Having a woodworking Etsy where the listed items tended to skew more artistic than rustic…well, Dell knew that would result in the same kind of glances some folks gave his fingernails. It was tiring, was all.
“Anyway.” He turned with his mug, taking a step away from the counter. “Let’s try out this rug, then.” And with only a small grunt, he lowered himself to the floor.
“Hell. Yes.”
He’d planned only on sitting, but Mae stretched herself on her back, swiping her arms and legs like she was making a snow angel.
“I give it an A,” she said after a minute. At which point Dell realized he was sitting there like a creep, staring at her, so he shifted onto his back until he was staring at the ceiling, too. “Mind if I put on some music to appreciate the rug to?”
“Go for it,” he said.
A few moments later, Mae placed her phone on the rug between them. Maggie Rogers poured through its tiny speakers, and Dell suppressed a grin.
“So,” he said, halfway through the song. “Why books?”
Maybe it was the high of finishing the bookshelf, or the admiration for how quickly Mae was bringing this place together. Maybe it was residual guilt from throwing a mug at her. Or it was just Maggie, and the fact that they were both lying on a rug together, a strangely intimate affair.
Regardless of the reason, Dell felt a need to start making an effort. Not just through bookshelves, but with words, which were a hell of a lot harder.
“Huh?”
Dell cleared his throat.
“You have this supposed blank check from your friend who passed away. Why a bookstore?”
Mae’s phone transitioned to a song he didn’t know.
“You really want mywhy books are specialspeech?”
“I mean.” Dell shrugged against the floorboards. “I’m building you bookshelves. At this point I kind of feel like I deserve it.”
Mae released a small laugh.
“God, it just feels so trite to say it all out loud. Like, whodoesn’tthink books are special? I’m fucking boring, really.”
Dell knew both of those points deserved a solid rebuttal. But he was still pretty damn tired, from the last week, from life, and so his efforts to converse here only went so far.
“Tell me anyway,” he said instead.
She fell quiet for a time. But eventually, after a long breath, she started.
“I grew up in a small town in the mountains of North Carolina. Even in my oldest memories, I remember feeling too big for it. My body, which has always been big, and in every other way, too. It was a decent place, more diverse than Greyfin Bay. But books let me explore new places, you know? Taught me how much bigger the world was than the Carolina mountains. That felt so important to me. Books honestly helped me want to wake up each day.”
A pause.
“And as an adult…being a social worker was hard. My relationships haven’t always been great. Escaping into romance books helped me feel like…things could be okay. And…when the world is so awful.” Mae sighed. “I don’t know. Sometimes it feels like books are the only things that keep me from being full of rage just…all the time.”
A whole song went by until Dell said, “Yeah.”
“So.” Mae took a loud, deep breath in and out. “I guess that’s pretty much it. I can’t make the world any less shitty, but I can stock some good books written by people who are smarter than me, I can stock books where people are good and kind to each other, and maybe that’s…doing something.”
“It is,” Dell agreed. Mae went quiet again, as if she’d said her piece. None of which had felt very trite to Dell at all. He almost opened his mouth and told her how he felt the same way when he was able to save a piece of land. When he was able to preserve an inch of this town. Like he was doing something.
“So,” Mae said eventually, picking at the sleeve of her cardigan. “That’s why.”
And then another thought occurred to him altogether.
“I…have a friend,” Dell said slowly. He swallowed. “He’s writing a book. A fantasy book.”
