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Authors: Rebecca Makkai
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and one in the back, his parka covering them both. “Will you be open on Christmas?”
“On Christmas? No. We’re closed from the twenty-fourth to the twenty-sixth. So this is the last day to check stuff out.”
He dropped down to the floor so I couldn’t see him. “You mean you’re closed
on
both those days too? So you’re closed for
three
days?”
“Yep.”
He stood up again, his face pink and crumpled like a two-year-old’s. Dramatically, deliberately, he buried his head in his arms and turned away from me.
“Ian, it’s only three days.”
His breathing was fast and loud, his shoulders pumping up and down.
“Ian?”
“THAT’S NOT FAIR!” he shouted, and the mother reading with her toddler on the floor turned to see what had happened.
“Ian.” I came out from behind the desk and put my hands on his shoulders. He jerked his body away from me. I had seen him be melodramatic with Sonya, and Sophie Bennett told me recently that his teachers were finding him incredibly annoying this year, but he’d never done it to
me
before. I bent down to peek through his arms and see his face. He wasn’t actually crying, just heaving and sighing loudly.
“You know, Ian,” I said, “you can check out a lot of stuff right before we close and bring it back after.”
“That’s not true. Because then we’re out of
town
. For almost a whole week, until New Year’s, and my mom will check my suitcase. So I’d have to get stupid books, like Hardy Boys, and then I could only get ten books anyway, because I’m only allowed to check out how old I am.” A lot of families had that rule: a five-year-old could borrow five books, and so on. He leaned back against the big potted tree by the wall and almost sent it crashing down.
“I think ten books should be plenty, don’t you? You don’t want your suitcase to get much heavier than that.”
“And my mom would never let me bring extra books because she
never
lets me do
anything
.”
“Sounds tough,” I said. I went back behind my desk. He looked between his arms to see if I was still watching him, which I was. He picked at the leaves of the plant for a minute, breathing loudly, then stomped over to the mythology shelf.
He ended up checking out the first ten Bobbsey Twins books. “Are these as stupid as they look?”
“Pretty much,” I said.
“Awesome.”
At the end of the day, Glenn appeared at my desk with the library copy of
1,000 Great Date Nights
. “Pick one,” he said.
I hadn’t invited him to come see me at work, and the presumption bothered me. We’d seen each other quite a few times since the night of the concert, and he’d been e-mailing me constantly, but lately I’d been keeping my replies short. There was something a little too slick about him, the way he’d ask me questions straight out of GQ’s date guide, like “What’s your favorite childhood memory?” And the way he would just show up like this, flashing his piano-key teeth.
I was glad there was no one around. I’d had a few desperate and fruitless requests that afternoon for
The Polar Express
and
The Night Before Christmas
, but right now the basement was empty.
“Let’s be spontaneous,” he said. He was saying this a lot lately, like it was some great virtue. For a jazz musician, I suppose it is—four bars to fill, and a horn in your hands—but it doesn’t do a librarian a hell of a lot of good.
I started flipping through the book. “Don’t take me to feed the ducks.”
“Hey,” he said. He leaned over the desk. “I’ll take ya to the moon, baby.” Cheesy Sinatra voice and wiggling eyebrows.
I could hear Loraine’s heels clunking unevenly on the stairs. “Okay,” I whispered. “Pretend to browse, fast.” I stood up and yanked the white bed sheet off my desk chair and tossed it under the desk. I’d been using it all week, hoping it would protect my skin from the chair fabric, but if anything, my rash had gotten worse. I was considering
“On Christmas? No. We’re closed from the twenty-fourth to the twenty-sixth. So this is the last day to check stuff out.”
He dropped down to the floor so I couldn’t see him. “You mean you’re closed
on
both those days too? So you’re closed for
three
days?”
“Yep.”
He stood up again, his face pink and crumpled like a two-year-old’s. Dramatically, deliberately, he buried his head in his arms and turned away from me.
“Ian, it’s only three days.”
His breathing was fast and loud, his shoulders pumping up and down.
“Ian?”
“THAT’S NOT FAIR!” he shouted, and the mother reading with her toddler on the floor turned to see what had happened.
“Ian.” I came out from behind the desk and put my hands on his shoulders. He jerked his body away from me. I had seen him be melodramatic with Sonya, and Sophie Bennett told me recently that his teachers were finding him incredibly annoying this year, but he’d never done it to
me
before. I bent down to peek through his arms and see his face. He wasn’t actually crying, just heaving and sighing loudly.
“You know, Ian,” I said, “you can check out a lot of stuff right before we close and bring it back after.”
“That’s not true. Because then we’re out of
town
. For almost a whole week, until New Year’s, and my mom will check my suitcase. So I’d have to get stupid books, like Hardy Boys, and then I could only get ten books anyway, because I’m only allowed to check out how old I am.” A lot of families had that rule: a five-year-old could borrow five books, and so on. He leaned back against the big potted tree by the wall and almost sent it crashing down.
“I think ten books should be plenty, don’t you? You don’t want your suitcase to get much heavier than that.”
“And my mom would never let me bring extra books because she
never
lets me do
anything
.”
“Sounds tough,” I said. I went back behind my desk. He looked between his arms to see if I was still watching him, which I was. He picked at the leaves of the plant for a minute, breathing loudly, then stomped over to the mythology shelf.
He ended up checking out the first ten Bobbsey Twins books. “Are these as stupid as they look?”
“Pretty much,” I said.
“Awesome.”
At the end of the day, Glenn appeared at my desk with the library copy of
1,000 Great Date Nights
. “Pick one,” he said.
I hadn’t invited him to come see me at work, and the presumption bothered me. We’d seen each other quite a few times since the night of the concert, and he’d been e-mailing me constantly, but lately I’d been keeping my replies short. There was something a little too slick about him, the way he’d ask me questions straight out of GQ’s date guide, like “What’s your favorite childhood memory?” And the way he would just show up like this, flashing his piano-key teeth.
I was glad there was no one around. I’d had a few desperate and fruitless requests that afternoon for
The Polar Express
and
The Night Before Christmas
, but right now the basement was empty.
“Let’s be spontaneous,” he said. He was saying this a lot lately, like it was some great virtue. For a jazz musician, I suppose it is—four bars to fill, and a horn in your hands—but it doesn’t do a librarian a hell of a lot of good.
I started flipping through the book. “Don’t take me to feed the ducks.”
“Hey,” he said. He leaned over the desk. “I’ll take ya to the moon, baby.” Cheesy Sinatra voice and wiggling eyebrows.
I could hear Loraine’s heels clunking unevenly on the stairs. “Okay,” I whispered. “Pretend to browse, fast.” I stood up and yanked the white bed sheet off my desk chair and tossed it under the desk. I’d been using it all week, hoping it would protect my skin from the chair fabric, but if anything, my rash had gotten worse. I was considering
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