My phone buzzes again.SO. FUCKING. MUCH. THE ENDING!!! *SOBS*
I turn my phone toward Mr. Fleischer. “Lauren loved the book, too.”
He sneaks a glance toward my screen, then leans in. “Well,” he grumbles. “At least she has good taste in books. Swears like a sailor, but—”
“Coming from you!”
“I,” he says archly, “am old. Which means I get to be a hypocrite and not a damn soul gets to call me out.”
I smile. “Isthatwhat it means?”
“One day, toots, when you’re shriveled up into a pruney version of yourself, like me, you’ll understand. Hopefully, you’ll have pulled your head out of your ass by then.”
I gasp. “About what?”
“Just take the selfie, already.” He leans closer, pressing his temple to mine. I hesitate for a moment, smarting a little from what he’s said, but then I lift my phone, angle it down, and take the picture. I send it to Lauren and text her:Mr. Fleischer loved it, too!
My phone buzzes.Tell that old coot he has good taste in books. But he still needs to get his eyebrows waxed.
I donottell him that. But Mr. Fleischer’s leaning in already, squinting at my screen before I can exit out of our message.
His laugh is loud and hoarse and delightfully unexpected. He dabs the corners of his eyes. “?‘Old coot.’ God, she’s a pill.”
My phone buzzes with another text from Lauren.You doing okay, after your meeting with Fern?
Mr. Fleischer’s sharp tone pulls me from our text conversation as he says, “Who the hell are you?”
“Mr. Fleischer.” I squeeze his hand gently, pocketing my phone with the other. “That’s no way to greet first-timers.” I peer over my shoulder, gearing up to apologize for our one-man unwelcoming committee, then freeze. “Jen?”
She’s smiling, but I can see nervousness turning it tight at the edges. Her hands are clasped in front of her. “Hey, Thea. I… hope it’s okay for me to be here?”
I shoot up out of my seat. “Sure. Yes. Of course. Absolutely.”
“Please keep going,” Mr. Fleischer quips. “I need to brush up on my affirmative synonyms.”
I shoot him a warning look. “You need a cookie to perk you up, Mr. Grumpus. I’ll have Ro bring one right over.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “Fine. But make sure it’s oatmeal raisin.”
“Nothing but the grossest for you, Mr. Fleischer.”
“Okay, butterscotch breath.” He points a finger to his open mouth and mimes an overdramatic gag. “Talk about gross.”
“Those butterscotch chocolate chip cookies are divine, and I will hear no slander!”
“Yeah, yeah.” He waves his hand. “Get on with attending to the interloper.”
I spin back toward Jen, who’s standing there still, her smile a little more relaxed. “Sorry about that,” I tell her. “Mr. Fleischer keeps me on my toes.”
“I can see that,” she says, her gaze darting from him back to me. She clears her throat. “Sorry for… springing this on you. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision. I’ve been on the hunt for Mia’s white-knit cardigan, to pack it for the beach, and Alex said he thought she might have worn it here last week, for the Holidays in July event. Maybe she’d left it here? I figured I’d come by and try to find it, so I looked up the store hours, then I saw there was a book club discussion tonight forThe Grace Year, which is…” She sighs, setting a hand on her heart. “It’s one of my favorites. Fingers crossed, eventually they’ll let me add it to the seniors’ English curriculum.”
My stomach twists, hearing her say that, seeing her here.
Over the past two years, Jen’s never seemed too keen to talk, so she and I haven’t interacted much beyond pleasantries. I’ve been okay with that, keeping her at arm’s length, never close enough tolet proximity kick up all sorts of painful questions I know will only lead to bad feelings: what Ethan saw in her that made her worth throwing out his “reconnect with himself” reason for our divorce; her status as a mother not being a deal-breaker, despite his “not being ready for kids” decade-long explanation for keeping motherhood fromme; what made her someone whose ex-husband at least tried to win her back, to fix things with her, when mine couldn’t even be bothered to go to one session of couple’s counseling, who quit on me when I simply asked him totry.
I know all these thoughts and the feelings underpinning them are distorted, a reflection of my broken self-image that I’m still piecing back together, after growing up the way I did and spending a decade and a half with a man like Ethan.
But they are thoughts I still have every time she comes into my orbit.