One True Loves(39)

There’s nowhere to park in Harvard Yard.

“Good morning, Tina,” I say.

Tina is the sort of employee you search high and low for. She’s an empty-nested stay-at-home mom who loves books more than anyone I’ve ever met. She is sweet to everyone, but firm with people who are unkind. She misses her kids, who are all in college, and works here to busy her mind. I don’t think she or her husband needs the money she makes. It’s not that I’ve asked, it’s just that she uses at least a quarter of her paycheck every week to buy books with her discount.

When I start to get overwhelmed by all that there is to do running this store, it is Tina who I count on.

The other thing that I like about her is that she has absolutely no interest in being my friend. We work together. I am her boss. We are kind to each other and occasionally share a laugh in the stockroom. That’s the beginning and the end of it.

When I first started managing people, I had a hard time setting boundaries and expectations. I wanted everyone to like me. I wanted the people here to feel like they were part of a family—because that is what this store has always been to me. Family. But business doesn’t work like that. And I don’t need my employees to like me. I need them to respect me and do their jobs well.

I’ve learned that lesson the hard way a few times, but at least I can say I’ve learned it. Now, I have a group of employees who might sometimes go home and complain about me but take pride in their jobs and run a great bookstore.

Today I am especially grateful that my employees are not my friends. I know that Tina reads the Beacon. I’m sure she read the article. But I know she will not ask me a single thing.

When the Acton Ladies Reading Society comes in at eleven to start their book group, I begin to get anxious.

Jesse’s plane lands in four hours.

Jesse, my Jesse, will be home today.

I dropped him off at LAX three years and seven months ago and I will be at the airfield this afternoon when he lands.

I am not good at my job for the hours between noon and two. I am scatterbrained, unfocused, and impatient.

I ring up a woman for $16.87 and when she hands me a twenty-dollar bill, I give her $16.87 back.

A man calls asking if we have any copies of Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close and I tell him, “Yes, we carry all of Jonathan Lethem’s books.”

When I see Mark, the only one of my employees whom I would say classifies as a book snob, come to relieve me, I am the very definition of relieved.

It’s time to go.

I can go.

I can get out of here.

As I gather my things and take a look at myself in the bathroom mirror, I regret, for a moment, that I’m not better friends with Tina. It would be nice to look at someone and say, “OK, how do I look?” And have them say, “You look great. It’s all gonna be fine.”

I consider calling Marie when I get to my car. She might be the perfect person to give me whatever sort of pep talk a person needs before they go meet their long-lost husband. But when I pick up my phone, I’m sidetracked by a text from Sam.

I love you.

It’s the sort of thing we text to each other every day, but seeing it now, it is both life-affirming and heartbreaking.

I stare out the windshield, stunned at what is happening to my quiet and stable life.

I have a husband and a fiancé.

I turn the ignition, start my car, and head out of the parking lot.

After years without him, the man I lost is coming home.





I pull into the airfield to see that the parking lot is empty. I check the time. I’m eighteen minutes early.

I fidget in the car, unsure how to contain all of the nervous energy in my body. And then my phone erupts with the sound of my ringtone and I see Olive’s face on my screen.

I answer.

“How are you doing?” she asks, even before saying hello.

“I don’t know,” I say.

“Is he home yet?”

“He will be soon. He’s supposed to land in fifteen minutes.”

“Jesus,” she says.

“Tell me about it.”

“What can I do?”

This is Olive’s go-to mode of function. What can I do? It’s a wonderful quality in a friend. It means that she is always the one that is clearing the plates when she’s staying at your house. She is always the one sending thoughtful gifts and checking in on you at opportune moments. But in a situation like this, she’s not in her element.

Because there is nothing for her to do.

There is nothing to be done.

All of this just . . . is.

“Can I at least send you flowers?” she says.

I smile. “I don’t think flowers are going to help me deal with the fact that I have a husband and a fiancé at the same time,” I tell her.

“What you’re describing is completely absurd,” she says. “Flowers help with everything.”

I laugh. “Thank you,” I say, “for managing to be funny right now.”

“And thank you for thinking that joking about intense things is appropriate,” Olive says. “Tracey does not agree.”

Tracey is Olive’s girlfriend. I have to say that their pairing makes absolutely no sense to me. Tracey is serious and erudite and corrects other people’s grammar. She’s regal, thin, and gorgeous. Whereas the best part of Olive, to me, has always been that she says whatever pops into her brain, eats whatever is in front of her, and will try anything you propose.