by Cathie Linz
“Do you ever wonder ‘What if’?” Marissa asked Deb.
“Sometimes. What if he hadn’t strayed? Yeah, I think about that a lot sometimes.”
“Do you ever wonder what your life would be like if you’d married your first love or someone else instead of your ex?”
“Sure. Who doesn’t? I’ve even looked them up online.”
“Did you ever contact someone that way?”
“No,” Deb said. “I don’t have the nerve. Why? Have you done that? Contacted someone from your past to see if they’re still available?”
“No,” Marissa said. Which was true. She technically hadn’t contacted Connor. He’d contacted her when he’d pulled her over during the parade. Fate had put them together. Neither one of them had taken measures to make that happen. In fact, they both had made moves to avoid such a thing happening. Although she’d done more than he had.
Connor seemed to take some pleasure in the fact that he could still get to her. Maybe that was just male ego. Not that Connor was pursuing her. Although there was that pity pizza…but that wasn’t much, really. It’s not like he was sending her dozens of roses like Brad had when he was courting her. Or sending sexy text messages.
No, Connor didn’t make any of the obvious moves. Instead he’d just look at her. But the wow factor was increasing with every glance and every stare he sent her way.
She only had one first love in her life, and for good or bad that was Connor. That fact colored her reaction to him. To every look, every touch, every comment.
“I wish I could just tune it all out,” Marissa muttered.
“Me, too,” Deb said.
“I’m sorry for venting like that. I don’t mean to sound like Wendy Whiner.”
Deb smiled and pointed to herself. “Or even worse, Deb Downer?”
“No way. Not you. You’re the only person I can really talk to about all this. You get it.” Now what Marissa had to “get” was that wandering into what-if land carried its own dangers and was full of emotional land mines.
Chapter Ten
Dealing with teenagers was like herding cats…only worse. Days like today made Marissa doubt her own judgment in wanting to do more. Why couldn’t she leave well enough alone? Nooo. She had to come up with a group to help teens.
The American Library Association had books and subcommittees on the subject of appealing to young adults. Booklist did special webinars about what they termed as Reluctant Readers. Marissa would add the words Rebellious, Recalcitrant and Rowdy to that description.
Today’s drama involved the group’s plans for the upcoming Rhubarb Festival this weekend.
“I still say that we should be auctioning off one of my apps instead of a T-shirt,” Snake said.
“It’s not just a T-shirt. It’s a custom, one-of-a-kind T-shirt,” Jose said. “Your apps aren’t custom. Anyone can download one for ninety-nine cents. The T-shirt I did is worth a lot more than that.”
Snake was clearly not convinced. “Or so you say.”
“You got a problem with that?” Jose said, going into defense mode.
“You all voted on this,” Marissa reminded them.
“Red Fred does whatever Jose tells him,” Snake said. “That’s why he voted for the shirt. And the girls don’t even know what an app is because they don’t have smartphones.”
“An app is an application,” Tasmyn said, shoving her hair away from her face to glare at Snake. “Not everyone is rich enough to afford a smartphone.”
“And I’d like to remind you that I’m a girl and I voted for the app,” Nadine said.
Snake waved her words away. “I don’t think of you as a girl.”
Now Nadine joined Tasmyn and Molly in the glarefest.
“Tool.” The normally low-key Molly threw the insult at him.
“You have to be popular with girls but hurt them before you can be a tool,” Nadine said. “Outside of this group, Snake can’t even talk to a girl.”
“He used to be popular with us and he hurt us,” Molly said “That means he qualifies.”
“Trust me, he’s no tool. He’s not cool enough to be a tool,” Jose said.
“It’s not cool to be a tool,” Nadine said.
“And it’s not cool to insult people,” Marissa pointed out. “Just because you don’t agree with others, doesn’t mean that you should insult them.”
“Why not?” Red Fred said. “They do it on TV all the time. Especially on Fox News. And politicians do it, too. You should read some of the blogs out there.”
“My mom says Fox doesn’t really do news,” Molly said.
“And my mom says Fox are the only ones who do the news,” Red Fred stated.
Marissa wasn’t about to let things go off into a political discussion of “red-” and “blue-” state moms. She had enough trouble as it was. “We don’t insult others because it’s rude. And insults lead to bullying, which will not be tolerated here and should not be tolerated anywhere.”
“Right,” Red Fred said. “We’re all in this together. Just like on Glee.”
“Except we don’t sing or dance,” Tasmyn said.
“And we don’t have slushies thrown at us,” Nadine said.
“I do,” Red Fred said.
“You used to,” Jose said. “But not since you started wearing the T-shirts I designed for you.”
Red Fred nodded. “Right.”
“So is the library gonna let us have a display for the shirt and the auction in their booth at the festival?” Jose asked.
“Rhubarb sucks,” Red Fred said. Before Marissa could protest, he added, “No, really. Have you ever tasted it raw? It’s really sour.”
“Kinda like that library board dude who gives us the evil eye whenever he sees us,” Jose said. “Especially me.”
“He’s like a hundred years old or something,” Red Fred said.
“What are we going to do with the raffle money?” Tasmyn asked.
“We already decided we’re going to give it to poor kids who can’t read,” Red Fred said.
“We’re poor,” Molly said.
“Yeah, but we can read,” Jose said.
“I think we should give it to UNICEF,” Snake said. “Doesn’t Angelina Jolie do stuff for them?”
“You just picked them because of Jolie,” Molly said.
“And you just picked that Humane Society because you wanted a signed picture of that dude from The Vampire Diaries,” Snake countered.
“The St. Tammany Humane Society is Ian Somerhalder’s favorite charity.” Molly’s voice was almost reverent as she said the star’s name.
“Well, it’s not my favorite charity,” Snake said.
“They help pets in the Gulf area. Don’t you want to help animals?” Molly said.
“Snake is worse than a tool,” Tasmyn said. “You need an empathy app because you’re missing that emotion.”
“Emotion doesn’t pay the bills,” Snake said. “Apps do.”
“And T-shirts,” Jose said. “Hey, maybe you should do an app of a few of my designs. People could use it as a background to download on their phones.”
“Now you’re talking my language,” Snake said. “And we’ll split the profits sixty-forty with me getting sixty percent.”
“Screw that. I get sixty percent,” Jose said. “It was my idea and my art.”
“It’s my app,” Snake pointed out.
“Fifty-fifty then. Final offer.”
“Done.”
Marissa had no sooner wrapped up that meeting than she had to work at the reference desk.
“I don’t remember the name of the book but I remember the cover,” a patron told Marissa, who’d heard that comment more times than she could count.
“It had gears and man-titty,” the patron said.
Marissa hadn’t ever heard that description before.
“It had gears and a man’s chest with his nipples kind of showing. Ring any bells?” the patron continued. “It was out in the past year or two
. And the book was this size but not hardcover.” She indicated a trade size.
“Do you remember anything about the author’s name?” Marissa asked.
“It was unusual.”
“What was the book about?”
“Victorian England.”
“Let me see what I can find.” Marissa went online to a romance reader’s chat room she’d visited before. Sure enough, within minutes they’d given her the title and author. The Iron Duke by Meljean Brook. Marissa checked the library’s holdings on the computer and went to retrieve it from the shelves. “Is this it?” she asked the patron.
“That’s it.” The woman grabbed the book. “I just remembered they called it steampunk romance. Anyway thanks for finding it for me.”
Once the woman moved away, Roz approached the reference desk. “I’m impressed, too. I was passing by and heard her description. Gears and man-titty.” Roz grinned. “Maybe I should recommend that for the book club that Sally and I are in.”
“I don’t know my landlady’s reading tastes but I do know that she likes Carrie Underwood’s songs,” Marissa said.
Roz nodded. “She likes cranking up ‘Before She Cheats’ and dancing to it.”
“She told me I should try doing that.”
“And have you?”
Marissa shook her head. She didn’t say that she didn’t dance, even in private. She didn’t exactly know why. She hadn’t even danced at her own wedding. Something in her past prevented her but she had yet to figure out what it was. It couldn’t have been anything good. And that was enough to make her not want to remember it. She had enough trauma and drama in her life. She didn’t need to add more.
* * *
By the end of the day, Marissa was ready to go home and relax in a lovely bubble bath. But as she headed for the exit, Connor’s mother and grandmother stopped her.
“Marissa!” his grandmother called out.
“Shh,” Wanda said. “We’re in a library. We’re supposed to be quiet.”
“I wasn’t that loud,” the older woman protested.
“Hello, ladies,” Marissa said.
“I told you to call me Grandma Sophie,” Connor’s grandmother said.
“And you should call me Wanda,” his mom said. “I hope you don’t mind that we stopped by. We wanted to see where you work.” They looked around expectantly.
Naturally Marissa had to give them a tour. It would be rude to say she was leaving when Wanda and Grandma Sophie had been kind to her. So she showed them the various departments—circulation, children’s, adult, technical services.
“Where is your office?” Grandma Sophie asked.
“I don’t have an office. I have a cubicle.”
“My daughter-in-law Megan has a cubicle at her branch of the Chicago Public Library,” Wanda said. “She’s a librarian, too.”
“My grandsons seem to have a thing for librarians,” Grandma Sophie said.
“There’s really nothing to see in my cubicle,” Marissa said. Actually there was too much to see. She’d decorated the tiny area with things meant to inspire her—from the Nathan Fillion READ poster to an amethyst geode to a King Tut bobblehead. “You’ve seen all the important things.”
“Marissa,” Roz said. “I thought you left. You’ve already worked a long day. Go on home.”
Marissa made the introductions and they all chatted a few minutes before Roz returned to her office.
“We didn’t mean to keep you,” Wanda said. “Let us make it up to you by buying you a cup of coffee at that place across the street.”
Once again Marissa didn’t know how to say no. So she found herself sitting in the Cups Café with Connor’s family, sipping coffee and eating a kolachki from the café’s bakery section.
“It’s not as good as mine,” Grandma Sophie said. “I’m also famous for my pierogies. How about you, Marissa? Do you cook?”
“Some.”
“What are your favorite dishes?”
“The easy ones. Comfort food. Beef stew. Chicken and dumplings.”
“Comfort food is good,” Wanda said.
Marissa didn’t add that she hadn’t had the time or energy to cook much for ages. Instead she relied on frozen dinners and fast-food takeout. She’d stopped at the local McDonald’s so often she knew their Dollar Menu by heart.
“Dumplings are part of Polish comfort food,” Grandma Sophie said. “Are you sure you’re not part Polish?”
Marissa returned her smile. “Not as far as I know.”
Grandma Sophie pointed to her PROUD TO BE POLISH T-shirt. “We come from a proud heritage. We can trace our roots back three centuries. We are third cousins to Casimir Pulaski. That’s why Connor’s middle name is Casimir. Pulaski fought alongside Americans during the Revolutionary War. He even saved the life of George Washington and dipped into his own personal money when finances were hard to keep things going. He was wounded in Savannah and was buried there. We celebrate Pulaski Day in Chicago the first Monday in March.”
“Any excuse to close down the local government offices,” Wanda said with a grin.
Grandma Sophie frowned at her. “Pulaski is honored because he is a hero. President Obama even signed a bill making Pulaski an honorary American citizen.”
“It sure took them long enough,” Wanda said.
Grandma Sophie shrugged. “Better late than never.” She set down the rest of her kolachki. “If you’re interested, Marissa, I can show you some of my recipes.”
“That would be great.” Marissa didn’t want to be one of those women who only cooked for company and not for themselves. She wanted to be able to recapture the fun she used to have with her favorite recipes.
Wanda excused herself to use the ladies’ room. When she returned she said, “Connor called and I told him we were with you. He said he needs to speak to you, Marissa. He asked you to stay here to meet him in five minutes.”
Marissa frowned. “Did he say what it was about?”
“No, he just said it was urgent.”
Wanda and Grandma Sophie made their way out of the coffee shop, leaving Marissa sitting at the table alone, wondering what the heck Connor could need to speak to her about that would be so urgent. Connor joined her a few minutes later.
“What’s up?” he said.
“Your grandmother offered to share some of her recipes with me.”
He looked surprised. “She doesn’t do that very often. I hope you were suitably impressed.”
“I was.” She took a quick sip of what little coffee remained in her cup. “So what was so urgent that you needed to speak with me?”
“I was about to ask you the same question.”
“What do you mean?”
“I heard you needed to talk to me.”
Marissa frowned. “Your mother told me the same thing about you.”
Connor rolled his eyes. “The matchmakers are at work.”
“You think they set this up?”
“Yes. Guilty as charged.”
“Have they done this to you before?” she asked.
“No.”
“Then what’s motivating them now?”
“You are.”
“Me?” She looked at him in astonishment. “What did I do?”
“Come on. You instigated them staying here, bragging about how great the Rhubarb Festival was.”
“I did not. They already said they wanted to attend the festival.”
“You could have told them it’s a bust and not worth visiting.”
“So could you,” Marissa countered.
“That would have looked suspicious.”
“So would my bad-mouthing the festival. My mother was right there, if you recall. As a former Rhubarb Queen, she was raving about the festival more than I was.”
“I saw the look on your face,” he said. “You were having a great time watching them needle me. Until the tables were turned and they focused on you. And now look where we are.”
“We’re at Cups Café,” sh
e said.
“Exactly. I don’t usually come here.”
“Why not? Don’t tell me you prefer Starbucks?”
“I prefer my coffee black,” he said.
“You can get that here.”
“Forget the coffee. What are we going to do about this situation?”
“With your family, you mean?”
He nodded. “You led them on.”
“I did no such thing.”
“You met them here for coffee and a kolachki. Are you going to eat the rest of that?”
“Yes, and it’s not as good as your grandmother’s.”
“How do you know?”
“She told me so,” Marissa said.
“That figures. Her kolachkis are pretty incredible. So are her pierogies.”
“So she also told me.”
“What else did she tell you?”
“That your middle name is Casimir.”
Connor looked around in discomfort. “Quiet.”
“What’s the problem?”
“That’s top secret intel,” he growled.
“Why are you so embarrassed? There are worse middle names.”
“I’m not embarrassed.”
She grinned. “You sure look embarrassed.”
“It’s the lighting in here.”
“No, it’s not. It’s you.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. She recognized the warning. She just chose to ignore it. “I think Connor Casimir Doyle has a certain ring to it. Wanda also told me that her sons seem to have a thing for librarians.”
“Just because my brother married a librarian doesn’t mean I’m going to do the same thing,” Connor stated.
“Of course not. There’s no way I’m interested in marriage again after the hell I just went through. No way!” Marissa matched his emphatic denial.
“So we’re agreed then?”
“About marriage?”
“Yes.”
“Absolutely,” she said.
“But maybe it would be easier if we let my mom and grandmother believe that we’re a couple.”
