Page 10 of The Meaning Of You

She smiled and patted my hand. “Then call the family and fight for what the book deserves. If they truly care, they’ll cough up the money. If not, then there’s nothing you can do and they can assume the risk of shipping it themselves.”

“I know,” I grumbled. “I just hate seeing a beauty like that not getting the workmanship and respect it deserves. I’ll never work on another project like it.”

“Never say never, son.” Shirley folded her hands in her lap. “Now for more important topics. Are you dating?”

I groaned. It was always the same question every time I came to visit. “Aunt Shirley, you promised.”

“Did I?” She threw me an innocent look. “My memory really isn’t what it used to be.”

I narrowed my gaze. “There’s nothing wrong with your memory, you little minx. Your manners, however, could use some work. I’m fifty-five, for Pete’s sake. I’m no spring chicken and I’ve earned the right to make my own decisions. My love life is none of your concern.”

Shirley snorted and patted my leg, her bright orange nails standing in stark contrast against my pale skin. “It’s cute that you think that. You might be fifty-five, Madigan, but I’ve got thirty years on that and I’m running out of time to see you happy and settled. You want to send me to my grave in a state of eternal speculation?”

“What?” I stared at her helplessly. “Iamhappy and settled. I don’t need a man for that. Remember how the last one turned out?”

“Pfft.” Shirley waved my protest aside. “That was four years ago, and that jerk clearly had no idea what a gem he’d found. Good riddance I say. I bet he regrets it now.”

I chuckled. “I’m thinking, not so much. He got married two years after we broke up to some guy who looks like he belongs ona catwalk. His social media is full of travel pics and dancing. Not a book in sight.”

“See.” Shirley wagged a finger my way. “I told you he was no good.”

I grinned. “You absolutely did not. If I recall, you said he was perfect for me.”

Shirley waved that taloned hand again. “I never said any such thing.” She caught my gaze and held it. “Are you sure you’re happy? I worry, you know?”

Was I happy? God, what a question. Happiness was such a complicated word. Answer yes, and everything that wasn’t perfect in your life stabs you in the eye. Say no, and you feel like you’ve failed at adulting and everyone feels sorry for you. Besides, was anyone ever really happy?

Good god.I needed a beer before I could handle the existentialism inherent in that particular question.

Shirley waved a hand in front of my face. “Hellooo in there. It’s not a hard question.”

Except it was, and Shirley knew it. “You first,” I laid down a challenge.

Shirley thought a long minute before answering, “I’d say I’m happy enough. But since my life is pretty much done now, I think that’s a reasonable place to sit, especially after losing Clare. She was the love of my life, and I had her for forty years. Nothing to complain about there.”

I reached for her hand. “She’d be so proud of you, and I get that you want me to have the same kind of relationship, but not everyone’s so lucky. I love my work and I’m good at it. It’s fulfilling and creative and I’ve got good people around me. I love my books and my home, and I have a family who love and accept me. That’s more than a lot of people can say, and I think that maybe it’s enough.”

“But—”

I held up a hand. “I’m not ruling out meeting someone, but let’s face it, I’m hardly a catch. I’m a book conservator—hardly the sexiest of jobs—an introverted nerd who works from home and who’d rather read a book than almost anything else. I hate loud music, shopping malls give me hives, and crowds make me anxious. Structure and predictability are my friends, Japanese tissue paper can set me drooling, and I deplore mess of any kind. Need I go on?”

It was a rhetorical question, but Shirley was quick to take advantage. “Inconsequential stuff, nothing more. No man worth his salt would see any of those as obstacles.”

I raised a brow. “Oh, really? Because it’s a rather long list, and the reason I know it off by heart is that every man I’ve ever dated has used one, several, orallof those items as a reason to break up with me. And I’m fine with that. I won’t change who I am just to make some bloody man happy.” I wasn’t done, but an image of Nick Fisher sprang to mind and put me off my stride.

Shirley sighed. “And I wouldn’t want you to change.” She cupped my face. “All I ask is that you keep an open mind. You’re one of the good guys, Madigan. You deserve the best. And if I do happen to check out before you find someone to share your life with, I’ll be having words with the boss upstairs as to what the hell they think they’re playing at. Omniscient, my foot. If they were omniscient, they’d have sorted this out by now, knowing I was heading their way.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “How do you know you’re headed for the good stuff? You might be going the other way.”

Shirley patted my hand. “They wouldn’t dare. Now get along with you. You’ve got better things to do with your evening than keep an old woman company. They’ll be ferrying me off to dinner soon, and I’m not sharing any of my crispy roast potatoes with the likes of you.”

But I knew better than to be bought by her easy flippancy. “Golden Oaks is working out okay for you then?”

She shot a glance toward the door. “It’s only been a week, but yes, it seems fine, although I wish people would stop using names like golden and autumn and evening when they just mean old. It’s juvenile and insulting not to mention lacking any creativity.” She sighed. “The truth is, I can’t stay on my own anymore, Madigan, that’s all there is to it. This is the next best thing. Golden Oaks has a good reputation, and it’ll do the job.”

It did have a good name and Shirley had spent months researching all the long-term care facilities before deciding. Not that it made me feel any better about seeing her effervescent self living in one. “I wish you’d agreed to stay with me?—”

She almost choked. “Not a chance in hell. I love you like you were my own son, Madigan, but that doesn’t mean I want to live with you.” She shot me a sly smile. “You’re altogether too neat and tidy for my liking, and I hear you spend all your time on the couch with a book, while—” She patted her legs. “—these things still have a few dances left in them yet.”

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