thing to say, given the circumstances.

I watch Jesse swallow hard and then speak. “I'm happy for you,” Jesse says. “I am.”

“Thank you,” I say, relieved at his magnanimity. I don't think he's being honest, right now. But he's trying really hard. I have so much respect for him for that.

“And that's going to conclude our discussion of him,” Jesse says. “Because otherwise, I'm going to be ill.”

“Fair enough,” I say, nodding my head. “Happy to change the subject.”

“We'll be home not too long from now,” he says. “We're almost in Tewksbury.”

“Should we play I Spy or something?”

Jesse laughs. “Yeah, all right,” he says. “I spy with my little eye . . . something . . . blue.”

Maybe relationships are supposed to end with tears or screams. Maybe they are supposed to conclude with two people saying everything they never said or ripping into each other in a way that can't be undone.

I don't know.

I've only really ended one relationship in my life.

It is this one.

And this one ends with a good-natured game of I Spy.

We spot things and we guess them and we make each other laugh.

And when Jesse pulls the car into the front parking lot of Blair Books, I know I only have a moment before the piercing gun comes to my ear.

“I love you,” I say. “I've always loved you. I'll always love you.”

“I know,” he says. “I feel the same way. Go grab the life you made for yourself.”

I kiss him good-bye like you kiss your friends on New Year's. I don't have it in me to kiss him any other way.

I gather my things and I put my hand on the car door, not yet ready to pull the handle.

“You were a wonderful person to love,” I say. “It felt so good to love you, to be loved by you.”

“Well, it was the easiest thing I ever did,” he says.

I smile at him and then breathe in, preparing myself for the piercing pain of leaving.

“Will you promise me that you will take care of yourself?” I say. “That you'll call me if you need anything. That you'll . . .” I don't know exactly how to phrase what I mean. He has been through so much and I want him to promise me, promise all of us who care about him, that he will work through it.

Jesse nods and waves me off. “I know what you mean. And I promise.”

“OK,” I say, smiling tenderly. I open the door. I put my feet onto the pavement. I get out of the car and close it behind me.

Jesse waves at me and then puts his car in reverse. I watch him as he does a three-point turn out of the lot. It hurts just as much as I thought it would. The pressure, the ache, the sting.

I wave as he makes a left onto the main road.

And then he's gone.

I close my eyes for a moment, processing what has just happened.
It's over.
Jesse is alive and home and our marriage is over.
But then when I open my eyes again, I realize where I am.

My bookstore.

I turn around and walk toward the door.

I'm walking toward books and my family and that one day in spring when the sun feels like it will shine for you forever and the flowers will bloom for months. I am walking toward vegan cheddar grilled cheese and cat GIFs and “Piano Man.”

I am walking toward Sam.

I am walking home.

And just like the day I got my ears pierced, once the pain has come and gone, I've grown up.

M
y mother and father are both in the store. Before I'm even close enough to say hi to them, I hear children crying in the far corner.

“Are the girls here?” I ask the moment I hug my parents hello.

“With Marie in the children's section,” my mom says.

“How are you? How did everything go?” my dad asks.

I start to answer but there's so much to explain and I'm not up for getting into the details just yet. “I missed Sam,” I say. Actually, that might just cover all of it. Succinct and painless.

They look at each other and smile, as if they are part of a two-man club that knew this is what I'd do all along.

I hate the idea of being predictable, especially predictable to my parents. But, more than anything, I'm relieved that I seem to have made the right set of decisions. Because, after all, they are my parents. And when you get to be old enough, it's finally OK to admit that they often do know best.

I can hear Marie trying to calm down Sophie and Ava. I come around the side of the register to get a better view. The two girls are crying, red faced. They are both holding opposite sides of their heads. I look back to my parents.

“Ava ran into Sophie and they hit each other in the head,” my mom says.

My father puts his finger to his ear, as if the sound of their
screaming is going to burst his eardrum. “It's been great for business.”

As the girls' sobbing dies down, reduced to the far more quiet but equally theatrical gulping for breath and frowning, Marie spots me and comes walking over.

I turn to my parents. “By the way, we have to talk about Tina,” I say.

Neither of my parents look me in the eye directly. “We can talk about it another time,” my dad says. “When things aren't so . . . dramatic.”

My mother averts her gaze, instantly focusing on straightening things underneath the register. My dad pretends as if he's deeply engaged in the store calendar sitting on the counter. I have been their daughter for too long to fall for this kind of crap. They are hiding something.

“What's going on?” I ask. “What are you two not saying?”

“Oh, honey, it's nothing,” my mom says, and I almost believe her. But then I see the look on my dad's face, a mixture of “Is she buying this?” and “Oh, God, we should just tell her.”

“We just have some, you know, ideas for the management of the store,” my dad says finally. “But we should talk about it later.”

When Marie makes her way to me and looks like she's afraid to tell me she borrowed my favorite sweater, I know she's in on it, too.

“C'mon, everybody, I'm dealing with too much stuff right now to have the patience for whatever this is.”

“It's nothing,” Marie says. I frown at her to let her know I don't believe it for a second. She folds like a cheap suit. “Fine. I want the job.”

“What job?” I ask.

“The assistant manager position.”

“Here?”

“Yeah, I want it. Mom and Dad think it's a great idea, but obviously it's up to you.”

“You want to work here?” I say, still disbelieving. “With me?”

“Yes.”

“At this store?” I say.

“See? I knew it wasn't the right time to talk about this.”

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I'm just surprised.”

“I know,” she says. “But this could be my something. Like we talked about. Something outside of the house that has nothing to do with potty training or hearing and deafness. I think this idea is better than writing, actually. I'm excited about it and it's something with adults, you know? A reason to put on a nice pair of pants. Emma, I need a reason to put on pants.”

“OK . . .” I say.

“I can't take on a full-time job but an assistant manager position could be really good. Especially because Mom and Dad could help fill in for me with the kids or here if need be. I guess what I'm saying is . . . Please hire me.”

“But you used to be the manager. I'd be your boss,” I say.

Marie puts both of her hands up, in mock surrender. “It's your show. I know that I gave up the position and you've done a great job at it. I'm not trying to usurp anything. If, later on down the line, I decide that I want to take on more or be a more vocal participant in the store, that's my problem and I'll deal with it. I can always take on a manager job at one of Mike's stores if it comes to that. But right now, what I really want is to spend my time here, with you.”

Marie has said her piece and now it's up to me to respond.
I can feel my sister's, my father's, and my mother's eyes on me. Sophie and Ava, now calm, are pulling on Marie's leg.

“So?” Marie says.

I start laughing. It's all so absurd. All three of them start to worry, unsure what, exactly, I find so funny. So I get hold of myself in an effort to not keep them in suspense any longer.

It scares me, the idea of having Marie working under me. It makes me sort of uncomfortable and I'm slightly worried that it will undermine the good relationship we've started to build. But I also think that it could turn out to be great. I'd have someone to share this store with, someone who understands how important it is, who has a passion for not just books but this store's history. And working together, spending more time with each other, could bring us even closer.

So I think this is a risk I'm willing to take.

I'm ready to bet on Marie and me.

“OK,” I say. “You're hired.”

The smile that erupts across my father's face is so wide and sincere that the teenage version of me would have threatened to barf. But I'm not a teenager anymore and it won't kill me to give my father everything he's ever dreamed of. “All right, Dad,” I say. “Your girls are running your store.”

For the first time in my entire life, I wonder if perhaps Marie and I might actually prove to be greater together than the sum of our parts.

Emma and Marie.

Our moment of celebration is interrupted by a man who tells my dad he is looking for a book for his wife. I overhear as my dad asks what it's called. The man says, “I don't know and I'm not sure who wrote it. I don't remember what it's about, but I do remember that the cover was blue.”

I watch my parents give each other a knowing glance and then both of them try to help him.

As they walk away, Marie looks at me. “So what happened in Maine? Are you going home to Sam?”

“I don't know, exactly.”

“What do you mean?” she asks.

“I know that I want to be with Sam, but he told me not to call him even if I've made a decision. He said that he would let me know when he was ready to talk. Not the other way around.”

Marie waves it off. “He just meant that if you were going to turn him down. He doesn't mean that if you have good news you shouldn't tell him.”

“I don't know. I think he's really upset.”

“Of course he's upset. But that's all the more reason to find him and talk to him.”

“I want to respect his wishes,” I say.

“Emma, listen to me. Go find him right now and tell him that you want to be with him.”

“You mean like go to his office at school?” I say.

“Yes!” Marie says. “Absolutely do that. I mean, don't propose to him in front of band kids or whatever. But yes! Find him now.”

“Yeah,” I say, starting to build up the confidence. “Yeah, I think you're right.”

My parents come over and ring up the man. He must not have found what he came in for. He is, instead, purchasing a copy of
Little Women.
No doubt my parents gave up trying to figure out what book he was talking about a few minutes into it and just decided to sell him on Louisa May Alcott.

They want to sell everyone a copy of
Little Women.
Because it's a great book, sure. But also because they are proud that it
was written just a few miles away. They probably also tried to sell him any Henry David Thoreau or Ralph Waldo Emerson we have in stock.

I haven't been pushing the transcendentalists like they do. Copies stay on the shelf longer than they did when my parents were running things.

They have never given me a hard time about it. My father has never asked why there are copies of
Civil Disobedience
that have managed to earn dust on them.

My parents have given me an incredible gift: they gave me this store, and they set up a future for me, but they never told me theirs was the only way to do it.

We sell more journals and candles now. We sell tote bags with literary quotes on them. We sell more Young Adult than we have in years. And we sell less of the classics and less hardcovers. That all might be because of how the business is changing. But I also think it's because of me. Because I do things differently, for better and for worse.

Now, things might change again with Marie coming back. We might grow even stronger.

The man leaves and I prepare to head out to my car and try to win back the love of my life.

“OK,” I say. “I'm out of here. Wish me luck.”

I get to the door before I turn around. I decide that something I've left unsaid needs to be explicit.

“Thank you,” I say to my parents. “For trusting me with this store and for waiting for me to fall in love with it on my own, in my own way. Thank you for guiding me toward a life that makes me happy.”

For a minute, my mom looks like she might cry, but she doesn't.

“Of course, honey,”
she says as my dad gives me a wink. That's parents for you.

You say thank you for gifts they've given that have shaped your entire world and their answer is, “Of course.”

As I'm out the door, I turn to Marie and say, “Welcome back.”