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“And we loved that line in Alice Walker’s book. I read The Color Purple probably a dozen times while cancer hacked away at my mom. ‘I think it pisses God off if you walk by the color purple in a field somewhere and don’t notice it.’” I recite it from memory.
“I read nonstop during that time, and that line always made me smile, as it did her. We’re not religious, so I think it was her way of finding spirituality in things. We always looked to books for the answers. When her eyes started to go, I read to her. I found my grief, solace, mourning, and eventual joy and my path forward in books.”
I hear sniffles from the crowd. I’ve never been this open with my audience. I hold my mom’s memories tight. Joan doesn’t even know this story. Maybe Alex shuffled something loose. Maybe that’s why we met and shared one night.
The line snakes through the black and white stacks and along the walls. They all want my name signed in purple with a message ending with the now maligned “Thx.” It really is a habit.
My smile’s plastered, and my shoulders are sagging. I do love the cavalcade of humanity I get to meet, but I’m tired. My hand’s cramping. He’s managed to push me out of his mind, so I shove him back down again. I glance down, and my phone still sits unloved and disregarded.
At the end of the line are a woman and her adorable little ebony-skinned girl.
“Hi. Who can I sign this to?”
Her mother speaks, “I’m Jemma. I love your writing so much. And I’m so sorry about your mama.”
“That’s kind. It was twelve years ago. Someday I hope to be brave enough to write about her. But thank you very much, Jemma. Your daughter is absolutely beautiful.” The little girl twirls until her dress ripples around her.
“Thank you. I read your first book while pregnant with Simone. You kept me company during those long nights of acid reflux. I kept reading during feedings, and I haven’t stopped. I love the way you play with words, in addition to a happy ending.” It’s incredibly sweet and thoughtful. I shudder at the thought of being up all night with cracked nipples after feedings.
“That means the world to me. Thank you. And you’re Simone?”
The little girl about three pipes up, “Hi. I’m Simone. And I’m a drawing girl, not a writing one.”
“The world always needs more artists and dreamers. You keep at it.” She hands me a piece of paper. “Is this something you drew for me?”
“No. That man said it was yours. And if I wanted to give it to you, I could. But I don’t have to. He was nice, and Mama said it was ok.” Simone slowly dances in a circle, does an elaborate twirl, and places the paper on the table. I get tunnel vision as I stare at the note. My breath catches sharply.
Dearest Ms. Tess McGuire,
It’s someday.
Sincerely, Mr. Alex Bishop
I leap up and find his insanely large, crooked grin staring at me. I hug both of the ladies in front of me. “Thank you, Simone! Thank you, Jemma! Keep drawing and dancing!” Then I bolt to him. The book shop owner reminds me I have a tea. I scream back at her, “Give Simone and Jemma as many books and cookies as they want. I’m buying! I’m going to be late. I’ll be back.”
As I get to him, I say excitedly, “Why are you here?”
He smiles, and it makes my insides go squirmy. He rakes me into his arms. “You ordered me lunch with vegetables and mango the morning after.”
14
Alex
She’s breathtaking and vulnerable as she runs to me. I can barely contain how excited I am to see this woman. Her hair is pulled in a low chestnut ponytail, and I want to wrap it around my hand. I not only missed fucking her, but I missed her. The delicate spring scent of her skin and the way her words wrap around concepts. The way she looks at me like I’m the answer to a question she has yet to ask.
She pulls back from our embrace and blurts out, “I’m an utter failure.” I’m so relieved she feels the same. I’m also relieved Carlos Gardenia isn’t here.
I take her hand and pull her into the stacks. “So am I.” And then I crush my mouth to hers as quickly as I can. She accepts me greedily, opening her pink, velvet lush mouth to mine. We reconnect in an instant, and it feels as if we were meant to do this. It’s the most natural thing in the world to me, kissing this enigma of a girl.
I lick my lips. She’s smiling, and I keep kissing her lightly as I speak, “I swear I tried. I tried so hard to not think about you. Everyone in Vermont and LA hates me for pretending I wasn’t thinking about you.”
She’s breathy with her words, “I thought you discarded me.”
“Christ, no. I was trying to honor our deal.”
She blurts out, “I tried so hard to not think about you that I signed Alex McGuire on a book yesterday.”
I do ask a little more forcefully, “Was that before or after you kissed Carlos Gardenia?”
