Bookishly Ever After

by Sarah Monzon

  “Excuse me.” I slid out of the booth and headed straight for the door that led to the outside on the stern of the boat. Hurt and anger swirled like a tidal pool. The only chance I had to cool off was by gulping deep lungfuls of crisp morning air.

  “Emory, where are you—”

  I stalked past Tate, wiping at my cheek. Maybe he had good intentions, like Tiffany’s sister, Amanda in the book I’d finished last night, when she set Tiffany up with her best friend. But I couldn’t think of those good intentions now. Not when I was trying to figure out why this all hurt so much. Why it felt like some sort of betrayal.

  The glass door, lighter than I’d expected, swung wide open at my shove. A seagull resting on the railing took flight.

  “Emory.” A hand on my shoulder turned me around. “What’s going on?”

  I lifted my face, ashamed of my tears but too angry to care. No, not angry. I didn’t get angry. Frustrated. Sad. Hurt. But not angry. I’d been surrounded by it too much growing up. My parents spewing their hatred of each other across the house in ugly words. Even hiding in my closet, hands over my ears, hadn’t drowned them out. I’d never be like that. Avoided all confrontations.

  So when I looked at my friend’s face, my throat closed around the words I pushed out. “How could you?” It wasn’t so much an accusation. Not really. I wasn’t hurling the words in his face, not the way they left my lips in shattered pieces.

  Tate took a step back but didn’t lower his hand. “What? What did I do?”

  My head shook side to side, releasing more of my stubborn corkscrew curls. “That—” I jammed my finger toward the inside of the ferry, let my hand fall in surrender. “Never mind.”

  I wanted to tell him. Cross my heart. Wanted to grab a fistful of his shirt and yank him toward me until we were nose to nose. Look him in the eye and say, You listen to me, Tator Tot, and you listen good. I can get my own dates without any help from you. And if I did need your help, I’d ask for it. Got it? Then I’d shove him away, and Tate, being who he was, would probably make a crack about my misuse of the word good. That it should have been well. The turd, even making jokes in my imagined arguments with him.

  Anyway, that was what I wanted to say. But no matter how many times I pressed my tongue to the roof of my mouth to get the words out, they wouldn’t form. I rubbed at my forehead. It didn’t matter. Wasn’t worth it. What was the big deal, anyway? The anger that had tightened the fibers of my muscles left me all of a sudden, until my body sagged from its own weight. If I just let it go, the whole thing would blow over and everything would be back to normal.

  His forehead folded over as he looked through the glass partition, trying to figure out why I was upset. “Emory, tell me. Please.”

  As I said, I wanted to. I felt safe enough with him. But whenever I opened my mouth, no sound came out. I felt myself shrivel inside. Retreat back to my closet, the little girl with her hands over her ears.

  “Is it my friends? Are you upset I invited them?” His eyes searched mine like they had earlier.

  I swallowed and tried to appear unaffected, tried to ignore the memory of fear. The escalation of arguments that ended relationships. Ended families. I raised my chin. “Why would your friends upset me?”

  “I don’t know, but you’re clearly mad about something.”

  I shook my head again, looking at the Olympic Mountains that the ferry headed toward. Anywhere but at Tate.

  “Emory, please.”

  I couldn’t. I wanted to, but I couldn’t. That little girl was still inside me. Still protecting herself from the hurt of angry and hateful words. And when didn’t a confrontation or argument turn hateful and nasty? History had taught me that.

  I could take it. Could take the hurt and bury it down until I forgot about it. What I couldn’t take was an explosion of ugly words between Tate and me.

  My hand dipped into my purse and closed around the familiar rectangular shape. I dropped into a deck chair and opened the book. Didn’t lift my eyes back to Tate’s. “Don’t worry about it. I’m fine. Everything is fine.”

  With that I shut off my thoughts, dammed up my emotions, and retreated to a world far away.

  Four

  We’d docked at Bainbridge Island, crossed the Hood Canal, and now trekked northwest across the Olympic peninsula. I’d given up trying to figure out where we were going. Unless I’d totally misjudged Tate’s hakuna matata reference, which was impossible, we should be heading somewhere that would at least remind me of Africa. If it had been me, we’d have gone to Woodland Park Zoo. But unless there was an eccentric guy with a personal pride of wild cats, I was lost.

  Which I could now care less about. Unwinding the mystery of our destination took zero priority. I had no mental energy to invest in the surprise, as my heart hung low in my chest. For the most part, I’d stared out the window and watched the pine trees whiz by. Let the conversation wash over me and swirl around the van. Occasionally I’d peek at Tate out of the corner of my eye. I always found him the same. Silent. Observant. Studying me like a chord transition that he didn’t understand.

  My stomach would sink a bit deeper. I was overreacting. So a friend wanted to see me happy. That was sweet, right? But no matter how many times I told myself his motives had been driven because he cared about me, I couldn’t shake the anchor wrapped around my soul.

  If anyone knew me, knew my introvertedness, my desire to avoid crowds, my struggle with small talk, my need for time away from…everything, it was Tate. Even if it wasn’t true, the revelation of the setup, the basis for his reason to make this bet in the first place, felt like a rejection. Like him saying I know who you are, but you need to change, when all this time I thought he liked me for who I was.

  If not for the other part of the bet, the one where he had to send out demos for each of these little adventures I went on, I’d call the whole thing off. I didn’t need to win that badly, even if I was more-than-slightly competitive. Tate had talent, and the world needed to hear his music. He just required a kick in the pants to get over his fear of rejection or whatever it was that held him back.

  My lips curved as I eyed him again. Too bad that kick couldn’t be literal.

  “We’re here,” Carla announced as she turned into a long drive.

  Olympic Animal Park. Wait. I’d heard of this place before. It was kind of like a safari but with mostly northwest animals, except for the addition of zebras.

  I turned to Tate.

  His smile looked uncertain, and I knew he was still stuck on our exchange on the boat. I had to convince him everything was all right. Reaching out, I gripped his forearm and squeezed. “This is amazing.”

  The corners of his eyes lost some of the tightness, relaxing into genuine pleasure. “Your safari awaits, m’lady.” He leaned in. “I promise you—things are so much better experienced in real life than in bound paperback.”

  Not all things, but this, maybe.

  We paid for ten loaves of bread from the attendant at the gate, and Carla drove the van up the hill, following the dirt circle that wove through the property. All the windows rolled down, and I leaned forward in anticipation. Everyone else did too. We were like a group of kids at the coolest petting zoo ever.

  “Look at that.” Jim laughed and pointed out the windshield. A pack of some sort of long-horned cows or yaks or something blocked the cattle guard into the field. Carla eased over the metal rungs, and a black wet nose poked into Jim’s window as soon as the front tires cleared the guard. He pinched a piece of bread in his fingers and offered it to the animal, who whipped out his long tongue, curled it around the offering, and brought it to his mouth.

  I laughed at Jim’s girlish squeal, the last vestiges of tension hovering around me leaving with the sound, but stopped short when a large head lowered into my window and tried to take off with the entire loaf of bread lying in my lap. “Oh no you don’t.” I wrestled the plastic bag away from the aggressive llama and offered him half a piece as consolation.
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  The llamas, we discovered, were the most devious. It was like they’d planned these heists and enacted them thousands of times before. Which they probably had. One would take a kamikaze stand in the middle of the road, slowing Carla and allowing the other the swoop in the window for a score. We were dying with laughter from their antics and eventually rolled up the windows any time a llama was in sight.

  Tate looked at me, eyes dancing, full grin in place. He’d done this. For me. Even if the day was a setup, he was still my friend. Still had spent the time and energy to transport me beyond the pages of a book to a real-life experience. I smiled at him, glad we seemed to be back on steady footing.

  The zebras were next, but they were more interested in grazing than in what we had to offer. Around a bend, a fence was erected near the road.

  “I wonder what’s in those.” Sydney pointed to the fenced-off pastures.

  We didn’t have to wait long. A huge Kodiak bear sat up from its lounging position and watched us.

  “Carla, stop.” Tate grabbed the side of her chair. “I read about these bears. If you wave at them, they’ll wave back.”

  “But the ranger said not to stop.”

  “Then go really slow.”

  Carla made the van crawl along while the rest of us in the back pressed up against the side window and waved like mad. I was sure we made a hilarious sight, four grown faces huddled in the back, hands flying back and forth.

  A large paw lifted. Excited, I grabbed three pieces of bread and flung them at the bear. Should have thought about the close quarters first. Maybe then I could have spared Tate an elbow to the nose.

  “Sorry,” I said as he cupped a hand over the center of his face.

  “It’s fine, but here.” He widened his legs in a spread-eagle pose and pulled me by the arm to sit in the tiny triangle of seat he’d exposed. I was more in his lap than the seat, but as the bear waved again, I decided I didn’t care.

  Carla continued to inch forward, and soon the bears were behind us. I shifted to return to my own seat but found it filled by Sydney. Now what? I could go back by Landon, but the rear windows didn’t go down. I’d miss a chance to feed the next animals.

  “You want me to move so you have more room?” Tate was so close his warm breath fanned the tendrils of hair at my neck.

  I couldn’t ask him to move, or he’d miss out on all the fun. I kept my back straight, maintaining as much personal space as I could. “It’s fine.”

  His eyes darkened as they locked on at me, and he seemed about to say something.

  Jim beat him to it. “Oh my word.”

  We leaned to see past the front seats and out the windshield. Elk and bison, dozens of them, packed together in front of a second cattle guard.

  “Guys ready?” Jim asked over his shoulder.

  Carla braced her hands on the steering wheel as she slowly edged the van forward. A massive head the size of the entire window shoved its way inside the van, horns and all, black tongue swaying and curling, looking for its breakfast. Jim shrieked again, the high-pitched sound ending in a fit of laughter as slices of bread left his hand.

  Another bison pushed his way forward, and I found myself eye to eye with the two-thousand-pound creature. I pressed my back to Tate’s chest, the bison’s space instantly more important than my own. Giggles erupted from my chest as its rough tongue wrapped around my fingers and extracted the bread, leaving my hand slobbery. This went on with both bison and elk and the cutest little deer I’d ever seen, until we ran out of bread. Our exit strategy consisted of rolling up our windows and watching the animals chase after us. We couldn’t stop laughing the whole time, and when we finally exited by driving over the cattle guard, I was ready for a bathroom break.

  Carla parked at the facilities, and we all piled out, needing to wash our hands, if nothing else.

  Tate stopped me with a hand to my elbow. “So?”

  What could I say? That was an experience I’d never forget, and he’d made it possible. “Thank you. That was incredible.”

  “I knew if I could get you to put a book down long enough—”

  I wouldn’t let his I told you so speech ruin it either. “Now it’s your turn to follow through on our bet. I’ll have a song and an agent to send it to picked out for you in the next few days.”

  Five

  Turns out I didn’t need a few days. I parked myself in my favorite chair, laptop resting against my thighs, and started Googling agents. Learned the difference between a music agent—someone who basically just books the artist’s gigs—and a music manager—someone who helps the artist develop relationships with specific record labels. Tate needed a manager. He could book his own gigs if he wanted, but what he needed was someone who could put him on the radio. Let the world hear his moving lyrics and soul-touching voice.

  It took a couple of hours, but I finally found someone I thought would be a good match for Tate and his music. Ctrl+P and my printer spewed out the info I needed. The song he should send was a no-brainer.

  Tate had been outside on the fire escape a couple of weeks ago strumming something new. His voice had filled the air. Sometimes he’d repeat a bar in an octave higher or lower, pause, and start again. The magic of his composition. I’d pulled a chair up to my open window and sat for who knew how long listening to him piece it together. He’d continued to play, and a restlessness had begun in my fingertips, worked its way inward until I’d been pulled out the window and up the fire escape stairs like a hypnotized person. Tate had given me his half grin, never missing a beat as he continued to sing, his eyes locking on mine as all of his feelings reached out and stirred my own.

  I could still remember the lyrics.

  If shooting stars made wishes come true,

  Then you’d see me as I see you.

  Baby, I want the best for you, wanna give the world to you.

  Baby, I love the whole of you and would give my all to you.

  But do you see me and the love I hold inside for you?

  It had almost been like a lover’s serenade. A man coaxing his beloved not to spurn his deepest feelings. A plea to allow him into her heart.

  I sighed at the memory, cheeks heating a bit at my silly romanticism. Especially considering it was Tate. My friend.

  But the world would fall in love with him when they heard that song. It would be impossible not to.

  I glanced at the illuminated numbers of the clock on the stove: 9:02. He’d still be awake. Locking the door behind me, I scurried down the long hall to the stairwell and climbed the risers to the next floor. After three knocks and a long pause, I wondered if he was even home. Then the door opened, and there Tate stood, a towel wrapped around his hips, chest bare, hair wet, water dripping from the soaked strands down the side of his face.

  “Uh…uh…” Not even with strangers had I been so completely tongue tied. Heat flamed my cheeks as I stared at his toned chest. My eyes widened as my brain finally kicked in, and I swirled around, mortified.

  Tate’s deep laugh rumbled behind me, and I covered my face with my hands.

  “You can turn around now.”

  I wasn’t so sure. Spreading open my fingers, I rotated slightly and peeked through them. He still stood there in a towel, but a Seahawks T-shirt now covered his well-defined middle.

  “Just give me a minute, okay?” He turned and disappeared behind another door leading to a bedroom.

  I stood there for a minute, legs not moving. Authors had used such constructions in books to show readers how the heroine was affected by the hero. Maybe a turning point when the character finally realized she wasn’t immune to the leading man after all. Her heart would race, and she’d feel pulled toward the man. I’d always thought it was fun, if maybe a bit cliché. Grinned at the heroine’s discomfort and embarrassment.

  Now I knew better. It was not fun. It was downright mean.

  Things once seen could not be unseen. And some things just should not be seen. No matter how nice they looked or how muc
h one might want to take another peek. But friends should not see friends half clothed. It rocked the equilibrium of the universe. Hazed lines of the friend zone and made everything foggy.

  I was nothing but a good friend, so I tried to think of something else, anything else—puppies, a field of sunflowers, a train wreck—but the only image that took shape in my head was the one burned into my brain like a branding iron. And the more that image flashed like neon lights, impossible to ignore, the more my neurons fired, sending ripples through my body like exposed wires.

  Hinges creaked, and muted footsteps sounded on carpeted floor. “Are you going to stand out in the hall all night?”

  Umm. Yeah, I very well might because my legs weren’t obeying my fixated brain, and I couldn’t imagine stepping across that threshold. How was I supposed to have a conversation with him when I kept imagining him with his shirt off? Maybe if I didn’t look at him. That might work, right?

  I kept my gaze down as I took one step into his apartment.

  “What’s with you?” Tate grabbed my arm and pulled me farther in, closing the door behind me.

  The skin on my arm burned where he’d touched me. I’d never wished for the superpower of Flubber before. Not that Flubber was a superhero, but I couldn’t actually think of a real superhero with the powers of turning one’s self into a puddle and then slinking away through the crack under the door. I couldn’t think of anything. No, that wasn’t true. I couldn’t think of anything else besides…that.

  The paper in my hand quivered against my leg. I shoved it at him, my knuckles colliding with his stomach. My hand reached back, the paper fluttering to the floor.

  Tate raised his brow at me but didn’t comment. He leaned down and retrieved the paper. “What’s this?”

  I cleared my throat. “Your part of the bet.”

  He stared at me, right brow still cocked. “You want me to play ‘See Me’?”

  I crossed my arms over my chest and pressed my elbows down. Hands trapped, I couldn’t accidentally touch him again. “Why not? It’s a great song.”