The Storied Life of A. J. Fikry(37)

“I agree.”

“Who was that woman, Amy?” Maya asks.

“Long story,” Amelia tells her.

Maya makes a face.

“She was distantly related to Mr. Friedman,” Amelia says.

Amelia gets Maya into bed then pours herself a drink and debates whether or not to tell A.J. about Leonora Ferris. She doesn’t want to sour him on the idea of author events. She also doesn’t want to make herself look foolish in his eyes or compromise herself professionally: she has sold him a book that has now revealed itself to be a fake. And maybe Leonora Ferris is right. Maybe it doesn’t matter if the book is, strictly speaking, true. She thinks back to a sophomore seminar she had taken in literary theory. What is true? the teaching fellow would ask them. Aren’t memoirs constructions anyway? She would always fall asleep during this class, which was embarrassing because only nine people were in it. All these years later, Amelia finds she can still drift off to the memory.

A.J. arrives back to the apartment a little after ten. “How was the drive?” Amelia asks.

“The best thing I can say is that Friedman was passed out for most of it. I’ve spent the last twenty minutes cleaning Ismay’s backseat,” A.J. reports.

“Well, I certainly look forward to your next author event, Mr. Fikry,” Amelia says.

“Was it that much of a disaster?”

“No. I think everyone had a great time, actually. And the store did sell a lot of books.” Amelia stands to leave. If she doesn’t leave now, she won’t be able to resist telling A.J. about Leonora Ferris. “I should get back to the hotel. Since we’re leaving so early tomorrow.”

“No, wait. Stay a bit.” A.J. feels for the jewelry box in his pocket. He doesn’t want the summer to end without having asked her, come what may. He is about to miss his moment. He plucks the box from his pocket and throws it at her. “Think quick,” he says.

“What?” she says as she turns. The jewelry box hits her smack in the middle of the forehead. “Ow. What the f*ck, A.J.?”

“I was trying to get you not to leave. I thought you’d catch it. I’m sorry.” He goes over to her and kisses her on the head.

“You threw a little high.”

“You’re taller than me. I sometimes overestimate by how much.”

She picks up the box from the floor and opens it.

“It’s for you,” A.J. says. “It’s . . .” He gets down on one knee, clasps her hand between his, and tries not to feel phony, like an actor in a play. “Let’s get married,” he says with an almost pained expression. “I know I’m stuck on this island, that I’m poor, a single father, and in a business with somewhat diminishing returns. I know that your mother hates me, that I’m quite obviously crap when it comes to hosting author events.”

“This is an odd proposal,” she says. “Lead with your strong stuff, A.J.”

“All I can say is . . . All I can say is we’ll figure it out, I swear. When I read a book, I want you to be reading it at the same time. I want to know what would Amelia think of it. I want you to be mine. I can promise you books and conversation and all my heart, Amy.”

She knows that what he says is true. He is, for the reasons he’s said, a terrible match for her or anybody else for that matter. The travel is going to be murder. This man, this A.J., is prickly and argumentative. He thinks he is never wrong. Maybe he never is wrong.

But he had been wrong. Infallible A.J. had not sniffed out Leon Friedman as a fraud. She’s not sure why this matters at this moment, but it does. Maybe it is evidence of some boyish, delusional part of him. She cocks her head. I will keep this secret because I love you. As Leon Friedman (Leonora Ferris?) once wrote, “A good marriage is, at least, one part conspiracy.”

She furrows her brow, and A.J. thinks she is going to say no. “A good man is hard to find,” she says finally.

“Do you mean the O’Connor story? The one on your desk. It’s an awfully dark thing to bring up at a time like this.”

“No, I mean you. I’ve been looking forever. It was only two trains and a boat away.”

“You can skip some of the trains if you drive,” A.J. tells her.

“And what would you know about driving?” Amelia asks.

THE NEXT FALL, just after the leaves have turned, Amelia and A.J. get married.

Lambiase’s mother, who has come as his date, says to her son, “I like all weddings, but isn’t it particularly lovely when two grown-ups decide to get married?” Lambiase’s mother would like to see her son remarry some day.

“I know what you mean, Ma. Doesn’t seem like they’re going in with their eyes closed,” Lambiase says. “He knows she isn’t perfect. She knows he definitely isn’t perfect. They know there’s no such thing as perfect.”

Maya has chosen to be ring bearer because the job has more responsibility than flower girl. “If you lose a flower, you get another flower,” Maya reasons. “If you lose the ring, everyone is sad forever. The ring bearer has much more power.”

“You sound like Gollum,” A.J. says.

“Who’s Gollum?” Maya wants to know.

“Someone very nerdy that your father likes,” Amelia says.

Before the service, Amelia gives Maya a present: a small box of bookplates that read this book belongs to maya tamerlane fikry. At this stage in her life, Maya is fond of things with her name on them.