Page 39 of Wish You Were Her
RE: Not Myself
Dear Friend,
Have you ever watched yourself from above, like a helicopter pilot flying over a war zone? I mean, as though the real you is high above and all the stupid parts of you are down below. You watch your ego and your pride say completely inane things to decent people, and you’re screaming down from the ladder, “please stop” but they don’t. I mean, you don’t. You have to watch yourself botch a social situation so badly, you don’t think you deserve saving.
I’m sure this is a completely foreign situation to you, but it’s been happening to me a lot lately.
Anyway. The festival seems to be in a bit of a shambles, but I’m still hopeful that you’ll come. And that we can actually meet.
Wish you were here.
Yours,
Sad Bookseller
Allegra reread the email during her break, which she spent on the shopfloor in the tiny romance section. She smiled at the remorseful words and glanced over at Simon, who was reading the blurb of a political non-fiction hardback. She was relieved to read that he was perturbed at the two versions of himself, because she felt the same.
A loud thud made her glance over at Jonah. He was ripping up boxes for recycling and scowling as he did so. His profile was guarded and cross, every inch of him warning people to stay away. Yet Allegra found herself remembering the compliment he had reluctantly given her during the game at Simon’s house.
She wondered what emails from Jonah might look like. He would occasionally leave notes on the front desk of the shop, in serial killer handwriting, and they bore none of the wit and warmth of the emails. They made Allegra wonder about what went on under the water of him.
He was stubborn and always in a bad mood, but there were flashes of real character from him, the kind that Allegra couldn’t stop thinking about. He was principled and honest. He would never showcase books that were ideologically lazy or too in favor of the status quo. He said what he thought. He was gentle with people who were intimidated by bookshops, and funny sometimes with the children who came in.
She slid her phone away, deciding to answer Simon’s latest email later, and re-joined the others in the main part of the shop.
“So,” Simon addressed her with a familiar smile as she approached the other two booksellers. “How are you finding summer in Lake Pristine?”
Allegra had to laugh. From people arguing in the line for ice cream to the floral garlands that were draped all over town, itwas a wonderful departure. “Love it. It’s everything I’ve heard it would be.”
“You know we once ran a tattooist out of town because they wanted to open up a studio,” Simon said. “I say ‘we,’ it was the elders. But I got one anyway, look!”
He rolled up his sleeve to show a small blotch of black ink.
“What is it?” asked Allegra, laughing.
“It was meant to be a rain cloud but my dad caught me under the needle and stopped the whole thing, so now it’s just a blob. My family were mad but I remain one of the few tattooed individuals in town. They like it twee here.”
“They certainly do,” muttered Jonah, breaking apart another cardboard box.
“There’s only one bar in town, hence why the arcade has become such a hellmouth,” Simon added. “But the Arthouse is nice. And sometimes we drive into Mapesbury, the neighboring town. It’s still pretty small but it’s the twenty-first century there. We were going to go tonight, actually.”
“Who’s ‘we’? The town elders?”
“Me, Lucien, Skye—”
“I’ll catch a ride with Grace and Kerrie,” Allegra said confidently. If they had not already been invited, they would be now. “What’s the plan?”
Mapesbury was not quite the bright lights of Paris nor the rainy chicness of London. It certainly wasn’t the clinical mousetrap that was Los Angeles. It wasn’t a city, but a slightly bigger town west of Lake Pristine. What was clear about Mapesbury was the fact that her new friends in Lake Pristine found it to be all the freedom that they needed from small-town life.
“Things stay open past six,” Grace said to Allegra, as they all made their way toward a laidback-seeming bar. “Bliss!”
Once they were all inside, Lucien and Simon started seeing who could down a pint the fastest. Skye had elected not to come.
Allegra was looking at the mocktail menu with Kerrie when she felt the—unfortunately very common—feeling of being watched.
She glanced up and smiled uncomfortably at the two men in their twenties who were standing over their small bar table.
