Page 33 of Love in the Stacks
When we’re settled in with the door closed, I jump in before Adam can tell me all the reasons we shouldn’t submit to do the presentation. “I think we should do it,” I say. “I know you’re not a fan of public speaking, but presenting at NLA would be so cool!”
Adam hesitates. “The last thing I want to do is disappoint you,” he says. “But I’m not sure I could get through a whole presentation. When I say I don’t like public speaking, I mean I get really bad nerves. My hands shake. I’ve even been known to, um,” he pauses, his ears turning red, “vomit. Maybe you should just do it by yourself?”
“I don’t want to present about the graphic novel collection by myself. We worked together on this, and you contributed a lot of good ideas that you should get credit for.”
Adam shrugs helplessly. “I don’t know, Nicole.”
“Oh!” I exclaim. “What if I help you prepare? Like teach you some tricks and exercises you can use to calm your nerves before the presentation?”
“What, like picturing the audience in their underwear?” he asks doubtfully.
“No, that trick sucks,” I scoff. “Other things. Breathing exercises. Visualization. That kind of thing.”
Adam studies my face. I put my hands together in a supplicating gesture and mouth, “Please?”
He sighs. “Yeah, okay. Sure. Let’s do it.” I cheer and Adam hurriedly adds, “But, if our proposal is accepted, you have to meet with me one-on-one at least three times before the conference to practice and help me learn your techniques.”
“Deal!” I say and put out my hand.
He grabs it and shakes, the concern on his face giving way to a quiet smile.
With the deadline looming, Adam and I meet for lunch almost every day over the next week to decide on a title, write our abstract, and finalize the proposal. I’m wildly happy with the result. On the final day before submissions close, we triple check everything and click “Submit.”
“Now we wait,” Adam says, arching his eyebrows dramatically.
“Now we wait,” I agree.
Chapter sixteen
Nicole
Turns out, I’m no good at waiting. The not knowing is what drives me crazy. If our proposal is not accepted, that’s fine. I can move forward. If it is accepted, that’s great. I can make plans for the conference. But not knowing either way? My brain can’t handle all the possible outcomes.
I keep busy by planning the launch party for the graphic novel collection. We scheduled it for the middle of February and are going all out with food and activities as a fun way to introduce the Harkness community to the graphic novels. Herb gave me a conservative budget, but I’ve already found a few ways to save money on low priority costs and spend more on a couple of flashy ideas I have. Like I noticed that every time the library hosts an event, we buy paper plates, napkins, cups, and all that. But there are always leftovers that get shoved in a closet in the back hallway by my office. Soinstead of buying more paper products for the graphic novel event, I’m just going to use what we already have. Economical and more eco-friendly!
The week of the party is busy. Not only are students gearing up for midterms and starting to linger in the library more, but I let Ashley, the science professor I met at Soapbox, convince me to meet her for lunch.
I spend the morning before my lunch with Ashley at the reference desk. Around 11:30, an older woman with long, white hair walks into the library. She wears green slacks and a white cable knit sweater with a denim jacket over top. Around her neck is a black and white striped scarf—the fashionable kind, not the kind for warmth.
As she approaches me at the reference desk, I notice her deep brown eyes and the laugh lines around them.
“Hello,” she says, smiling at me broadly.
“Hello,” I respond.
She studies my name badge. “Nicole,” she hums. Then, under her breath, “So pretty.”
Um, what? I try to catch the eye of the security guard across the library. During business hours on the weekdays, the library doors are unlocked and open for anyone to come in. Evenings and weekends, we’re more locked down, with students or employees required to scan their badge for entry. St. Anastasia gets a lot of tourists and sometimes groups of them will walk in just to see the building. We ask them to stay on the first floor, but they’re normally quiet and respectful as they look around.
But this … this is a new one. The woman is by herself which makes me think she’s not a tourist.
“Is there something I can help you with?” I ask tentatively, still trying to telepathically call the security guard over.
“Now that you mention it—”
Just then I see Adam speed walking toward the desk, having just come out of the staff office area.
“Mom,” he says breathlessly. “I thought you were going to wait for me outside?”
