Page 33 of The Librarians
Has she looked at that many? She remembers only an indistinct continuity of hope, regret, more hope, and more regret.
“I visited Madeira once, when I was much younger. I’ve always wanted to go back. At a time like this—or rather, at a time like the past few days, more than two weeks into my trial separation with little hope that it would be followed by anything but a real separation, I wanted to lose myself in something that made me happy, however momentarily.”
But, of course, truth is that unfiltered, unedited photo everyone skips over. Detective Chu shows his disdain immediately. “Come now, Ms. Lee. What is your real interest in Madeira?”
A deep green canyon. Tall, speckle-limbed plane trees casting leafy shadows on the terrace. Two young people, leaning on the parapet separating them from a precipitous fall. They were having a conversation about happiness, of all things, the way it is sometimes possible to have substantive discussions with a complete stranger.
So, asked the young man,what do you do?
He had pierced ears, not just lobes but cartilage, yet wore no earrings. She didn’t normally care one way or another about men wearing jewelry, but she was curious what he would look like with a barbell that spanned the width of one helix and a big spiky cuff on the other ear.
But in the meanwhile, she had to confess, rather embarrassed,I don’t have a job yet.
What? But you are like a million years older than me. I thought you must already be a senior director, plotting to dethrone the chief executive.
She laughed.Hey, I got my master’s only this past summer. And I’ve been traveling since.
He smiled. Ah, those dimples again.Okay, rich lady who obviously doesn’t need to work, what did you study at uni?
Architecture. My mom wanted me to be an architect, because she herself would have liked to have been one. But it’s not for me.
What is for you, then?
She wanted to give him a good answer. A great answer, unique and fascinating. But all she had was an honest and honestly boringI don’t know.
He considered her. His gaze was warm and curious—her heart sped up from his nearness, his attention.
What makes you happy?he asked.
They’d circled back to happiness again.
When she was small, her dad sometimes asked if she was happy. When they rode the teacup at Disneyland. When he took Mom and her to see fireworks on the Fourth of July. When he got her a new bicycle. She’d always nodded hugely and hugged him hard.
But after she moved to Singapore, she didn’t remember anyone asking about her happiness anymore. Maybe it was an age thing—kids understood and handled happiness much better than their adult counterparts. Or maybe it was because everyone was overwhelmingly concerned that she not squander her great good fortune. She was a real live instance ofThe Princess Diaries, an ordinary girl who became a great heiress overnight. With that kind of exceptional luck, it would be downright vulgar to aspire to happiness too.
I don’t know what makes me happy, she said after a while.
Hmm, said her companion of the past ninety minutes—or had they even known each other for that long?Fair enough—I’m not sure I do either. Do you have anything you look forward to, either on this trip or when you get back home?
She did. She’d stumbled into an all-women tabletop gaming group back in Singapore and it quickly became one of her favorite monthly experiences. And on this cruise, she met up with a bunch of fellow passengers who played in the evenings; some even brought their own favorite games from home.
Umm, board games?
Okay, you really are much older than me. I see that now.
She laughed again. It was funny because earlier she’d indeed tried to convince him that there existed a real and substantial age gap between them.
Design tabletop games, then, he suggested.
What do you mean?
Every game you play was designed by somebody. They didn’t spring fully formed onto retail shelves. Someone conceived them, developed them, and published them.
But I don’t know anything about designing games.
You don’t need to be a game designer to design games. Monopoly—or the game it was based on—was designed by a writer who wanted to illustrate certain economic principles. A woman, by the way.
How do you know that?
