“Also, we have the reopening,” he says, more to himself than to her. “Though that’s not until Friday.”
“I don’t know what a reopening is, but it sounds like a party.”
“In this case, it means we’re doing the opposite of closing,” he says, smiling to himself. “The event is for our community—it’s sort of a surprise. So yes, I guess it’s a party. We’re announcing that the store is going to focus on romance novels. Don’t worry, we’ll still have Stabby Peeps and the other books. It’s just that Romance will take up the most space.”
“Nice. You going to call it ‘Happy Endings’ now?”
He laughs nervously. “I’m not sure that’s appropriate.”
“Why not? I mean, I get that you adults make all kinds of great things sound naughty when they really aren’t. But happy endings are why people buy books, after all—especially the ones with love in them.”
Miguel is silent.
“So, are we invited?”
“Well, yes, of course. But I don’t think there’s any way to convince your mother to come.”
“You leave that to me, Miguel. She talks a tough game, and she’sallworked up about you, but I’m her only child, and if I really, really,reallywant to be there,” she says in an exaggerated whine, “then that’s where we’re going to be. Pinky promise.”
“Incredible.”
“I am. What time?”
“Six o’clock, but we’ll be open all day.” He takes a deep breath. “Hey, Amelia Mae? Can I ask you something?”
I startle. This is the first time he’s called her by her full name.
“Course,” she tells him.
“Do you know why you’re named Amelia Mae?”
“Yepperdo. I’m named after my mom’s grandmother, who was the most important person in her life before me. Even before her and Uncle Jon’s parents died, Grandma Amy—that’s what she called her—was the one who mostly raised them,” she tells him. “You know Mom was browsing at the library one day and saw a whole table dedicated toyourAmelia May. And that’s how she started reading her books, and, well—the rest is herstory.”
Beside me, Miguel is very still, and I myself am so stunned I can’t even whimper.
Oblivious to this, she keeps talking. “She says the stories are fantastic, but I need to wait until I’m at least fourteen to read them because of the sexy parts.”
Miguel starts laughing, and once he gets going, he can barely stop. “So let me get this straight,” he says when he’s able to speak again. “Stephen King’s okay, but not romance.”
“Notallromance. I’m good with it. Men are disgusting, anyways.”
“Agreed,” he says, still laughing.
“I’ve gotta—actually, I won’t tell you what I’m up to, because that would make you an accomplice. But before I go…”
Miguel looks at the receiver curiously. I do, too.
“No offense, but you really need to figure out how to use technology. Your message kept playing after you thought it stopped recording. I told Mom she’d better listen to it, or I’d cry.” I can practically hear her smiling from Chicago. “You’re welcome.”
Forty-Two
“Just one more chapter, Harry.”
It’s the day before the big reopening, and Miguel has taken the morning off—but only after clearing it with Riley, who’s finally in charge of staff schedules. I wasn’t sure what he was up to when he lifted me onto the sofa. Then I spotted the paperback he was clutching when he plopped down next to me, and I understood.
It was time for him to read Amelia’s last novel.
That was several hours ago. Now he’s sniffling again and petting me softly because he’s about to finish it. Fortunately, his tears don’t worry me anymore.
