When I was eight and shunned by the other kids for being too awkward and shy, my father built me the most incredible playhouse in the garage, where he worked most days. It had a play kitchen, dolls, and a little comfy chair where I watched him fret over his projects. When I was there, I was in my safe place.
When I was twelve and dolls were suddenly shunned at school, therefore shunned by me, my father swooped in for the rescue again and converted my playhouse into a library, where I’d spend hours upon hours journeying anywhere my reading allowed me to travel.
Floor three is my adult playhouse. It’s my safe place, my escape from the rest of the world, filled with books that deliver joy and adventure; therefore I’ve already left the man on floor two behind me. Some might say that I live between the pages more than I live a real life—okay, soJesswill say—but I’m happy here. And being happy matters.
Just as he was the day we met five years ago, my comanager of floor three, Jack Smith, is behind the half-moon-shaped service desk, assisting a single patron. Jack is my twin personality, a socially awkward book geek who lives for this place. But unlike me, Jack is not average. He’s tall and fit—and he wears thick-rimmed glasses that, when paired with his favored sweater vests and ties, are kind of a hot schoolteacher look. His dark skin is perfectly clear and glowing even under the library’sunforgiving overhead lighting, and I’m reminded that he’s quite good looking.
At least I think so.
Unfortunately, considering our mutual geek status, and dismal dating lives, we just aren’t that into each other, at least not like that. We tried. We went on a date, and two awkward people feeling awkward suffocated us both. It was justtoo muchawkward. The best part of the night was when we burst into laughter and at the exact same moment said, “What were we thinking?”
I wave at him and motion to the back office we share just behind the service area, that holds two desks, facing opposite walls. It’s a small space that ensures everything from a cough to crankiness becomes contagious. I’ve just sat down and put away my purse when Jack appears beside my desk. “Kara wants you to call her,” he announces.
I inwardly cringe at our boss’s message, which means I’ll most likely be working with her on auditorium bookings today, rather than here on three, for fear I’ll seem ungrateful for my new duties. Kara pushing me to expand my horizons resulted in a much-needed raise, considering my ever-increasing rent. Now I’m saving for a house, hopefully ending my mother’s incessant pressure to stop wasting money on rent.
Jack, wearing a black vest, and checkered tie, motions to my desk, and my gaze lands on a napkin that seems to be covering a plate. “You missed Joan’s birthday cake, and I know how you love to have your cake and to eat it, too.” He waggles his eyebrows.
I laugh at his cheesy joke, because geeks together are geeks forever, and all that stuff. We’d known that from the day we met, when we competed for who knew the most quotes from books. He won round one. I won round two. And for the first time in my life, I experienced the phenomenon of instant friendship.
I rip away the napkin and eye the luscious vanilla icing. “Oh my God, this is from Julie’s Bakery. I freaking love that place.” I point a finger at him and chide, “You are never good for my diet,” but even asI do, I grab the fork he’s dutifully included on the plate and add, “But thank you. I love you, too. I really needed cake right now.”
“I love you, too,” he says, sitting down in the chair next to my desk, his back to a wall, his gaze on my face as I shove a giant bite of cake into my mouth. I’ve learned to appreciate certain things about being invisible, such as shoving almost half a slice of cake in your mouth in one bite and no one noticing. Okay, well, Jack notices, but he doesn’t care if I inhale cake. The thing is, he’s invisible, too, but not with me, and I’m not to him, but I also feel free as a bird with him. Jack just gets me. He doesn’t judge me. Jess is my people, too, but she’s different. She’s judgy; therefore I’m not free as a bird with Jess, but I’m okay with that. I’m also not invisible with Jess, or she wouldn’t notice when I’m a slob.
“Do you know why I knew you’d need the cake?” he asks.
“Why?” I ask, licking icing from my finger.
“Because you had lunch with Jess. You always come back from lunch with Jess stressed.”
Jess and Jack are what I call “my two Js,” my people, the only people I confide in, count on, call family, no matter what their bloodline or mine. The problem is, they don’t like each other. Not really. They’ll tolerate one another when necessary.
“She doesn’t stress me out. That’s silly.”
“You judge yourself by her,” he states, his jaw setting hard. “Don’t argue. It’s true. You know it’s true, and to your detriment.”
The problem with people who know you well is they know you well. So, yes, he’s correct. I judge myself by her, but that’s my problem, not Jess’s. Jess doesn’t do that to me. I do that to myself. I am responsible for my own actions and reactions. I learned that in psychology class and in the books I obsessively read that semester.
That doesn’t mean I put all I’ve read to good use, as right now I can’t seem to deny or escape a defensive reply to Jack’s analyzing me. “I wasn’t aware you were now holding therapy sessions. Perhaps you need to stay away from floor two and the self-help books.”
“Perhaps you need to visit floor two and the self-help books,” he counters. “What did she do to upset you?”
“I don’t know why you think I’m upset,” I argue, setting my fork down quite precisely.
He eyes the plate and then me. “Oh, I don’t know. The way you set your fork down with forced control. Or maybe because you inhaled that cake like you’re a garbage disposal.”
I quirk my lips to the side and think about what he said. Am I upset? No.Upsetisn’t the word I’d use. More likeuncomfortable. Jess made me uncomfortable, and she did so with a hard shove out of my comfort zone. See, I was born in July, and that makes me a Cancer, the crab, and true to what the books will tell you, I like to live in a safe, comfy shell of my own making, and no one else’s.
Jack folds his arms in front of him as if to say, “I’m not going anywhere until you spill the beans,” and while I fight the confession, it wins the battle. “She’s writing an article about dating sites. She wants me and her to basically register and document our experiences.”
His eyes go wide and his jaw sets tight. “Is she using your name?”
“I didn’t say I’d do it at all.”
“Is she using your name?”
“I haven’t even agreed to help her.”
“Of course you’re helping her. That’s what you do when Jess wants something. Are you allowing her to use your name in the article?”
