I love this library.
I love my coworkers, and I love the patrons. I love the lake and the farm stands and BARn and Ashleigh and Julia and Miles.
I love Miles.
And I also love my mother. A part of me will always be just a little bit homesick for her when we’re apart. She’s my constant, and I don’t take that lightly.
I love you, I tell her.
Love you more, she says.
After tonight, I’ll tell the others. For now I don’t want to think about the future. I want to be wholly present.
I dust myself off and leave the office.
Take in the soft musk of books and the hint of pine and something I can’t name but recognize like an old friend.
I feel a bittersweetness that this moment can’t last, that time will pull us along soon. But for the first time in a while, I’m excited about the unknown.
I’m looking forward to the surprises.
It’s still dark at six forty, the crowd having majorly thinned. Mulder is fast asleep atop a table, next to a friend who’s reading a manga with a flashlight, eyelids sagging every several seconds.
We’ve stayed busy enough that Miles and I haven’t had a chance to exchange more than a cursory How are you and Good, how are you and Thank you for being here. I’ve been putting out small fires and, in one tragic situation, unclogging toilets, for long enough to become famished.
When I pop my head into the refreshment room, it looks like a powerful clan of Vikings with nut allergies has rolled through.
Elda the cheesemonger and Harvey don’t even seem to notice me, just keep chatting in the far corner of the room, their uncomfortable wooden seats angled together.
I grab a brownie and cram it into my mouth as I leave the community room.
“Keep it PG, Vincent,” Ashleigh teases. “Some of the kids are still awake.” At my baffled look, she says, “You were doing your good-food moan.”
“Sorry,” I say, mouth full.
She and the rest of the cleanup crew have started gathering the final wave of flotsam and jetsam from the night. Over by the front doors, Miles is sorting the recycling, trash, and compost into bags.
“They’re divine, aren’t they?” she says, jutting her chin toward the brownie.
“Really, really good.”
Ashleigh smiles. “Miles brought them. Did you know he bakes?”
I sneak another glance at him. He’s turned away, stretching his arms over his head sleepily, a band of skin visible along his waist until his arms fall back to his sides.
Ashleigh cackles. “Now, that sound was definitely not PG.”
I face her, cheeks burning. “I didn’t make a sound.”
From her smirk, I realize she’s joking with me. She bumps her elbow against mine and jerks her chin toward Miles. “Go on.”
“It’s not over yet,” I say.
She rolls her eyes. “Daphne. Look around. You’re welcome to stick around for ten more minutes if you’re dying to, but when the timer’s up, I’m going to sweep you off the stage like an amateur-night executioner, while the three remaining kids here boo and hurl chocolate cherries at your head.”
I’m still hesitant. “Shouldn’t I see this through to the end?”
She drops her trash bag at my feet and grabs my hands in hers. “You did. You made it through the summer. We pulled off the event of the year. The hard part’s over.”
A huge weight lifts from my chest. The knot beneath it loosens and unwinds. “We did it.”
I made it through.
We both laugh, slaphappy from lack of sleep.
She pulls me into a hug, and I squeeze her back, the trash bag now sitting at our feet like a puppy. “Not sure what the rules are about saying this at work,” I say, “but I love you.”
“I fucking love you too,” she says. “Now, go get your man.”
37
SUNDAY, AUGUST 18TH
FINALLY
“Hi,” I say, when I’m finally right in front of him, that last yard of silent eye contact having taken somewhere between eleven seconds and fourteen years.
He rubs the side of his head. “Hi.”
Neither of us rushes to fill the pause.
My heart feels like a flame, burning higher, higher, higher.
I clear my throat. “Are you up for a walk?”
He seems surprised. “Are you?”
“Unless you just want to go collapse into bed, yeah.” Ears suddenly fiery hot, I add, “If you need to sleep, I mean.”
“I drank so much Red Bull I could sprint right now,” he says. “But I also might have a heart attack.”
“You’re in luck,” I tell him. “The library paid for me to get CPR certified.”
He smiles. “Then what are we waiting for?”
