Page 56 of The Librarians
“I…think so? Are you saying that my nationality doesn’t matter or that the fact I’ve lied about it doesn’t matter?”
There is such fear in her eyes—and such hope too. Jonathan can’t remember the last time anyone looked at him with such hope. He feels a stab of protectiveness. “I guess what I’m really trying to say is, have you been okay all these years? It must have been a real drag.”
Astrid bites her lower lip. “You know, Jonathan, ever since we first met, I have wished that you were my friend, because you are such a generous soul. I should have realized a lot sooner that what stood in the way of our friendship was me—and my lies.”
Jonathan always feels a prickle of his conscience whenever he is labeled as kind or generous. Is he? The look on Ryan’s young face at that pool party…it haunts him to this day.
Maybe the barriers Astrid’s pretense formed between herself and the world isn’t the only thing that has prevented the growth of their friendship. Maybe there is also Jonathan, feeling unworthy of the trust of this sweet, gentle young woman.
“I should probably get back to work,” says Astrid.
She looks awkward as she stands up and collects the apple core. Jonathan realizes that she must have misinterpreted his silence. He rises, takes the apple core from her hand, puts it in the compostable bag Sophie brought from home for organic trash, and hugs Astrid.
“I would like to be your friend, Astrid,” he tells her. “And when you have time, I would love to hear all about you.”
Nainai makes Hazel walk the runway, the runway being the corridor outside Nainai’s bedroom, where she installed one of the security cameras. During the pandemic, she used to dress up in her best outfits, sashay, and send the footage to Hazel.
Hazel tosses back her hair, squares her shoulders, and slinks in her best imitation of Naomi Campbell—one does not half-ass a strut down Nainai’s runway, even if one’s heart has been left behind in pieces at the neighborhood cupcakery.
“Good walk,” Nainai says. “Dress is basic though.”
Hazel grins. Her little black dress is indeed extremely inoffensive, long-sleeved, the hem grazing her knees.
“When you said dinner with two handsome men,” continues Nainai, “I suspected that neither is into you. Now I know for sure.”
Hazel laughs out loud, grabs Nainai, and kisses her papery cheek. “I can have handsome men anytime I want. This is just dinner.”
Her first reaction upon receiving the out-of-the-blue invitation was that Conrad would not like for her to be there. Her second reaction was that she herself did not want to be in his home without his express permission. Butthen she recalled Jonathan’s effort to introduce her to his high school classmate’s roommate. At the time she hadn’t picked up on it, but was Jonathan interested in Ryan, the old classmate? Conrad wouldn’t have told Ryan about meeting her today. It had to have been Jonathan, putting out a feeler under the guise of conveying gossip.
She erased the answer she’d already tapped out and replied in the affirmative. Yes, she would go. If there was to be no future for herself and Conrad, their fizzled reunion could at least serve as a stepping stone for Jonathan.
“Make sure you wear your blue light glasses if you play games after eight o’clock,” she tells Nainai as she takes out the container of Italian trifle she made in the afternoon.
Her grandmother might be all kinds of wise, but she’s still liable to neglect her sleep hygiene when battle arena bloodlust overtakes her.
Jonathan arrives several minutes early; by seven thirty they are on their way. Hazel asks about Dr. Ryan Kaneshiro, their host for the evening, who is apparently good-looking, charming, and athletic, not to mention handy with a scalpel. No doubt about it. Jonathan has it bad. Hazel can only hope that he hasn’t had it this bad since high school.
Ryan—and Conrad—live at the foot of Mount Bonnell, noted Austin scenic spot, where Hazel and her parents used to go to watch sunsets. And Hazel used to marvel at the pretty houses on the lake below, which seemed to her the epitome of luxury, not realizing that her mother had grown up in far more opulent surroundings.
The house sits in a bend on a dark, twisty lane. A set of wrought iron gates set in a low wall swings open as the car approaches. The architecture is a mishmash of vernaculars. The steeply pitched slate roofs feel Parisian here and there thanks to half-hipped dormer windows, but then slant almost to the ground in other places in the manner of an A-frame house. Some walls have a half-timbered mock-Elizabethan look, only to meet other walls that look like stacked dry stone.
It should be ridiculous, but in the lamplight, with its abundance of natural material and brilliant mullioned windows, the house is strangely attractive.
Ryan comes out of the front door as they pull up. The two men shake hands and slap each other on the arm.
“Hazel, this is Ryan,” Jonathan says. “We went to high school together. Ryan, Hazel, my colleague.”
Ryan shakes Hazel’s hand. “A pleasure. You’re tonight’s guest of honor.”
Hazel smiles, befitting tonight’s third wheel of honor.
“Come on in. You’ll love the house.”
They walk across a high-ceilinged hall into a dream space. It is a living room, with two double-length leather sofas facing each other across a long coffee table made of a single eight-foot-long, five-inch-thick slab of wood—a dramatic grouping of furniture.
But what makes Hazel and Jonathan suck in a breath and crane their necks back in unison are the two walls of books behind the sofas. Cabinets with table-like surfaces become shelves that climb up and up, two stories in height. A rolling ladder is hooked over horseshoe-shaped rails that run along three sides of the room. And the higher shelves are recessed just enough for a careful booklover to stand on a narrow gallery to look her fill at all those thousands of volumes.
The room has no other decorations save two small trees in large wicker baskets, a smattering of lamps with plain round shades, and a chandelier overhead. And yet it is immediately one of the most beautiful indoor spaces Hazel has ever beheld.
