Page 101 of The Now in Forever
An hour later, I walk outside. The clouds have cleared, and thesunshine warms my face. I dig out my phone. Anh answers on the first ring.
“We have an SBA-backed line of credit, baby!”
The whoop that comes out of Anh is so loud, I have to hold the phone away from my ear.
We email Rick, putting in an official—very official, thanks to Anh—offer on the bookstore.
After an agonizing three-day wait, Rick writes us back that the offer has been accepted. We sign everything that same afternoon, my excitement spiking with each digital yellow tab I initial.
The next morning, I put on my favorite light-blue dress with buttons up the front and my pair of vintage red Mary Janes and head out into the sunshine, a spring in my step.
Rick hands me the keys, and the cold metal on my warm palm feels like an electric shock.
This is happening.
I walk from Rick’s office to the bookstore—our bookstore—stopping by one of the shops on the way. Since I got here in June, I’ve walked down this street countless times, but today feels different. Because as of today, Fortune Falls is my home.
Turning the key in the lock of the red door, I close it softly behind me. There’s so much to do, to clean, to sort, to organize, but today is for celebrating.
I take the stairs to my apartment, opening some windows to let in fresh air. The previous owner never used the space, so it’s been sitting empty for quite a while. Not anymore. First thing I need to get is a bed and a shower curtain. I picture where my things will go, what furniture I need, making my way back to the bedroom. I pop the cork on the champagne and quickly sip at the foaming bubbles.
I own a bookstore with my best friend. It may have cost me the love of my life, but I followed my gut, no magic eight ball needed. Drinking champagne straight from the bottle, I take a photo of the ocean view from my room then send it to Anh and Robin with the text:
Me: We own a bookstore.
Not even a minute goes by before I get texts back.
Anh:Fuck yeah, we do!
Robin:I’m on my way!
I open my email and think about sending it to Ed. After I attach the photo of my view, I think better of it and take a new one, with me in the picture, champagne held high, in front of my amazing view. I writeMy new home. You’re welcome anytime.
I hit Send as I hear the door creak open downstairs.
“Knock, knock.”
I run to greet Robin and Nathan, holding another bottle of champagne and glasses.
When I rush to Robin, we hug like we haven’t seen each other since last summer, like we used to as kids. I laugh into her hair as she says, “I’m so proud of you.”
A tear rolls down my cheek then another. When we part, I’m crying in earnest. She pulls me back in for another hug. “Honey.”
I sniffle. “They’re happy tears.”
And it’s mostly true, but there’s a small part of me that wonders if I shouldn’t have signed the papers and instead gotten on a plane to LA.
I work harderthan I have ever worked in my entire life. And I’ve taught a room full of fifteen-year-olds, fresh out of sex-ed,Romeo and Juliet.I know hard work. But this is another level. The bookstore demands all my time and energy.
The wallpaper is trickier than I originally thought. My initial plan was to peel it all off, but I quickly found out that wasn’t going to be possible. I tried a blow dryer, then a heat gun, and then when that didn’t work, a chemical stripper that stunk to the whole place up for an entire week. When I finally got one long strip off, it was an even uglier wallpaper underneath. So, the floral yellow stays.
To patch up the holes, I’m having the local artist I hired to paint the steps like a bookshelf add more books inside each gap in the paper.It’ll look like the wallpaper is hiding secret shelves. Hopefully, it will be cute. He’s also going to paint the name of the store on the sign too, Story Club Books.
With some help from Robin and Nathan, we should be ready to open on the weekend of Fortune Falls Fall Festival, in two weeks.
This morning, I’m lying in bed a few extra minutes before I continue on the great shelf clean out. I’m going to put a fresh coat of paint on all the shelves, but first I need to box up the books—I’ve already completed a full inventory and ordered some new stock—and wipe all the shelves down.
Burrowing under my soft comforter to keep my limbs out of the chill in the air, I check my email. There is one at the very top from Ed. Every day when I wake up, there’s an email from him. He’s a late-night writer. I can picture him lying in his bed, his fingers flying over his phone like they were that day we went to the Hideout. I’ve told him all about every inch of the bookstore and all my insane tasks to fix it up. He’s told me all about the famous people he’s met and the fancy parties he’s been to.
