by E. C. Myers
Unless she already knew about it. Mary was her best friend; she would surely have told Jena about her big double date by now. And Jena had seemed sad when he last saw her. Ephraim closed his eyes. He was screwed.
“Hello? Ephraim?” Nathan said. Ephraim had completely tuned out Nathan's excited babbling.
“What?”
“I was asking you if we should get them something. Flowers? Candy?”
“They want us to bring them presents. Is that normal for a first date?” Ephraim asked.
“Oh, of course! Saturday's their birthday.”
“How do you know that?”
“Never underestimate the value of Internet research.”
“I think that's more commonly referred to as stalking.”
“This is huge. This isn't just dinner—this is their birthday dinner. They must be really into us.”
So now Ephraim had to buy presents for Mary and Shelley, and he was already practically broke. He was tempted to wish for some money, but he didn't know what other mischief that might get him into.
“Aren't you psyched?”
“Yeah,” Ephraim said. “This is going to be something.”
Louie's was a two-star restaurant with four-star aspirations. The white linen tablecloths and little candle bowls at every table confirmed Ephraim's fear that this dinner was going to bankrupt him. Fortunately, now that his mother had an office job she was apparently giving Ephraim an allowance, and she'd advanced him a couple of weeks’ worth for tonight.
“I'm glad I dressed up,” Nathan said. He was wearing a suit, complete with a red and blue striped tie, gray jacket, and matching slacks; he looked like his father. Ephraim had gone more casual with a brown sports jacket over his faded blue t-shirt, corduroys, and black Chucks. Yet somehow Nathan carried off his look without effort, while Ephraim still felt like he was trying too hard. Ephraim had taken a long time with his appearance—too long, considering he wasn't out to impress Mary.
“So which twin do you want?” Nathan said. “I think we should work that out before we sit down.”
“I don't want either of them. I like Jena, remember? Besides, I thought you wanted Shelley.”
“I have dibs on the thin one.”
Ephraim gaped at him. “There is no thin one. I mean they're both thin. They're the same…width.”
“Then I suppose we could just flip a coin.” Nathan winked. “Hey, where is it, by the way? Do you keep it with you all the time?”
Ephraim slipped his hand into his pocket to check on the coin. It was still in its plastic bag.
“You're with Shelley and I'll take Mary,” Ephraim said.
“I knew you liked her.”
“Just for tonight. To help you out.”
A maître d’ led them to the rear of the restaurant. Mary and Shelley sat at a table, sipping soda from wine glasses.
“Happy birthday,” Ephraim said. He offered them a box wrapped in SpongeBob SquarePants paper. “Sorry about the wrapping paper. It's all they had.”
“It's perfect! We love SpongeBob SquarePants,” Shelley said.
Ephraim winced.
“So do I,” Nathan said. “It's from me too, by the way.” Ephraim clenched his jaw. He was doing this for his friend, he reminded himself. He'd let Nathan share the credit, even if he never paid Ephraim for his half of the present. As long as it made Shelley like Nathan, and got Nathan off his back.
Ephraim sat down across from Mary, and Nathan slid into the booth next to him.
“Should we open it now?” Mary asked, patting the present on the table between her and Shelley.
“If you want,” Ephraim said.
Each girl took a corner and tore at the wrapping paper, their pink lacquered nails flashing in the light from the mini crystal chandelier above the table. Beneath the wrapping was a plain gray cardboard box. They opened it in tandem, looked inside, then frowned.
“You got us statues of…” Shelley said.
“…naked men?” Mary said.
Nathan coughed, spraying bread crumbs over the tablecloth. “What?” he said.
“They're Castor and Pollux,” Ephraim explained. “The Gemini twins. Because you're Gemini, and…uh, twins.”
“Actually, we're Cancers,” Shelley said.
“Oh,” Ephraim said.
“But we're on the cusp,” she added.
“You know what they say about Cancers,” Nathan said.
“What?” Shelley asked.
“They have a way of growing on you.”
Shelley giggled, but Mary rolled her eyes. Ephraim exchanged a sympathetic glance with her.
Mary and Shelley each lifted out one of the statues. They were actually made of plaster, painted to look like granite. The Roman men wore laurels in their hair and small loincloths. Each of them bore a torch: the one on the left had one in his left hand turned downward, while the one on the right held his slung over his right shoulder.
“They're bookends,” Ephraim said.
“Thanks, Ephraim,” Mary said.
“Nathan helped me pick them out,” Ephraim said. “In fact, they were his idea.” He smirked when Nathan shot a look at him, his cheek still bulging with bread. He looked like a blond hamster.
The twins packed up the bookends and moved the box and torn wrapping paper to the bench beside them.
“We love them,” Shelley said. “That was very thoughtful.” She sat up straighter in her seat, which pushed her chest out and over the table. Nathan choked and reached for his water glass.
“Nice outfits, by the way,” Ephraim said. They each wore a light-blue shirtdress with the top two buttons undone. They probably couldn't fasten them even if they wanted to, he thought.
“We always get new clothes for our birthday,” Mary said.
“So they're kind of like your ‘birthday suits’?” Nathan said, his voice scratchy. Ephraim gave him a withering look.
“Why do you still dress alike?” Ephraim said. “Do you like it when people can't tell you apart?”
“Some people can tell us apart,” Shelley said. “Our parents can. Jena can.” She shrugged.
“If someone really knows us, they won't have any problems with it,” Mary said.
“Plus it's fun to mess with people's heads,” Shelley said.
“Are you two completely identical?” Nathan said.
Mary wrinkled her nose. “Oh, like we haven't heard that one before.”
Shelley batted her eyelashes. “Maybe you and Ephraim can compare notes later,” she said.
Mary shoved her. “Don't encourage him,” she said.
Shelley actually seemed to like Nathan. If that wasn't proof of magic, Ephraim didn't know what was.
Nathan leaned forward. “I've always wondered—”
“Shut up,” Ephraim whispered.
“But—” Nathan said.
“Trust me,” Ephraim said.
Mary and Ephraim exchanged sympathetic glances again.
“You're no fun,” Nathan and Shelley said at the same time. They glanced at each other in surprise then giggled.
Then Mary surprised Ephraim by winking at him. “We aren't completely identical,” she said in a soft voice. At his shocked expression she wiggled the fingers of both hands at him. “Different fingerprints.”
Ephraim laughed.
The waiter swept in. “Ready to order?” he said, pen poised over a little pad.
Ephraim knew Mary and Shelley were different people, but it was still unexpected when they each ordered something different: fettucini with alfredo sauce for Mary, and chicken parmigiana for Shelley.
“And if you couldn't tell already,” Mary said, looking at Nathan pointedly. “We have pretty different tastes too.”
Ephraim got the spaghetti carbonara, and Nathan ordered chicken parmigiana, even though Ephraim knew he hated cheese.
Nathan raised his eyebrows at Shelley. “I guess we're food twins.”
Mary sighed heavily.
“So you're ta
king Jena's job at the library, Ephraim?” Shelley said. Mary jabbed her elbow into her sister's side.
“Ow! Sorry, I forgot—” Mary elbowed her into silence.
Nathan smiled. “Hey, since you're twins, do you feel each other's pain?”
“Shut up, Nathan!” Ephraim said. He turned to Shelley. “What? I'm doing what? Where's Jena going?”
There was silence, broken only by the waiter bringing their plates of food over. Ephraim pushed his pasta around his plate with his fork.
“Where's Jena going?” he asked again.
Mary looked down at her plate. “We thought you knew. She told us you agreed to fill in for her job. We just didn't want to bring it up at dinner, since this is a happy occasion.” She glared pointedly at Shelley.
“Why is she leaving?” Nathan asked.
“Mr. Kim just got a job in California.”
“California?” Ephraim felt like a long thread of spaghetti was caught in his throat. He couldn't get enough air.
“L.A. It's a big promotion for him. They're moving next week.”
“Bummer,” Nathan said. “Isn't she like your best friend?”
Mary stared like she was trying to burn him with her eyes.
“That won't change because of a few thousand miles,” Shelley said.
“Well, you can always hang out with me,” Nathan said. “Us.” Ephraim lowered his head.
“Are you all right?” Mary stretched her hand across the table to him.
He pulled his hand out of reach. “Yeah.” He rested it in his lap, pressing his fingers against the coin in his pants pocket.
Shelley quickly changed the subject, turning her attention to Nathan. Ephraim suffered silently through dinner, listening to Nathan's stupid attempts at humor and Shelley's giggled responses. He'd made that wish and given up Jena as a result…for this?
Mary didn't seem to have much fun either, picking at her food and stealing quick glances at Ephraim. He felt bad that he was likely ruining her birthday, but he didn't have anything to say. He didn't feel up to forced conversation. He had only two thoughts on his mind.
Jena was going to leave.
He couldn't let her go.
Ephraim woke up on the couch, his head wedged between the cushion and the back. He rubbed his face and felt the texture of the couch cushion mapped onto his cheek.
“‘Morning.” A male voice spoke softly by the front door.
Ephraim bolted up and felt a stab of pain in his stiff neck.
A man stood by the front door, slipping his right foot into a black Oxford. A bald spot glinted on the top of his head as he bent to tie the laces.
The man looked up as he crammed his other foot into its shoe. “I'm Jim. You must be Ephraim.” Horn-rimmed glasses slid down his nose, and he pushed them back up. He looked like a flabbier, balder Clark Kent. “This is awkward, huh?”
“Hi,” Ephraim said. Jim didn't look like his mother's type at all, not that he knew what that might be. He'd expected him to be more like his father, but since that hadn't exactly worked out he couldn't blame her for going for someone different. Completely different.
Jim stood up and straightened his tie. “We can talk about this if you want.”
Ephraim shook his head. “No, no. It's none of my business.” He was too confused to process all this right now. He didn't want to think about his mother bringing a guy home.
“I don't think that's true.”
“I'd really rather not know, thanks.”
Cartoon gunfire drew Ephraim's attention to the television. Bugs Bunny ran across the screen, bullets flying after him.
“I hope you don't mind, I changed the channel,” Jim said.
Ephraim had come home after dinner and zoned out in front of the television, his thoughts running in circles. They hadn't had cable before Ephraim's last wish—maybe it was a benefit of his mother's new job, whatever it was—so he'd just channel-surfed until he fell asleep.
“You still watch cartoons?” Ephraim yawned.
“Constantly. You don't? There's fresh coffee in the pot, by the way. Looks like you need some.” Jim slung a laptop case over one shoulder and his suit jacket over an arm. “Are you allowed to drink coffee?”
“Allowed? It's mandated. Thanks. So, I guess I'll be seeing you around?”
Jim grinned. “That's up to your mother.”
“I'll put in a good word for you, for what it's worth,” Ephraim said. He'd seen how happy that date had made his mother, and it had obviously gone very well—Ephraim wasn't going to think about that—and so far Jim seemed like a decent guy.
“Your opinion is worth quite a lot with Maddy,” Jim said. “She talks about you frequently. Well, I should be running off to work now.”
“But I thought you two worked together? Why don't you—oh. Yeah.”
Jim nodded. “I already have to explain wearing the same suit two days in a row, but I think I'll pick up a cheap new tie on my way in. It's been a long time since I did this kind of thing. Really. I don't make a habit of it.”
“Bye, Jim.” Ephraim smiled.
Jim let himself out of the apartment with a friendly wave.
Ephraim hopped into the shower and changed into mostly clean clothes quickly. While he was helping himself to coffee, his mother wandered into the kitchen in a loose satin robe over a red lace slip, which was sliding down dangerously.
“Mom!” Ephraim averted his eyes.
“Oh, Ephraim.” She closed her robe and staggered toward the coffee pot.
“So. I met your…friend,” Ephraim said.
She blinked. “Honey, I'm sorry about that. I wanted to introduce you two properly.” She leaned against the counter. “Now I'm embarrassed. I'm the worst mother in the world.”
“No, Mom. You're far from it.” He'd seen her at her worst.
“This is some lesson I'm teaching you—”
“Don't worry, I'm not going to start bringing guys home.”
“I was wondering about you and Nathan for a while.” She smiled.
“Mom.” Ephraim sighed. “I like girls, but I'm not going to bring one home with me anytime soon.” Especially since Jena was about to move across the country.
“Good, because if you do, I'll ground you forever.”
“That's much better parenting. Thanks.”
“Jim's gone? I didn't even hear him get up.” She looked at the clock over the refrigerator and groaned. “Oh no, I'm going to be late for work.”
“You like him, then?” Ephraim tried to sound casual.
She took the mug out of his hands and sipped from it. “So far, I do.” She lowered the cup and looked at him thoughtfully. “When did you get in last night? There may be a grounding in your future after all.”
“I have to go,” Ephraim said.
“Oh?” She looked at the clock again. “Right, you're starting at the library today. Nice of you to fill in for your friend. Looks like we'll both be late for work. I suppose we can grill each other on our love lives later.” She emptied the rest of the coffee from the pot into her mug and padded out of the kitchen with it, trailing the sash from her robe behind her.
“You're late,” Jena greeted him.
“I'm sorry,” Ephraim crossed his hands on the circulation desk and looked across at Jena. She should have been happy he'd shown up at all, considering he didn't even remember agreeing to work there.
She looked at him over her glasses. Black secretary frames today. He would have found them sexy if she weren't so annoyed.
“Look, are you serious about this job or not?” she asked. “I could have asked anyone else to fill in for me, but you volunteered. Mrs. Reynolds trusts my recommendation and I don't want—”
“It won't happen again.” She was pretty high-strung this morning. He supposed that if he had to uproot his life on short notice, he'd be stressed about it too.
Her face relaxed.
“Okay,” she said.
“So where do I start?”
�
��There are a ton of books to re-shelve. Usually we try to do it at night before closing, but I saved them so I could show you first thing.”
Ephraim shrugged out of his backpack. “Sounds like fun.”
Jena smiled. “You obviously haven't done it before. Do you do the Dewey?”
“That's a very personal question,” Ephraim said.
“I mean, do you know the Dewey Decimal system?” she replied. “Guess not. That's all right, you'll figure it out. It's pretty obvious where most of the books go.”
She showed him where the book trolleys were and taught him how to decipher the labels. She helped him shelve the first few before she had to return to the desk. It took him over three hours to put all the books away. By that point, Ephraim was exhausted and sore from pushing the carts, reaching up to high shelves, and crouching down to the floor to reach the lowest ones. But when he glanced over at Jena, he often caught her monitoring his progress, so he didn't show how tired he was.
The last book he shelved was a copy of Through the Looking Glass, by Lewis Carroll. It looked like the same copy he'd checked out of the library when he was seven. He thumbed through it, remembering the soothing sound of his father's voice as he read it to him.
Jena indicated a free chair for Ephraim when he returned to the circulation desk. He collapsed into it and stretched his arms.
“That was pretty fast,” Jena said. “It usually takes me a lot longer to get through them.” She tapped the book open in front of her. “But I get distracted easily.”
“No problem. They get shelved alphabetically by the author's first name, right?”
“Ha ha.”
“Oh, no!” Ephraim said, feigning alarm.
“You are kidding. Aren't you?”
“Sure I am.” Ephraim rubbed his hands together, then wiped them on the legs of his jeans. “Ugh. My hands feel disgusting.”
Jena opened a side drawer of the desk and pulled out a packet of HandiWipes. She passed it to him.
“Dirt comes with the territory,” she said. “Please, no dirty librarian jokes.”
Now that he was closer to her, he noticed that her eyes were bloodshot. Had she been crying?
“So, um. Thank you for the book,” he said. “I've always wanted to read The Wizard of Oz.”
