Page 9 of Catching Kyle
A boisterous laughter sounds out again, making me wince.
“Okay, you can put your card in whenever it’s ready.”
I look down at the price, and all I see is the price for the gay romance book. “What about the shirt?” I ask.
She shrugs. “You were in need. It’s on us.”
I glance down at her nametag. ‘Kelley’, it reads. And she’s a manager, so she can make these sorts of decisions.
But I nevertheless shake my head again. “Let me pay. I always want to support indie stores.”
She smiles. “Well thank you, but that’s quite alright. And if you really want to support us, go sit in on our book club. We are also looking for new faces.”
I glance over again. One black woman is sharing some of her favorite Elizabeth quotes, and she’s beaming. Everyone is staring at her with rapt attention.
“Okay,” I say, finishing my payment. At first glance, this group seems pretty inclusive. “I guess I can stay. Thank you so much for the shirt.”
“Wonderful,” she says as she hands me the receipt. “I’ll get you a chair.” She grabs a chair from behind the counter and gestures for me to follow her. She leads me up to the group of women, and I want nothing more than to sink into the carpet and disappear. But this is the way to support the store and pay back this woman for her generosity, so I am going to stay for this book club. No matter what.
She introduces me, and the other women make room for me to sit. I sit down, trying to make myself as small as possible, and introduce myself with shallow breath, clutching my books to my stomach. I don’t know what my deal is. I can have wild sex with pretty much any male stranger behind a camera. But I can’t even sit in a chair and talk with other women about one of my favorite books? Something is definitely wrong with me.
“Alright,” somebody says on the far side of the circle. I recognize her as another bookseller. “We’ve had enough miscellaneous discussion, so let’s jumpright into our first discussion question. Originally, Jane Austen titled this bookFirst Impressions. Was she right to change or title toPride and Prejudice? Or not?”
My stomach jumps, not from nervousness, but from excitement. I wrote a paper on this very subject for my historical English class in college. I raise my hand slightly, then lower it quickly. My point is probably obvious. I doubt I would contribute anything to this group of tight-knit romance fans.
The bookseller calls on the first person, an Asian woman with long hair, and the discussion goes from there. People raise good points, and I’m surprised that there are some who argue for the original title. But when no one brings up my desired point, I sheepishly raise my hand again, hoping but also not wanting to be called on.
“Michael, was it?”
I freeze as all eyes lock on me.
I look up at the bookseller. “Yes?”
“I saw you raised your hand. Did you want to share?”
I shift in my seat awkwardly, grimacing at the set already dripping down my sides. “Sure, uh. Yeah. Hi, I’m Michael—he/him. Uhh…” All eyes continue to stare, and I just decide to look at a random point in the wall and share what I want.
“This title is beyond it’s time. Jane Austen was one of the first writers to execute a two-layered plot in a compelling way. We know that we have the overall plot to get the women married, but we also have Elizabeth and Darcy’s inner journeys: overcoming prejudice and pride, respectively. By choosing this title, Jane Austen sets up a promise that we will understand both pride and prejudice and their roles in love by the end of the story, and not just see two people agree to a marriage. And she does just that. I can’t think of a novel during that time that tells two stories like this in a better way. I thus cannot imagine another title.”
My ears ring by the time I’m finished, but as sound gradually returns, I hear many verbal assents and see heads nodding.
“Wonderful insight,” the bookseller says. And several hands shoot up after.
The next woman, one with hair the exact same shade as mine, piggy backs off of my comment. I’m worried she’ll argue, but she respectfully qualifies my response by adding her own insight. And suddenly, it feels like I’m back in college again, discussing books and having the hope that others will one day be discussing my books. Gradually, I melt into my seat and let the discussion take my attention. I feel confident enough to raise my hand again, but I’m slightly relieved when the topic moves elsewhere and my point becomes irrelevant. I’m still decompressing from sharing my first insight.
Before I know it, the discussion is over, and I feel more energized than when I walked in. Somebody next to me thanks me for my comment, and I thank them for theirs. We all laugh and chat, and despite how scared I felt before, I feel safe now. Welcome.
We all put our chairs away, and I think about making my way to the bookshelf to buy our book for next week. I’m definitely coming back. This is the closest I’ve ever been to that feeling of effervescent writing excitement in college. I have a lot of things I want to try on my romance novel to make it better.
“Michael, do you have a moment?”
I turn to see the bookseller carrying just the book under her arm,Montana Skyby Nora Roberts.
“Sure,” I say. “Did I say or do something wrong?”
She looks at me with a furrowed brow, then laughs. “Oh, no, you’re fine. It was so wonderful to have you here today. I hope you come next week.”
I blush. “Thanks—I’m planning on it.”
