I head to my closet and pull on a pair of black tights, boots, and a sweater. I may not be a huge fan of cold weather, but at least it gives me the opportunity to get away with not wearing a bra without it being too obvious. I grab a light waterproof jacket and put a journal and my favorite Uni-ball vision pen into my purse. This isn’t a work outing that’s why I’m not bringing my computer. No, the journal is there only if inspiration strikes me.
In the hallway, I debate whether I should bring the umbrella as well and finally decide that I should. The jacket might be waterproof, but I don’t want to start out this fall laying up in bed with the flu for a week because I got soaked everywhere else.
I slush my way through the New York City streets, avoiding eye contact with all the other poor souls who are out in this weather. Most are dog walkers, but there are also a few willing participants like I am. Finally, I reach 828 Broadway Avenue, right between 12th and 13th Streets. When I see the sign for the bookstore across the street, my heart fills with joy. This is my happy place. Other people love bars and restaurants and malls, but I’d take a used bookstore any day of the week and twice on a Sunday. Strand Bookstore may be the largest bookstore in New York, if not on the East Coast. It definitely feels that way. It’s a large labyrinth place that smells of tattered covers and much loved old books. They are famous for being so big, their tagline is that they sell books by the foot and that they have eighteen miles of books. The place has been around since 1927, which always makes me feel very privileged to have the opportunity to be here. I wander in between the aisles, briefly looking at the categories.
The thing is that what I love most about used bookstores is that, unlike regular chain stores like Barnes and Noble, you go in them never knowing what you’re going to find. Their selection changes constantly as people donate and exchange their books for new books and a book that was here a few days ago may be gone today.
I head to the fiction section and then slowly make my way to the romance section. I look over the spines and run my fingers over the edges of the well-read books. People have loved these books dearly while they read them and then they let them go before moving on to another book.
Some people hold onto books forever; they keep every book they read. But I’m a pretty voracious reader and there’s no way that I would ever have time for that. I’ve actually started reading a lot on my phone, downloading directly from Amazon. And as much as I love reading books on my phone, sometimes there’s nothing like sitting on a couch with a cup of tea and a good book. Actually turning those pages that other people have turned - it makes me feel like I’m part of something bigger. Something that’s not just bigger than I am, but that’s bigger than all of us. I’m not a very religious person, but it makes my heart swell and makes me feel almost spiritual.
As I make my way aimlessly down the aisles, I pick up the books that look interesting to me, read the back covers, and feel them in my hands. I wonder what their writers are doing right now, at this very moment, and I wonder if they felt as excited as I did finishing their first novel. I really hope so. Otherwise, what would be the point?
Walking here through the aisles of books reminds me of the place that I worked in during the summer between my ninth and tenth grade years in high school. Now, I can’t even remember what that place was called and it was much smaller than the Strand. It was probably around seven hundred square feet of space, with every available space of wall filled with books. That bookstore specialized in genre fiction and they only carried used romance, science fiction, fantasy, horror, and thriller books. They also had a big book exchange program where loyal customers could come back and bring back the books they’ve read in exchange for credit for new books. The group of old ladies that always came in on Friday afternoons were experts at the book exchange program and rarely paid for any of their Nora Roberts and Danielle Steel novels.
I hate to admit it, but when I was in high school, I didn’t really get them. In fact, I made fun of them. I didn’t think they were real readers. And by real, I meant serious. But now, writing my first novel and reading lots of romance novels myself, I realize that everyone is a real reader. It doesn’t really matter what you read as long as you read. And it’s more often the case, that people who read genre fiction that offers them some sort of escape, actually read a lot more than those who read those so-called serious novels.
And that’s all you can really ask for as a writer, isn’t it? Someone who is willing to read your books voraciously and with great appetite. I wander back to the romance section and look over the piles of books that Danielle Steel has written and published. Her catalog is impressive, enough to make you think that there’s no way you could ever write a third of these books in a lifetime. But then again, it’s also inspirational. If she can do it, why can’t I?
“Wow, well, I’ll be damned,” someone says behind me. The voice sounds familiar, but it takes a moment to realize who it belongs to.
“I never thought I’d catch you, of all people, with a Danielle Steel novel in her hands,” Tom says.
Chapter 18 - Ellie
When I get another invitation…
Tom is one of my oldest friends. He and I were practically inseparable when we were in Yale and then things went all wrong. I was in love with him for close to two years, but it never felt like the right time to bring it up. And then he started dating Carrie Warrenhouse, of all people, the daughter of the owner of BuzzPost, the online magazine where we both got jobs after graduation.
“And what’s wrong with Danielle Steel?” I ask.
“Um…what’s wrong with Danielle Steel? Seriously?” Tom asks, furrowing his brows. He looks just as handsome and cocky as he always was, only this time, his demeanor and self-assuredness makes me feel nauseous.
“What are you doing here, Tom?” I ask.
“It’s raining. I thought I’d head to the biggest used bookstore around. Probably same as you. New York is a small town if you’re a writer,” he says, leaning against a wall of books. I glance over at the book that he’s carrying in his hand. It’s Micheal Chabon’s latest release. Micheal Chabon is the type of writer that is hailed by all the New York critics, but is not known to be a bestselling type of author. He’s also Tom’s hero.
“Yes, I guess so,” I shrug and turn my attention to my book. If he’s willing to just pretend that nothing happened between us last time, I’m definitely not.
“So, is this how it’s going to be now?” he asks.
I shrug.
“I don’t really know what you want me to say. I mean you said a lot of mean things to me last time.”
“Yes, I know,” he mumbles, hanging his head. “But you did, too.”
I shrug. That’s true as well.
“I wanted to call you after…but I didn't know what to say,” he says carefully. “The thing is that Ellie, I just want to go back to how things were between us.”
I look up at him. The look on his face definitely seems earnest. This is the look he gets when he’s telling the truth. Despite everything, I know him well enough to know that.
Despite his earnestness right now, it is a little bit hard to forgive someone for calling you a whore. And the worst thing wasn’t that he even called me a whore, but the fact that my friend called me that. I opened myself up to him, told him about what had happened on the yacht, and he made me feel very small and insignificant.
“Listen, I’m really sorry for everything I said,” Tom says. “I really didn’t mean to get so carried away. I was just…angry.”
I resist the temptation to roll my eyes and wait for him to continue.
“I came over last time to tell you how I feel about you, and you just…pushed me away.”
“So what? Didn’t you think that could’ve been a possibility?”
“Of course, I knew you could reject me. That’s what I was worried about,” Tom says. “But still, I had hope, you know. I thought that everything would be okay. Somehow.”
“It would’
ve been if you hadn’t made me feel so horrible after I told you about the auction.”
Tom looks down at the floor. He takes a deep breath.
“I know. That was wrong. You should do whatever you want to do. I just felt rejected and I hated that feeling. And I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.”
I take a deep breath. I’m not one to hold onto grudges for long, especially when people are genuinely sorry for what they have done.
“Okay,” I say slowly. “I guess I can accept your apology.”
“You can?” Tom’s eyes light up. I nod slightly.
We stand in the aisle for a few moments, trying to figure out what to do next. There’s always that awkward moment after one party forgives the other and you try to move forward, that you don’t quite know what to do. I mean, you know that you need to start anew, but how to do that, exactly, alludes you. I look down at my feet and then at the Danielle Steel novel in my hand. A part of me is happy that I came here and ran into Tom. But another part just wishes I could spend the rainy afternoon curled up with a good book, keeping the real world away from me as far as possible.
“So…” I say after a moment. “What’s going on with you and Carrie?”
Tom kicks his one foot with the other. He’s wearing sneakers, which are muddy and probably soaking wet from slogging through the cold New York streets.
“She’s good,” he says. “We’re good,” he says quietly.
“Oh, that’s good.” I nod. My voice goes up a little when I say ‘Oh’ and I hope that he doesn’t notice. I’m actually surprised that they’re still together. The last time we spoke, it didn’t seem like a relationship that he really wanted to be a part of anymore. And knowing Tom for as long as I have known him, I know that he’s not the type to stick around if things are bad.
“You don’t approve?” he asks, jokingly.
I shrug. “No, of course not. I mean, who am I not to approve?”
“One of my oldest friends.”
I nod. That’s true. We have been friends for a long time. A very long time. There was a time in my life when I didn’t think that there was anyone else in the world who could know me as well as Tom does. And there was another time when I didn’t think there was anyone else I wanted to let close enough to me to know as much as Tom did.
“So, the engagement is still on?” I ask.
“Yes.” He nods. “Listen, that’s another thing that I wanted to talk to you about. I’m really sorry for kissing you like that last time we talked. I don't really know what came over me the last time we spoke. It was stupid. Just some sort of nonsensical impulse. I love Carrie. I really do.”
“I know that,” I whisper. I nod and agree with him on everything that he says though, no matter how much he babbles on, tripping over his words, it’s hard to believe any of it. His words say that he’s sorry, but everything about the moment says that he’s not sorry one bit. The only thing that he’s sorry about is the fact that I pushed him away.
“Actually, I was going to call you, but since I ran into you…I’d like to invite you to a get together that Carrie’s parents are hosting for close friends and family. They have this cocktail party in the middle of early November as a way to bid farewell to the summer months and bring on the winter. They always have it before Thanksgiving and all the family holidays start.”
“Wow, that sounds…fun.”
“Yes, it is. Well, I’ve never been, but it should be fun. It’s at their house in Maine.”
“Oh,” I say. I am speaking on monosyllables because I’m trying to think of whether I can still get out of this party or maybe it’s something I should attend.
“In Maine?” I ask.
“Yes, they have this very large house, more like a compound, there, right on the water. They own like acres and it’s not just one house, it has at least three or four guesthouses on the property.”
“That sounds nice.”
“They told me I can invite whomever, and I’d really like to invite you. And Caroline.”
That’s a new one for me. I know that there was never much love lost between him and Caroline.
“And if you want to bring your…guy friend…you’re more than welcome to. You and Caroline both get plus ones.”
“It sounds wonderful,” I say after a moment. And then stop.
“But?” He fills in the words for me.
“Well, it just seems a little odd, I guess. I mean, you don't even like Caroline. And why would they want four people at the party who they don't really know?”
“That’s sort of the point. The Warrenhouses are very friendly people and they love meeting new people. Especially those with connections. So, they told me to invite anyone I want. Especially, if I knew anyone from Yale.”
I nod.
“And your guy friend…what does he do?”
We are both very well aware of the fact that he is deliberately not using the word boyfriend when referring to Aiden.
“He’s in tech,” I say coyly.
“And you said he owned a yacht? He must be doing very well.”
I nod. “He’s doing alright,” I say.
“Well, bring him along. I know that Mr. Warrenhouse would love to meet him.”
“And how do you know that?” I ask.
“Because he would love to meet anyone who owns a yacht.”
When he says that, we both crack up laughing.
“So, is that why you want me to come?” I ask. “To be your buffer with her family.”
“Um, yes, of course!” Tom says, smiling. “I’m terrified of her family. And the more people who can come who are my friends the better.”
“Even Caroline?” I ask, skeptically.
“Yes, even Caroline.” He caves. “Better to have the evil that I know than the one I don’t.”
I smile. “Well, when I pass on your invitation to her, I’ll be sure to mention that you said that.”
We both laugh again. It feels good to laugh with Tom. We used to be such great friends. We loved the same movies, books, and television shows. We could talk about everything. And then hormones and complicated relationship shit got in the way. Looking at him, laughing in front of me, I’m suddenly transported to freshman year at Yale and it feels like not a minute has elapsed since.
When we check out and Tom walks me to the door, the rain outside has dissipated and a few sun rays are peeking out from under the clouds.
“So, will you come?” Tom asks as we’re about to say goodbye. “Please?”
“When is it?”
“In a few weekends. I’ll send you all the details.”
I nod. “You really want me to come?”
“Yes! Of course, I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t.”
“Okay,” I say tentatively. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Great, that’s all I ask. Perfect.”
We stand for a moment, awkwardly unsure whether we should shake hands like perfect strangers or give each other a hug. Finally, we both decide to go for the hug and my world feels a slight bit lighter. Perhaps it is possible to be friends with a guy after all. Especially someone who has known you for as long as Tom has known me.
Chapter 19 - Ellie
When I get a surprise visitor…
I walk home along the water-soaked streets with my head in the clouds. My bag is heavy with seven books that I purchased from Strand, but I haven’t felt this light on my feet in a very long time. It’s funny how you forget how someone used to make you feel until you come face to face with him again and are reminded in the bluntest way. I no longer have the romantic feelings that I used to have for Tom. Yet, all of those feelings seemed to have somehow been replaced with feelings of nostalgia and a longing for the past. C’mon, Ellie, you’re too young to be nostalgic for the past, I say to myself crossing Broadway. You haven’t been out of college for that many years. What are you going do when you’re fifty, or seventy? Frankly, I don't really know. All I know is that there is a special place in my heart that�
��s reserved just for Tom and it will likely always be there.
When I walk up to my building, I search my bag for my keys, trying hard to avoid plopping it on the dirty sidewalk. Instead, I crouch down, take out all the books that I’ve stuffed into it, and feverishly search for the keys that will undoubtedly be in the last place I look. The inanity of that statement is, of course, not lost on me as things you lose are always in the last place you look for them, mainly because you stop looking the moment that you find them, but still.
“Lost something?” a familiar voice says from above. I look up. Even though the sun is still behind the clouds, it is still very bright out and I have to squint to look up at the man standing above me. With the brightness of the clouds behind him, I can’t make out his face, but I know exactly who it is.
“What are you doing here?” I ask with a big toothy smile on my face.
“I wanted to see you,” Aiden says. “I also wanted to see your apartment.”
“I have to warn you, we are not expecting visitors,” I say, standing up. My legs cramp up and it takes me a moment of hopping from one foot to another before I can take a step. Aiden watches me with amusement.
“It’s okay. I don't mind messes,” he says.
As we ride up the elevator, my whole body tenses up. This is the first time Aiden has ever been to my apartment. A big part of me wishes that he had given me some notice so I could actually clean up a little. The place is a total mess with clothes everywhere.
“It’s okay that I came, right?” he asks. I look into his piercing eyes. I haven’t seen him this vulnerable in a very long time. He is hurting inside and all of his pain is spilling out over the edges.
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