The Storied Life of A. J. Fikry(28)

He thinks about sending Amelia flowers or a book but ultimately decides to send her a text. He tries to find a True Blood quote, something that will make her laugh. When he Googles the matter, the quotes all seem too provocative. He writes, I’m sorry you’re hurt. Had been looking forward to hearing Knightley’s summer list. Hope we can reschedule soon. Also, and it pains me to say this—“Giving Jason Stackhouse vampire blood is like giving Ho Hos to a diabetic.”

Six hours later, Amelia writes back, YOU WATCHED!!!

A.J.: I did.

Amelia: Could we do the list over the phone or Skype?

A.J.: What’s Skype?

Amelia: Do I have to teach you everything?!?

After Amelia explains what Skype is, they decide to meet that way.

A.J. is happy to see her even if it has to be on a video screen. While she’s going through the list, he finds he can barely pay attention. He is fascinated by the Amelianess of the things in the frame behind her: a mason jar filled with dying sunflowers, a diploma from Vassar (he thinks it says), a bobblehead of Hermione Granger, a framed picture of a young Amelia and people he guesses are her parents, a lamp with a polka-dotted scarf draped over it, a stapler that looks like a Keith Haring figure, an old edition of some book whose title A.J. cannot make out, a bottle of sparkly nail polish, a windup lobster, a set of plastic vampire fangs, an unopened bottle of good champagne, a—

“A.J.,” Amelia interrupts. “Are you listening?”

“Yes, of course. I’m . . .” Staring at your things? “I’m unused to Skyping. Can I make Skype a verb?”

“I don’t think OED has weighed in on the matter, but I think you’ll be fine,” she says. “As I was saying, that Knightley has not one, but two, short-story collections on the summer list.”

Amelia goes on to describe the collections, and A.J. returns to spying. What is that book? It’s skinnier than a bible or a dictionary. He leans in to try to see it better, but the worn gold leaf text is too faded to decipher out over a video conference call. How irritating that he can’t zoom in or change the angle. She is no longer speaking. Clearly, some response is required from A.J.

“Yes, I’m looking forward to reading them,” he says.

“Great. I’ll put them in the mail to you today or tomorrow. So that’s it until the fall list.”

“I hope you’ll be able to come in person.”

“I will. I definitely will.”

“What’s the book?” A.J. asks.

“What book?”

“The old one leaning against the lamp, on the table behind you.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” she says. “It’s my favorite. A gift from my father for my college graduation.”

“So what is it?”

“If you ever make it down to Providence, I’ll show you,” she says.

A.J. looks at her. This might have sounded flirtatious except she hadn’t even looked up from the notes she’d been writing when she said it. And yet . . .

“Brett Brewer seemed like a nice guy,” A.J. says.

“What?”

“When he called me to say you were hurt and couldn’t come,” A.J. explains.

“Right.”

“I thought he sounded like Bill from True Blood.”

Amelia laughs. “Look at you, casually dropping the True Blood references. I’ll have to tell Brett that the next time I see him.”

“When’s the wedding, by the way? Or has it already happened?”

She looks up at him. “It’s off, actually.”

“I’m sorry,” A.J. says.

“It happened a while ago. Over Christmas.”

“I thought because he called . . .”

“He was crashing at my house at the time. I try to stay friends with my exes,” Amelia says. “I’m that way.”

A.J. knows he is being intrusive, but he can’t stop himself. “What happened?”

“Brett’s a great guy, but the sad truth is we didn’t have very much in common.”

“Shared sensibility does matter,” A.J. says.

Amelia’s phone rings. “My mother. I have to take this,” she says. “I’ll see you in a couple of months, okay?”

A.J. nods. Skype clicks off, and Amelia’s status changes to Away.

He opens his browser and Googles the following phrase: “educational family attractions near Providence, Rhode Island.” The search yields no distinctive results: a children’s museum, a doll museum, a lighthouse, and other things he could more easily do in Boston. He settles on the Green Animals Topiary Garden in Portsmouth. He and Maya had read a picture book with topiary animals in it a while ago, and she’d seemed mostly interested in the subject. Plus it’s good for them to get off the island, right? He’ll take Maya to see the animals, then swing by Providence to see a sick friend.

“Maya,” he says that night at dinner, “how would you like to see a giant topiary elephant?”

She gives him a look. “Your voice is funny.”

“It’s cool, Maya. You remember that book we read with the topiaries?”

“You mean, when I was little.”

“Right. I found this place with a topiary animal garden. I have to go to Providence anyway to see a sick friend so I thought it would be cool for us to see the animal garden while we were there.” He gets out his computer and shows her the website with the topiary animals.