by Harper Bliss
As Brooklyn aged, she needed us less, and we spent less time together, but I never once got the feeling that Eve just wanted to up and leave.
“You’re leaving too,” she told me during a heated argument.
“To a town not even a two-hour drive from the city,” I countered. “As opposed to a fifteen-hour flight to China.”
Brooklyn was always going to spend her weekends here with me—
“Weren’t they at the store earlier as well?” Brooklyn pulls me from my reverie. “They’re so obviously lesbians. They didn’t strike me as being a couple.”
Coming toward us are Anna and Cynthia, flanked by a golden-brown dog with fluffy fur that curls at the edges.
“I don’t think they’re together.” I remember what Sherry told me about her daughter and her ex, Cynthia. “They used to be.”
“This might be as good as it gets for you, Mom.” Even though I’m not looking at her, I can imagine the grin on Brooklyn’s face perfectly. “This town can’t exactly be crawling with lesbians.”
I laugh and shake my head. “Don’t you worry about that, baby.”
“But I do. Moving to a place like this as a single lesbian… what are the odds you’ll ever find someone again?”
“That’s very dramatic, even for a hormonal teenager.” Anna and Cynthia are approaching. It feels different than seeing any of the other guests again. I shake off the thought. Just because they’re lesbians, shouldn’t make it different at all. But I don’t think it’s just that. Even though we only exchanged a few phrases at the party, I sensed an unusual energy coming from Anna that made me curious to get to know her better.
They seem to be wrapped up in conversation. They might not see Brooklyn and me at all.
“Don’t tell me you’ve never considered it, Mom.”
What I am considering at this very moment is that my daughter is not the one I should be having this conversation with. I need to make some friends in this town, people I can lament the possible lack of lesbians with over a glass of white wine. For that reason alone, I’d like to say hello to Anna and Cynthia. They’re obviously still on friendly terms. Maybe we can form our own little lesbian gang of three.
“It was not my prime concern when moving here.” I hold onto Brooklyn a little closer.
We’re about to walk past them.
“Hi,” Brooklyn shouts, and stops walking so abruptly I nearly bump right into her.
“Oh, hey,” Cynthia says.
Anna just smiles stiffly.
“Is this the cutie you want to bring to the store?” I ask. Brooklyn has already crouched down to pet the dog.
“This is Hemingway,” Anna says.
“Very suitable dog for a bookstore,” Cynthia adds.
We all chuckle. I look down and see that Brooklyn and Hemingway might have fallen head over heels in love already. He has his front paws on her knees and his tail is wagging out of control.
“He’s always welcome,” I say to Anna, who smiles shyly. Under the feeble light of the streetlamp, her eyes gleam an odd kind of blue with hints of gray and green.
“Has he fathered any puppies that need a home?” Brooklyn has managed to stand back up.
Hemingway looks up at her longingly.
“His procreation days are long behind him, I’m afraid,” Anna says. “But if you’re looking to adopt a dog, I can point you in the right direction. There are—”
“Oh,” I interrupt her. “We’re really not. We’re just settling in.”
“And you’re more of a cat person,” Anna says.
“Right.” I’d forgotten I’d said that. Although, in the handsome company of Hemingway, I might be easily swayed into a more canine-loving direction.
Then Hemingway starts pulling on his leash. “Dogs can be as much in charge as cats,” Anna says.
We say our goodbyes and they continue their walk.
“So?” Brooklyn asks. “If you had to choose between the two of them, who would you pick?”
“What kind of a question is that?” I loop my arm through hers.
“A logical one,” Brooklyn counters.
“One I won’t dignify with an answer.”
“Oh, come on, Mom. Humor me. It’s the least you can do after dragging me out here to the middle of nowhere.”
“First of all, Donovan Grove is hardly the middle of nowhere. More than fifteen thousand people live here.” When I say it, I realize it’s a far cry from Queens. “And maybe you feel like I dragged you here, but even so, that doesn’t give you the right to ask me inappropriate questions.”
“I still don’t see what’s so inappropriate about my question,” Brooklyn protests. “But fine, don’t tell me.”
For a brief moment, I do consider humoring my daughter, who did follow me out here for the only reason that she is my child and I wanted to start over. While Cynthia might be considered more conventionally attractive, in a wholesome, girl-next-door way, my instinctive answer to Brooklyn’s question would be Anna. There is nothing conventional about her appearance: shortish, dark hair that looks self-cut and finger-combed, a slightly crooked mouth that doesn’t seem to smile much, and a definite preference for comfort clothing. But it’s this unconventionality that makes Anna more interesting to me. “They both look very lovely,” I say, to not be too much of a spoilsport.
“I’d go for the one with the dog. He’s so adorable.” I love the lightness in Brooklyn’s voice. An unexpected sense of warmth fills me at her statement, as if I was somehow waiting for her approval of my choice between Anna and Cynthia.
“He sure is. But don’t go getting any ideas into your head about adopting a dog.”
“Isn’t that supposed to be a perk of living in the countryside? Having pets?”
“This is hardly the countryside.”
“Could have fooled me.” Brooklyn sticks her nose up and sniffs. “I believe I smell pizza.”
7
Anna
“Are you getting any vibes off her?” Cynthia asks.
“Off Zoe?” I have my eyes on Hemingway, who has caught the scent of something. “No. I really don’t.”
“I’m not sure,” Cynthia says. “I’m getting some.”
“I’m sure we’ll find out soon enough. I couldn’t help but notice how Tom Granger kept invading her personal space at the opening earlier. It’s only a matter of time before he asks her out.”
“And who can resist Tom Granger?” Cynthia scoffs.
Hemingway halts to stick his nose in a bunch of leaves, so we stop as well.
“Do you know he asked me out a few months after we broke up?” she says.
“Oh, the ignorance of some people.”
“He said, and I quote, ‘that I might want to try a man, now that I was single again’.” She snickers, then her snicker changes into something I can’t quite define. “Turns out,” Cynthia continues, “he wasn’t too far off the mark.”
“What do you mean?” Hemingway has finished his intense sniffing session and is guiding us forward again.
“I mean that I’ve met someone, Anna. Someone unexpected. A man.”
I’m the one who stops in my tracks now. “You what? Who?” I’m not sure I’m understanding this correctly.
“It just happened. I suddenly found myself attracted to him.” Cynthia sounds as though she needs to convince herself of this astonishing fact as much as me. “It surprised me as well, but you know… It happens.”
I start walking again. My brain is frantically trying to process the information Cynthia has just given me. “I didn’t know you were bi,” I say, because I don’t know what else to say. My muscles have tensed up and I find myself falling out of step.
“I didn’t really know either, but here we are. It’s never too late to find out something new about yourself.” When I look at her, she has a big smile on her face.
“Is it someone I know?”
She nods. “Before I tell you, I need you to promise me you won’t freak out.”
“No, silly.” She inhales deeply, as though calming her nerves, yet there’s something very serene about her face as well. “It’s John Macklehorn.”
“Why would I freak out over that?”
“Because we’ve both known him basically all our lives and… it’s all a bit weird, I guess.”
“It is a bit weird. I mean, were you ever attracted to him when we were still together?”
“No, of course not. This has nothing to do with us, Anna. We’ve been over for so long now.”
“Is it the shortage of lesbians in this town?” It’s only a half-joke.
Cynthia chuckles. “No.”
“Sean just made a new website for John’s business. Online store and the whole shebang.”
“I know.”
“Thanks for telling me.” I still don’t know what to say. Perhaps I should express that I’m happy for her, except that I’m not entirely sure that I am. I should still say it, though. “How long have you been seeing each other?”
“A couple of months. We wanted to go to the Bookends opening together this afternoon, but I figured you’d be there, and I wanted to tell you first. You might see us around town together from now on.”
“I’m really happy for you, Cyn.”
“Thanks.” She bumps her shoulder lightly against mine.
“Mom’s not going to be very pleased. You were always the ideal daughter-in-law for her.”
“She has Janet.”
“That’s what I keep telling her, but the woman will not rest until I’m married, I’m afraid. She believes it’s vital to my happiness that I’m with someone.”
“Is it?”
It’s strange—and hard—being asked that question by my ex-partner. “No, I think we both know it’s not what I want. I sabotaged our relationship toward the end.”
“You were going through a lot of stuff, Anna.”
“Aren’t we all?”
Cynthia is the one who stops now. She comes to stand right in front of me. “No. Not like you. I can see that now.”
“I never wanted any special treatment.” We’re skirting dangerous conversation territory. Soon, the connection between my brain and my mouth will short-circuit again. The only thing I can think of doing is to start walking again.
When Cynthia catches up with me, I say, “This isn’t about me, anyway.”
“Maybe you and I and John can get together some time?” she asks.
“Maybe,” I say, already dismissing the idea in my head.
“He’s just such a sweet guy, Anna.”
“I know he is.” Sometimes I forget how sweet Cynthia is herself.
“I just want to make sure that you don’t see me being with John as some kind of reflection on you,” she says. We seem to have stepped up the pace somewhat.
“What? No, of course I don’t. Why would I?”
“I don’t know. I’ve had trouble before figuring out how your mind works.”
So have I, I want to say, but I bite back the comment—and the self-pity of it. “I don’t feel less of a lesbian because my ex is with a man now.”
“Can we please stop for a minute.” Cynthia doesn’t wait to do as she has requested and I find myself having to turn back.
“I’m sorry. It’s just… I’m having a little trouble picturing you with John, that’s all. It’s unexpected. Of course I knew you wouldn’t be alone for too long. Someone as lovely and warm and wonderful as you. Maybe that’s what I’m having an issue with right now.” Maybe I’m just plain old jealous because my ex has firmly moved on.
“But, Anna,” she says, “you weren’t hoping that you and I might—”
“No, no, don’t be silly,” I interrupt her. “Of course not.”
“You’re not as hard to love as you think you are, you know,” Cynthia says. “I sincerely hope you realize that.”
“I’m really not looking for a relationship, Cyn. And I am genuinely happy for you. Even though, yes, I’m a little jealous. I guess it’s normal. I did love you for a long time. I still have very warm feelings for you and you still mean a great deal to me.”
“Same here. That’s why I needed you to hear this from me.”
“Okay.” I shuffle my weight from one foot to the other. It’s too cold to just stand around like this. “I think I’ll go home now. I need to process.”
“All right, but promise me that when I invite you to spend some time with us, you will at least consider it.”
Cynthia knows me all too well. “I promise.” I do mean it this time because when she looks at me like that, I have no choice but to mean what I say. And I only have to consider it. I don’t have to promise to actually be witness to Cynthia’s new-found romance.
“Thank you.” She takes a step toward me and draws me into a clumsy hug, the thickness of our winter coats a heavy barrier between us.
“Have a good night,” I say.
She crouches down and gives Hemingway a quick cuddle. Then, my dog and I watch her walk off—probably on her way to meet John.
8
Zoe
Bookends is closed on Mondays, which meant I could devote all my attention to accompanying Brooklyn on her first day at her new school, including having freshly baked cookies ready for when she got back, as though it was her first day in elementary school.
Today, Tuesday, is the first real day the store is open for business. Brooklyn’s no longer around to distract me. All the shelves have been stacked. For the first time since moving to Donovan Grove, it all feels very real—and I have time to consider if I made the right choice, uprooting our lives like this.
A few people stop by the window display, but don’t come in. I can’t judge the future of the store on what happens during the first day, but still, every time a shadow darkens the window, my heart skips a beat.
I pour myself cup after cup of coffee, which doesn’t promote calmness of mind. As I putter around the shop, moving things around because I can’t help it, I wonder what my day would have been like if I had stayed in New York. It would have been an ordinary late-January day. And I know for a fact that, even though it’s only Tuesday, I would have been looking forward to Friday already. About a year ago, there came a day when I realized I just couldn’t do it anymore. Go to that office day after day. So I consider myself lucky to be here, even though everything about my future is insecure. It’s much better than the rat race I found myself in.
When Amazon eventually decided against opening headquarters in New York, I didn’t see it as a defeat. It simply accelerated my decision to leave because every day that went by, I felt like I belonged there less.
Do I belong here? I ask my empty shop. What folly to take over a brick-and-mortar bookstore in this age of e-commerce. Ninety-nine percent of the people I told my plans to, gave me the same kind of warning. I’m not here to prove them wrong, although it would make me feel good if I could do it. If I could make this place work.
There’s a shadow by the window again. I send whoever is looking in a big smile, even though I’m not sure they’ll actually be able to see it.
And then, as if my worrying has conjured him, the door opens, and in walks my first potential customer of the day.
“Welcome to Bookends,” I say, trying to curb the enthusiasm in my voice. “Let me know if you need any help.” I don’t recognize the man who has just walked in.
“I heard you have your Valentine’s Day stuff out already. I figured I’d get a head start.”
“Excellent idea.” I walk over to him. “I’m Zoe, by the way. Nice to meet you.”
He has a slightly startled look on his face. He’s probably not used to such an enthusiastic greeting when going into a store. It’s hard for me to hold myself back at the best of times, but today of all days, I have energy in abundance—and all that coffee isn’t helping.
Then he extends his hand. “Sean Dent
on. Pleasure to meet you, Zoe.” His face breaks into a smile as I shake his hand.
“What’s your significant other into?” I ask, not wanting to presume anything about the gender of his partner.
“Cathy’s pretty traditional. A card and some chocolates should do. My work wife”—he curls his fingers into air quotes—“on the other hand, despises Valentine’s Day with a vengeance, so I just want to get her something to tick her off. Just for my own amusement, really.”
I chuckle. “They’re both very lucky ladies, then.”
“Anna won’t speak to me for days, but that will just add to my glee.”
“Anna?” I ask. “Short black hair? The most adorable dog called Hemingway?”
“That’s the one. We co-own a business. Last week, when you’d just painted that heart on the window, she was already fuming about it.”
“Oh.” I guess I shouldn’t expect Anna at the store until Valentine’s Day is over. “Well.” I quickly regroup, because what do I care that one of Donovan Grove’s lesbians hates Valentine’s Day? It’s completely according to expectations. Lesbians aren’t usually very big on consumer-driven, hetero-normative holidays. They prefer to recycle their garbage instead of giving their partners flowers. “It will be easy to find something for your wife. I’m going to have to think about what you can get Anna.”
“You mean you’re going to help me get on Anna’s nerves?” Sean looks as though he can hardly believe it.
“Of course.”
“All I ever got from Mrs. Fincher was a speech to ‘leave that poor girl alone’,” he says, while glancing around. “She didn’t have such a vast array of possible gifts on display either. In fact, she hardly had any.”
