by Harper Bliss
Sean’s a good guy that I’ve known all my life, whom I consider my best friend. I can trust him and we have a good set-up going.
I snicker at the memory of Sean calling the new Bookends owner ‘foxy’. Personally, I haven’t had the pleasure of running into any new townsfolk that could be considered foxy. What else did he say? A mother and daughter? It must’ve been the daughter I caught a glimpse of when I looked into the store window. Usually, it’s families with two point four kids who are sick of city life that move to Donovan Grove and the surrounding towns. Usually, they don’t take over bookstores either. Mrs. Fincher might have been ready to retire, but she didn’t exactly leave a thriving business behind.
As I make my way home from Sean’s office, I keep my eyes peeled for any unfamiliar faces. Donovan Grove isn’t that small a town and there are thousands of people who live here that I don’t know, yet someone new is always easy to spot. There’s the sense of unfamiliarity in their gaze. And sometimes, oh horror, they’re so keen to make eye contact because they want to meet the locals—and walking around with Hemingway makes me an easy target. If I had my way, I’d go on my daily walk without talking to anyone, but, except for the year I thought I’d try to make it in the big city and failed miserably, I’ve lived here all my life and that automatically makes me acquainted with too many people eager for a chat.
“How’s Hemingway?” they ask.
“He doesn’t reply when I ask him,” I always think, but never say out loud.
I’m almost home and it doesn’t seem as though I’ll need my voice anymore today. Despite the too early display of Valentine’s Day eagerness, I’m happy that Bookends is reopening. I believe in supporting local businesses—being co-owner of one myself, even though ninety-five percent of our business is conducted on the internet—and having to shop online for books hasn’t been the same.
I do wonder if the ‘foxy lady’ will have any recommendations at the ready. She must be a reader. Otherwise, taking over a bookstore in a mid-size town wouldn’t make any sense at all.
I can see my house now, with its bright red front door. Every single time I approach my home, something inside me flutters. I’ve spent years and all the money I’ve ever earned on making it just right for Hemingway and me. Most days, I don’t need anything but the coziness of my house and the company of my dog.
4
Zoe
An older woman I’ve seen walk by a few times stops in front of the store window. She taps the glass with a fingertip. I wave to beckon her in, which is clearly what she wants.
The door is unlocked and she breezes inside, bringing in a gust of icy wind. Somehow, the air feels colder here than it did in Queens.
“Hi.” Her lips are stretched into a wide smile. “I’m Sherry Gunn. I just wanted to introduce myself. I’m so excited this store is reopening. For the longest time, it looked like it would be empty forever.” She offers me her hand.
“Hi Sherry. I’m Zoe Perez. Thanks so much for stopping by.” I’m just glad for the opportunity to strike up a conversation with another adult. “I’ve seen you walk by a couple of times.”
Sherry nods. “I didn’t want to disturb you before, but it looks like you’re almost ready to open.” She glances around the shop. “I love what you’ve done to the place.”
“Thank you.” Our days of unpacking and redecorating are finally paying off. “The store will open this weekend. I’m very excited. Just waiting on a few last-minute deliveries.”
“My daughter’s going to be thrilled that Bookends is back,” Sherry says. “She always has her nose in a book. She was crushed when Mrs. Fincher retired. I told her. ‘Anna,’ I said, ‘maybe this is a sign. This is your chance to own your very own bookstore.’ But she just likes to read books, not sell them.”
“In that case, I can’t wait to meet her.”
“I’m sure you will soon enough. How are you settling in? You’re new to town, aren’t you?”
“My daughter and I moved here from Queens a few weeks ago. It’s quite the change. Brooklyn’s starting at Donovan Grove High on Monday. She’s a bit nervous, as you can imagine.”
“How old is she?” Sherry asks.
“Just turned fifteen.”
“Same age as my grandson Jaden. Tell you what. I’ll try to pop into the store with him when you open on Saturday… Maybe Brooklyn would like to meet someone who goes to DG High before she starts?”
“That would be so lovely, Mrs. Gunn. I’m sure she would appreciate that.”
“Oh, please, call me Sherry. Mrs. Gunn makes me feel so ancient.” She cocks her head. “It’s a personal point of pride for me that Donovan Grove is a welcoming town. Have you seen the noticeboard in the grocery store? Every few months, we try to get people who are new to town together at Lenny’s, the local bar, which is just down the street from here.”
“Wow.” I haven’t seen the sign. I’ve been far too occupied with getting accustomed to a new store—where you still pay an actual cashier at the checkout. “That’s so lovely. Do a lot of people turn up to these things?”
“It depends. We don’t get that much new blood into Donovan Grove anymore these days. The odd family escaping the rat race, perhaps, but they tend to keep more to themselves. Parents with young children in a new town are usually quite busy. But if and when we do have someone move to our lovely town, we treat them well. Most people who leave the city prefer the more picturesque towns, or somewhere smaller than here. Somehow, the Grove is always somewhat overlooked. But we do our best.”
Sherry is a well of information. And an excellent first point of contact in Donovan Grove, it would appear. “I’ll see you at the next meet-up then.”
“You’ll see me before that. On Saturday. For the grand opening.” Sherry looks around with what I think is approval.
“Of course. I hope Jaden will make it. Is he your daughter Anna’s son?”
“Oh, no. Anna doesn’t have any children. Jaden is my son Jamie’s child. He has a younger boy named Jeremy as well. His wife’s name’s Janet. They like the letter J in that family, as you can tell. They even have a cat named Jazz.” She shakes her head briefly.
I smile at her. “I can’t wait to meet them all.”
“Anna’s not going to be fond of that big heart on your window, though. Every single year, the same speech. Even when she was still with Cynthia, she would rail against it. It’s kind of her thing. She simply cannot stand Valentine’s Day and being who she is, she can’t just let it slide.” Sherry straightens her posture. “But they’re my children and I must accept them, quirks and all.” Sherry gives me the kind of smile that implies she would accept anything from her children. The kind of smile that radiates motherly love—and that seems to extend to new people in her town as well.
I decide on the spot that I like Sherry and her very forward but welcoming way.
“I’ll let you get on with things. Unless you need a hand?”
“That’s very kind of you, Sherry. But as you can see, we’re as good as ready to go. But thank you so much for stopping by. I really appreciate it.”
“I think you’ll do well here,” she says. “In fact, I know it.” With that, she turns and is out of the door, stepping into the freezing cold without hesitation.
It’s only when Sherry has been gone a few minutes and I’ve had the chance to mull over our conversation in my head that I realize she just outed her daughter to me. Anna has an ex-girlfriend named Cynthia. No children. Sherry basically gave me the lowdown on her entire family in the span of five minutes—and from what I understand, her daughter isn’t straight. Things are looking up already—and I haven’t even opened the store yet.
With a spring in my step, I start stacking the books in the Self-Help section.
5
Anna
“Oh, Anna,” Mom says, then stops. It’s as if she can only stop herself from saying something when the words are already coming out of her mouth.
I know what she was about to s
ay, however. It’s only recently that she has stopped expressing utter despair over how I choose to dress and style—or rather not style—my hair. She cuts her gaze away from me and I ignore her unsaid comment. I’m nervous enough as it is. I’m not sure why my mother insisted I join her at the opening of Bookends—it’s not as though I received a formal invitation or anything. And a gathering of more than two people I don’t know will always agitate me. But she insisted and, over the years, I’ve learned to compromise—to give her what little I have to offer as a daughter. Showing up to Bookends is, in many other ways, easy enough. I walk past here every day and I love bookshops. So much so that my curiosity almost wins over my anxiety.
Until I spot, in the corner opposite me, perusing the Young Adult section, the last person I want to see.
“Oh shit. Cynthia’s here.”
“You two still get along, don’t you?” Mom says. I’m surprised she’s even listening—surprised that she hasn’t yet wandered off to mingle because, unlike me, she must know every single person here.
“I wouldn’t call it that.”
“It’s been two years since you guys broke up, Anna,” Mom says. “You should be able to deal with bumping into her unexpectedly.”
I just nod, even though I disagree. Cynthia is quite possibly the kindest and most patient person I’ve ever met, yet I managed to drive her away. I will never be able to deal with my failure as a partner and seeing her will always remind me of that.
“That woman over there.” Mom points at a woman balancing a tray of cupcakes on her hand while smiling widely at everyone she turns to. She looks very glossy—dark, bouncy hair like she’s just stepped out of a shampoo commercial and perfect, light brown skin—in a long, flowy dress. Much too glam for Donovan Grove. Or maybe her appearance makes me feel extra frumpy. “She’s the new owner. Her name’s Zoe. I met her the other the day.”
“Of course you did.” If anything, I admire my mother’s ability to strike up a conversation with anyone. It’s just a pity that none of that ever rubbed off on me.
“She’s lovely. I must introduce you. I imagine you’ll become one of her best customers.”
“Sure.” I always cringe when my mother wants to introduce me to someone. And I haven’t forgotten my first glimpse of the new Bookends. The big sappy heart painted onto the window way too soon—and too inappropriately. I wonder if a woman so fond of something as inauthentic as Valentine’s Day can ever recommend a book I will enjoy reading.
Just then, I see Cynthia is making her way toward us.
“Stick around,” I whisper to my mother. I know it makes me sound like an insecure teenager, but that’s actually pretty much how I feel. “Cynthia’s coming over.”
“Sherry.” Cynthia greets my mother first—something I can hardly blame her for. “How lovely to see you. It’s been too long.”
They hug as though they are long lost friends. Cynthia and I were together for the better part of six years, so in a way, they are.
“Anna. Hi,” Cynthia says. “How are you?”
“Hi.” I’m not one for exuberant greetings. Luckily, Cynthia knows this about me and she keeps her distance. “I’m fine. You?”
“I’m elated Bookends is reopening. Have you met Zoe?” Cynthia asks.
“Can’t say that I have.”
Cynthia narrows her eyes and gives me a look I can’t decipher. “We should get together some time, Anna. It’s been too long. We should catch up.”
“What an excellent idea,” Mom chimes in, making me regret asking her to stay. She still clings to the idle hope that Cynthia and I will get back together, even though it’s been two years since we broke up.
“Sure. We’ll set something up.” I don’t mean it, but I know that’s what I’m supposed to say. Why would I open old wounds by meeting up with my ex?
“I’d like to talk to you about something,” Cynthia says. “Something I’d like you to hear directly from me.” She looks at her watch. “Want to go for a drink after this?”
“Hm, I don’t think I can. Hemingway needs—”
My mother clears her throat. “I can take Hemingway for a walk.”
“Why don’t we walk Hemingway together?” Cynthia asks.
“Hi. Welcome to Bookends.” The woman my mother pointed out to me earlier has appeared next to us, a huge smile plastered on her face. “Welcome back, Sherry,” she says, instantly endearing herself to my mother.
Mom introduces us, and for a minute it’s an awkward jumble of limply exchanged handshakes. Then, somehow, both Cynthia and Mom have their backs to us—someone they both know must have just walked in—and I find myself standing in front of Zoe on my own.
“Your mother promised me you’d be one of my best customers,” Zoe says. Even her lips are shiny. Everything about her is so sparkly, I fear I might be blinded.
“I used to come here all the time.” I know I should at least try a hint of eye contact, so I make the effort. Zoe’s eyes are dark, but that’s all I get from the first glimpse, before I feel compelled to look away.
“Then I hope to see you again soon,” Zoe says.
“Are dogs welcome?” I ask.
For some reason, Zoe thinks this is a funny question. “Sure. Of course. I’m more of a cat person myself, but do bring your dog. Does he like to read?” She chuckles.
I chuckle along while suppressing an urgent question of my own: What’s with the obnoxious heart in your window display?
“I’ll stop by soon,” I promise and watch as Zoe continues her lap through the crowd that has gathered in her new shop.
I’m still recovering from the brightness of her smile, and all of her appearance, when my mother turns back toward me.
“Even the mayor’s here,” she says. “Quite the turn-out.”
“I think I’m going to go now.”
“Already?” She gives me that concerned look I know so well.
“I’ve been here long enough. And I’ll be back.”
“Jamie isn’t here yet with the kids,” she says, followed by, “All right, sweetie. See you tomorrow.” She kisses me very lightly on the cheek. “Enjoy your chat with Cynthia.”
Surely she must know there will be nothing at all enjoyable about that chat for me. I wish it was over already, although I am curious as to what Cynthia has to tell me. It must be quite something if it’s not suitable for an email, which is how we mainly dealt with each other after the break-up.
I cast one last glance into Bookends. Zoe stands out as though a spotlight is following her around, making sure all attention is focused on her. She’s talking to the mayor now, engrossed in conversation with her as if she has known her forever. She’s one of those, I think, as I walk home, my fists dug deep in my more shabby-than-chic pants pockets. One of those people that are the absolute opposite of me.
6
Zoe
“That went well.” I turn to Brooklyn, who’s collecting paper cups and plates.
“Not that many books sold.”
I put her in charge of the register so I could focus on building a rapport with the people who stopped by today.
“Today wasn’t about selling books. It was about networking.” I kick off my heels because my feet are killing me. “Speaking of… you seemed to get along well with that boy.” I waggle my eyebrows at her while I sit down on the bottom step of the stairs that lead to our apartment.
“Who?” Brooklyn tries to sound nonchalant, but I know the inflections in my daughter’s voice like the back of my hand.
“That cute blond guy who kept hovering around the cash register. Did he at least buy something?”
“Oh, Jaden. He bought a card for his grandpa’s birthday.”
“Jaden?” The name sounds familiar. “Is he Sherry’s grandson?”
Brooklyn shrugs. “I didn’t really inquire about his family tree, Mom.”
“Does he go to DG High?”
“Yeah.” She drops the garbage bag she’s been filling. “He said I’d see
him there on Monday.”
My lips draw into a smile. I pat the space next to me. “Come sit with your old Mom for a bit.”
The look on her face is reluctant, but the way she leans into me after she sits is the opposite.
“Thank you for moving here with me. Doing this with you from the get-go makes it extra special.”
“I suppose it’ll be all right.”
She has certainly changed her tune. She must really like Jaden. I throw my arm around her. “How about we clean this up tomorrow? Go for a walk through our new town and pick up a pizza?”
“Why don’t you just say you don’t feel like cooking me a nutritious meal.” Brooklyn leans her head on my shoulder. It’s been a long time since she has done that so I enjoy the moment—it might be the very last one ever. She’s growing up so quickly now. Back in Queens, when Eve and I would share custody, she would come home after a few days and I could swear she didn’t look the same as when she’d left for Eve’s. That she had grown an inch. That something undefinable about her face had changed. Three more years and she’ll be going to college—that’s what’s hardest to believe of all.
“I very much don’t.”
“Pizza it is then.” Brooklyn doesn’t make to get up and we sit in silence like that for a while, overlooking the store that will be a big part of our new life.
It’s Saturday evening and even though it’s cold, the weather has cleared up, and I find myself nodding at quite a few people on our impromptu walk. Brooklyn might be on the way to making a friend and I have started breathing new life into Bookends. What a difference a day can make.
As we walk in silence, Brooklyn’s arm hooked through mine, I wonder what Eve is doing now. If she regrets leaving early—leaving her daughter in the lurch like that. I also wonder how someone you’ve known forever can suddenly change on you like that. Or was it not that suddenly and perhaps I just missed all the signs? Eve and I divorced when Brooklyn was only ten, but for her sake, we always tried to get along. We had Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners together. We even went on a trip to Mexico once, although that soon proved to be an unrepeatable experience.
