Page 14 of Tell Me You Love Me

“Warm up first.” I wander toward the cage, past Molly, whose entire demeanor softens now that she’s not asserting her dominance. Then I wait for my brother’s eyes to come to mine. “Anyone know whose kid that is? He said his grandma brought him in, because his mom was at work. He and mom are new to town, but grandma has lived here since always.”

“Could literally be anyone.” Ollie starfishes the canvas, his legs and arms spread wide while he heaves for oxygen. “Did you consider just… asking his name?”

“No, stupid. I didn’t consider that.” I look at Chris. “Do we have paperwork for him?”

“It’s probably in the computer. Which you would know if you?—”

“Read my emails.” I push off the cage. “Yeah, I got it. You know his name?”

He only shrugs, as interested in that as he is in making new friends. As in,not. So I turn back to run my class before they create a newunderground fighting ring that won’t look so good with cops in the building. And though I expect the new kid to observe, at best, Molly does what Molly does well, coaxing him toward the hoops and getting him to walk over them.

The boy won’t hop. But he’ll go through the motions, at least.

Still, he trips on the third ring and smashes into the matted floor with a harrumph and tangled limbs.

Quiet. Shy. Andclumsy.

Cool, cool, cool, cool, cool.

ROUND FIVE

ALANA

Notbeing a world-famous author means I don’t have the luxury of swimming in endless royalties or six-figure advances from my publisher. And leaving my marriage without a dime of spousal maintenance or child support—fair, really—means getting a real job. It means venturing out into the real world and talking to actual human beings, earning a salary so I can, at the very least, afford to feed my son.

Lucky for me, there was a sign out front of a rundown bookstore on Main Street—the place is literally calledBooks Books Books—advertising a job vacancy. Mrs. Middler, the owner, who was the owner when I was a small child, too, had a stroke over the winter, and though she made it through and is mostly back to her normal eighty-something-year-old self, her grandkids felt the need to force her into semi-retirement.

They don’t want to run the place themselves, and selling it in today’s economy would be worse than simply having it managed.

Which makes their unwanted responsibility my desired job.

So here I am, standing amongst the chaos and walls of uncategorized novels stacked atop cookbooks, biographies towering over textbooks, romance novels mixed with dark thriller and splatterpunk horror. What are supposed to be aisles lined with beautiful bookshelves have turned into a hoarder’s paradise.

And still, I can’t wipe the smile from my face.

“You’re trading selling books for… selling books?” Fox sneers over the phone. She doesn’t even try to hide her contempt. “You could be touring and promoting your own book, but you choose to work in a pokey little store, destroy your sinuses with small-town dust, and accept the teeny-tiny salary they’re paying you instead?”

“Fox—”

“You could be on talk shows! You could meet Oprah. You could meet Reese Witherspoon! You have a deal on the table and a really good story to share with the world. You could be rich! But you’re running an old lady’s bookstore for like, three hundred bucks a week? This is grounds to have you committed, you know that?”

I roll my eyes. “I have no expenses except groceries and whatever Franky needs, which means my salary is actually entirely reasonable. And Helen has never mentioned Reese or Oprah. You’re sensationalizing.”

“You’re robbing the world of your art! Helen believes in it so much that she hasn’t even fired you yet, despite how much of a pain in the ass you are. That means something.”

“Yeah. It means she gets a cut of whatever deal I get, so of course she wants me to take it. That’s hardlybelieving in me.”

“Sell your damn book and come back to New York! You don’t even have to see Colin. You don’t even have to tell him you’re here. I’ll hide you.”

I exhale and lean back to study a precarious tower of… James Patterson and Tolkien. “I don’t need to hide from him. Colin has been nothing but decent since the moment we met.”

“He kicked you out!”

“Hesuggestedwe move out, expressed his growing feelings for Tasha, and explained how our marriage was affecting his relationship prospects.”

“Are you even listening to yourself right now?” Her anger pulses throughout the bookstore. “Your husband is having sex with his assistant, and heoh-so-politelymentioned that your presence within the marital home was hampering his affair. Are you serious right now?”

“You oversimplify nuanced situations for the sake of irritating me.” I leave Tolkien and Patterson to co-mingle a little longer and wander back to the desk at the front of the store. It’s a counter, I suppose. With a cash register and an ancient computer collecting dust. Unopened mail—envelopes—creating a stack on the left, and unopened parcels—books—forming a tipping tower on the right. An old, already-used candle hints at what was once a store Mrs. Middler intended to be quaint. Comfortable.Somewhere people would come for the atmosphere. And beautiful chandelier lights hang from the ceiling. Their bulbs long ago died, but her intention is clear to see. A couch sits hidden beneath books, and coffee tables, too, struggle under the weight of novels.

---