Page 108 of To Love or to Lose
“Thank you.” She speaks sincerely.
We both take a lap around the upper floor, looking at the first floor over the railing. It’s odd to look down at the lower level of the bookstore, seeing where we have been sitting for the last few hours. All our books are skewed across the table and our backpacks are laying open.
“I’d like to think so too.” She’s looking around just as I am. “God, the way we’re talking makes it sound like my mom’s dead.”
We laugh. Not because we’re best friends, and not because we thought the possibility of her mother being dead was funny, but because it is true. We were both speaking so morbidly when there was nothing morbid to be spoken about.
Once we make it around the entire circumference of the upper level and back to the staircase where we started, Genevieve cuts loose from the path we set, reverting her gaze to one chair that sits next to one of the bookshelves. She sits, smoothing out her skirt as she crosses her right leg over her left.I’ve always been in awe of her pristine and composed ambience—much more now than ever. So much so that I can’t help but stare.
Genevieve looks at me, her face staying neutral. She pulls a single book off the shelf next to her; her manicured fingers run up and down the binding, and her eyebrows furrow as she surveys the book.
I can’t see the title, but I desperately want to know.
What could have her so entranced?
“This was the first book I remember reading.” She answers my question for me.
I take a step closer; she tilts the book up for me to see the cover.
Pride and Prejudice.
“You’re kidding.” I gape, not believing her. “Thisis the first book you ever read?”
“Not the first, just the first I remember loving.” She shrugs, her shoulders finally relaxing in the chair. “I watched the movie when I was like nine. Then, I immediately read the book.”
“When you were nine?” The seat next to her is open, so I take it.
She shrugs, flipping through the pages. “I began comprehending literature at an early age.”
I pick up another copy of the book, flipping it over to read the back of it. “I haven’t read it in a while, I don’t remember much about it.”
Genevieve looks as if she could have audibly gasped at my confession. “What do you mean you don’t remember much about it?” We make eye contact. “It’s a classic!”
“I didn’t really like romance stories when I read it. I only read it because it was on the classics table at the bookstore, and I was determined to read every book on the table.”I am not tryingto create more issues with Genevieve, so I keep my mouth shut about how little I like the book.
“Are you kidding? That’s what you’re calling it?A romance story?” She looks as if she wants to jump out of her seat. “It’s not just about love, Jameson. It’s about the respect that comes with it.”
It’s evident why she loves this book so much, and maybe that’s the reason I see so much of Elizabeth Bennet in her. She’s the exact type of strong-willed, prideful girl that Mr. Darcy would fall for.
“That’s important to you, I presume?”
“I don’t know if you’ve forgotten, but I have been raised in such a way that allowed me to respect myself as much as I respect the people around me.” She stands from her seat, placing the book down where she had been sitting. “I expect the same.”
I stand with her, “Do you really respect the people around you?”
“The ones I value are the ones I respect.”
I’m curious. “Do you respect me?”
Genevieve stops, not even turning to face me as she puts the book back on the shelf. She leans back, looking at the books all in order, but stops when she sees one in the incorrect spot.
For a moment, I think she didn’t hear me. I don’t want to repeat myself though, in case she was listening and is only choosing to ignore me. Then, she turns away from the bookshelf, the incorrect book in hand. She walks along the railing, peering her head up and down at all the different shelves. Eventually, she finds the correct spot for the misplaced book and crouches to push it into the shelf. Now, the book blends in among about a dozen others.
I don’t mind that she didn’t answer my question, and I don’t even know if I would have wanted to know the proper answer now that it’s long forgotten.
But then, she speaks up as she heads for the staircase. “Of course, I do.” She gives me a light smile, which makes a similar one cover my face.
“There has never been a day where you didn’t garner all of my respect,” I tell her genuinely.
