I’d like to say I’ve arrived at that same level of comfort with discomfort when it comes to calling meetings with my boss. But I haven’t at all.
Fern walks in through the staff room back door at exactly seven-thirty, half an hour before other staff members will get here to prep opening the store for the day, and for a moment, I’m so nervous, I’m sure I’m going to puke.
“Good morning, Thea.” Fern sets down her thermos of coffee and tucks her usual flowy linen dress, this one in moss green, beneath her as she sits. Her eyes crinkle behind a pair of half-moon gold wire-rim glasses, and her white hair is, as always, sweptup into a small chignon on her head. A cloud of patchouli floats around her.
“Morning, Fern.” I sit down across from her, holding the manila folder that contains everything I’ve been dreaming of, working toward, hoping for. My hands are shaking so badly I nearly drop the folder.
Fern reaches across the table and rests her hands on mine. I try to smile, to look calm and poised for what I’m about to do.
Slowly, she draws her hands back, across the table, and with them the manila folder. Wordlessly, she opens it, her gaze darting down the first page. Her expression is unreadable, her ever-present serene smile giving away nothing.
My stomach knots viciously.
Fern peers up at me over her glasses. “It’s your meeting, Thea. Take it away.”
“Right.” I clear my throat. “So, having looked at page one, you’ll see first on my proposed agenda is…”
She flicks the manila folder shut, still smiling.
My gaze darts from the folder to her. “Why did you close the folder?”
“I’m not interested in reading an agenda. I’m sure you’ve included valuable data points, all the necessary numbers, but I can look at those later.” She leans in, elbows on the table, and holds my eyes. “What I’m interested in is hearing whatyouhave to say.”
I dart another glance at the manila folder. I’m terrible at presenting, unless I’m talking about a book I love. I was planning on walking Fern through each bullet point, clinging to the order and magnitude of the proposal.
But that’s not what she wants. And if I wantthis—my dreamfor this store, for my future—I have to at least try to wing it her way.
Drawing in a deep breath, I shut my eyes. I picture what I’ve let myself want and hope and reach for.
Thea Meyer stood outside The Bookshop, drinking in the sight of it—the tall, colorful shelves teaming with book; the stands of local artists’ cards, stickers, candles, bookmarks; the patrons sipping coffee, plucking a book from the shelf, turning it over to read the back copy, smiling to themselves. Falling leaves drifted from the tree above her, morning sun warm on her face, as she felt a tug in her heart, a quiet voice inside her growing louder:
You could do more than love this place; you could pour your heart into it.
This place has made you happy, but you could make it even happier.
You could make something good and strong and beautiful even more so.
I open my eyes, meet Fern’s gaze, and take the leap.
My meeting with Fern this morning is taking up 98 percent of my brain space, and only the last 2 percent is left for my last task before vacation—book club tonight.
I’m replaying Fern’s response as I drag chairs into a rough horseshoe shape in the middle of the bookstore and members start to trickle in, ordering from the coffee bar an herbal tea, an evening decaf, a cookie, a muffin.
You’ve given me a lot to think about, Thea. Let’s talk once you’re back from your trip.
“She hates it,” I mutter to myself. “I’m going to get fired, and then I’ll be stuck at a job I hate, scrubbing toilets without the perks of pushing books to compensate for that misery.”
“Who’s scrubbing toilets?” Mr. Fleischer asks, those bushy white eyebrows darting up above his thick black-frame glasses.
I jump and spin around, clutching my chest. “No one.” I frown at him. “How did you even hear that?”
He taps his ear. “Hearing aid tune-up this morning. Now move.”
I step aside to make way for him. He’s leaning heavier on his walker these days, moving slower. I’ve offered every book club since we started to drive him, and every time he’s refused me. I’d take it personally, if I didn’t know I’m still his favorite neighborandfavorite Bookshop employee.
“Quite the selection this month,” he says.
“Quite the selection?”
