Two Hearts Alone

by Harper Bliss

  When he says it like that, the overall mood of the store does suddenly strike me as rather red and sappy. But I don’t mind. And I’m the one who has to spend my days here.

  “It’s a bit of an experiment. In New York everyone’s so incredibly jaded when it comes to Valentine’s Day, you know? I get that you want to rail against the capitalist angle, but in the end, it’s still a celebration of love.”

  “That’s right. You and I are on the same page, Zoe.”

  “So what business are you and Anna in?”

  “I do web design. She does graphic design.”

  “How cool.”

  Sean shrugs. “We get by. We’re just a couple of nerds sitting in front of our computers all day.” He gives an unexpected shy smile, as though he’s embarrassed by what he has just said.

  “Anna designs a lot of book covers. She used to spend hours in here looking for inspiration. Mrs. Fincher didn’t mind. She liked having Anna and Hemingway around.”

  Mrs. Fincher’s name keeps popping up. I’m surprised she hasn’t turned up yet. “Does Mrs. Fincher still live around here?”

  “Oh, yes. But she’s on a cruise. One of those long ones with forty-something stops in Europe.”

  “Making the most of her retirement.” And the amount I paid her to take over her bookstore.

  “Who can blame her?” Sean shuffles his feet. “I’m just going to have a look around.”

  “Of course. Shout if you need me.”

  “Thanks.” He heads to the Memoir section.

  I go stand by the cash register and wait. It feels a little uncomfortable because, despite working for the biggest online bookseller on the planet, I have very little experience hand-selling. I need to get used to the different dynamic. But I did enjoy that little chat with Sean a lot. And I can take the time to think about what he can get Anna to rile her up for Valentine’s Day.

  9

  Anna

  I open the door to the store and am met with a wave of very welcome heat. Before heading in, I look for Zoe. She’s right by the cash register.

  “Are you sure Hemingway can come in? He’s not very good at wiping his paws on a mat.”

  “Of course,” Zoe says. “I’ll mop up after him.”

  “Is he the first dog to enter the premises under their new owner?” Relieved, I usher Hemingway into the warmth.

  “I believe he is.” Like most people, Zoe seems naturally drawn to Hemingway. His soft fur is so inviting. He gives her a short enthusiastic bark when she pets his head. “Does he want some water?”

  “He’s fine. He’s hardly been on a long hike on a hot summer’s day.” I pet Hemingway on the head as well. “Sit, Hem,” I say, hoping he will obey. He does, making me proud. “How’s business?” I ask, because it seems like the polite thing to say.

  “A bit too early to say.” Zoe chuckles.

  I nod and make my way farther into the store. I didn’t come here to make small talk. I want to explore what the revived Bookends has on offer.

  “Are you looking for anything in particular?” Zoe asks.

  “Just having a browse. Can I leave him here?” I point at Hemingway.

  “Of course.”

  “He won’t bother anyone,” I assure her. “Hemingway. Stay.” I quickly give him a treat before taking in the bookstore. It looks very different now that there aren’t dozens of people drinking from paper cups and shooting the breeze. Right now, the store is very red with Valentine’s Day decorations, but if I look past that, the new warm decor gives me an instant sensation of calmness, which is not something that happens very often. Then again, I’ve spent hours in this store in its previous iteration. It’s been spruced up, but its soul remains the same. If I ignore the rack with Valentine’s Day cards and skirt the table with stuffed animals holding hearts, and just focus on the books, it feels a bit like stepping back in time.

  Walking around the store with Zoe there is different than when Mrs. Fincher was behind the cash register. I had gotten so used to having her there, and she was so unobtrusive with me, sometimes it felt like I was all alone in the store. It’s going to take a few visits before I’m used to the new owner’s energy, which seems much more palpable and present.

  Mrs. Fincher used to have little handwritten notes sticking out of the books she recommended—suggestions I used to take her up on often. Zoe hasn’t taken up that tradition yet. In fact, it’s hard to determine what she would recommend. But this is my first visit, I’m just doing recon. I’m not here to criticize. Just to observe.

  I walk to the Romance section, not because it’s my favorite genre, but because I work a lot on romance book covers. When I’m stuck, I usually come here to have a look around and to feel inspired. I could go online and surf Amazon, and I do, but there’s something different, something more elemental, about holding the books, about seeing their covers in real life, about skating a finger over the indented texture of the titles and author names.

  All of a sudden, Hemingway appears by my side. He shouldn’t be walking around the store like that.

  “I’m sorry.” I look at Zoe but she’s smiling.

  “He’s been there a few minutes, but you didn’t notice,” she says. “You were so absorbed in studying that book. A romance fan?” She quirks up one eyebrow.

  “Oh, no. I’m really not. I’m more into literary fiction.”

  Zoe waits to comment until I’ve escorted Hemingway back to the entrance.

  “What’s your favorite?” she asks.

  I chuckle. “That’s actually a pretty intimate question.”

  “Is it?”

  I shrug. I don’t really know. And I always have my answer at the ready for occasions like this, although, surprisingly, very few people actually ask me what my favorite book is. “A Little Life by Hanya Yanagihara” I say.

  “Wow. That’s heavy stuff.”

  “I haven’t come across anything more impressive since I read it.”

  “Oh, it’s exquisitely written, but the subject matter is… hard to digest.”

  I nod. “I can’t reread some parts. But eighty percent of it, I can, and I do regularly, because it’s just so beautiful.”

  “I’ve met Hanya Yanagihara,” Zoe says, a grin on her face.

  “Really?” Unlike most other people on this planet, I’ve never had any desire to meet the makers of my favorite works of art.

  “She lives in New York and I used to work for Amazon. We had an event one day where she did a reading. She signed my copy of A Little Life.”

  “That’s amazing.” I’m pretty sure my facial expression doesn’t match my words. “You used to work for Amazon?”

  Zoe nods. “I was part of the team that tried to get the Queens Headquarters off the ground. That didn’t turn out too well.”

  “Oh yes, I read about that. The people of Queens were not happy.”

  “I lived in Queens all my life. I was very happy at first, until I actually started listening to the arguments against it. In the end, I couldn’t even stay at Amazon anymore.”

  “How remarkable. I bet it’s not often that an Amazon employee ends up opening an independent bookstore in a small town.” I’m looking at the new Bookends owner in an entirely different light. What she did took guts more than anything.

  “You could also call it a midlife crisis, I guess.” Zoe still has that ever-present smile on her face. “The Big 5-0 is looming.”

  I do a double take. “No way. I just figured you had your daughter really young.”

  “I wish.” Zoe leans her elbows on the counter. “I hope I’m not being too forward, Anna, but, um, would you like to go for a coffee some time?”

  “Erm.” How did we go from discussing A Little Life and Amazon to coffee? “Yeah, sure.” What? Why didn’t I say no. It’s my go-to answer to most other social invitations.

  “Great. How does tomorrow after closing time sound?”

  “T—tomorrow?” Why so soon? I won’t have time to come up with an excuse by tomorro
w. What is my body language saying right now? Zoe can’t possibly get the impression that I’m the best person to have coffee with in this town. There are far better people to invest time in if you want to discover the ins and outs of Donovan Grove.

  “Does that work for you?”

  In theory, it does. I don’t have any plans on Wednesday evening. “It will have to be decaf, though.”

  “Decaf it is.”

  Hemingway finds this an opportune time to bark, as though he has understood and is very much looking forward to it already.

  “Okay.” Without further ado, and without buying any books, which was the prime reason I had come here, I stumble out of Bookends, an impromptu coffee date on my schedule.

  10

  Zoe

  “It’s not a date,” I say, as I apply lipstick.

  Brooklyn, who hangs out with me at the store after school until it closes, doesn’t believe me. “Of course it’s a date.”

  “She doesn’t even know that I’m a lesbian, so how can it be a date?”

  “Hm, newsflash, Mom. These days, you don’t actually have to tell people you’re a lesbian anymore. If you ask them out, it’s implied. Duh.” She says this as if it’s the most obvious thing ever. Oh, to be part of my daughter’s generation. No more coming outs required, apparently.

  “We got talking about books and I just suggested we go for coffee. That’s all.”

  “Just to be sure, I’ll make my own dinner tonight,” Brooklyn says.

  “Fine.” I’m not going to argue over this anymore, but Brooklyn’s skepticism does make me wonder. Anna did react a little oddly when I asked her. Maybe she sees it as a date and that’s why she ran off so quickly after we set it up. And have I really just outed myself by asking her? I suppose I’ll soon find out. “How do I look?”

  “Like you’re going to a cocktail party on the Upper East Side, not for coffee in Donovan Grove.”

  “Good. Exactly the look I was going for.”

  “Is there even a coffee place that’s open after six?” Brooklyn asks.

  “I’ll be sure to let you know, Smartass.” I kiss Brooklyn on the cheek, making sure to leave a bright red lipstick mark.

  Then the door opens and Anna walks in. I can’t see beneath her coat, but she’s wearing the exact same pair of jeans and boots as yesterday. I do feel a little overdressed now, even though, by my standards, I’m not dressed up at all.

  “Oh.” Anna does a double-take. “Hi.”

  “Hi, Anna.” Brooklyn gets up. “I’ll leave you to it.” On her way upstairs, she shoots me a big fat wink. I hope Anna didn’t see it.

  “I—I thought we were just going next door,” Anna says. “We could go to Lenny’s, I guess.”

  “Lenny’s?” I slip into my coat.

  “The bar near the church.”

  “What do you prefer?”

  “Yeah, that would be good. It’s too late for me to have coffee now, anyway,” Anna says. She looks like she could do with a drink.

  “Lenny’s it is.” I turn off the light and lock up the shop. “Is that where the newcomers gathering takes place?” I ask as we stand outside.

  “The what?” Anna just starts walking.

  “Your mother told me about it. Drinks for the new people in town once every few months.”

  “I really couldn’t tell you.” She looks at me. “I also didn’t know Donovan Grove had that many newcomers that needed welcoming.”

  “I don’t think it does.” I have to quicken my stride to keep up with Anna, who marches resolutely through the snow.

  Luckily, the bar isn’t very far and we’re there in no time. Once inside, despite it not being a coffee house, I still feel overdressed in comparison to everyone else present, but it doesn’t bother me. It’s a good way to stand out. I’ve never minded turning heads.

  “Anna, what a surprise.” As soon as we’ve sat down, a woman walks up to us. “It’s not Friday, is it?”

  Anna shakes her head. “I wish, Lisa, but alas.”

  “What can I get you ladies?” Lisa gives me a thorough once-over.

  “I’ll have my usual,” Anna says, then looks at me.

  “What’s your usual?”

  “Beer,” is all Anna says.

  “I’m not much of a beer drinker.” I try to look past Lisa at the bottles behind the bar. “White wine?”

  “One beer and one white wine,” Lisa repeats.

  “I come here every Friday after work with my brother and Sean,” Anna says.

  “Your business partner?”

  Anna nods.

  “He came into the store yesterday.”

  “Yeah. I know.”

  I look around the bar. There are a few people drinking at the counter, but that’s about it.

  “Probably a bit different than what you’re used to in New York,” Anna says.

  “Not that much. Queens has changed a lot the past ten years, and places like this are harder and harder to find, but gentrification isn’t complete just yet. In fact, Lenny’s reminds me of a bar in my neighborhood that I used to go to.”

  “Do you miss Queens?” Anna asks.

  Before I have a chance to reply, Lisa brings our drinks.

  “Cheers.” I hold up my glass. “Thanks for bringing me to Lenny’s.”

  Anna holds up her glass briefly as well. I sip from the wine. It could be better, but it’s not as bad as I had expected—as the look of the place suggested.

  “I miss my family and friends. And my routine. But it was time for a change, I could feel that in my bones. It’s hard to explain. The city suddenly felt so… stifling.”

  “And your daughter?”

  “She doesn’t feel the same way at all. It was a big ask. If I wanted her to grow up in the country, I should have moved out here ten years ago, of course. She was meant to stay in New York for the remainder of the school year, but it didn’t work out that way. Some bullshit with my ex.”

  “Brooklyn’s dad?”

  I chuckle. So much for Brooklyn’s prediction that asking Anna for coffee would equal coming out. “Not quite.” I find her eyes, but as soon as our gazes meet, she looks away. “Her other mother.”

  “Oh. Sorry. I—I didn’t realize that…”

  “That’s fine. It’s not exactly written on my forehead.”

  Anna shuffles in her seat, then takes a large sip of beer. “Is that… why you asked me for coffee? Because it might as well be written on my forehead that I’m a lesbian?”

  I try a smile, which often works like magic to soften people up, but Anna seems a harder nut to crack. “Full disclosure, your mother might have mentioned that you had an ex called Cynthia.”

  “Oh Christ. My mother wouldn’t know discretion if it bit her in the ass.” A tiny grin appears on her lips. “Sometimes I wonder if she’s actually my mother, but the physical resemblance is too uncanny.”

  “She does like a chat. But so do I. She was very sweet to me.”

  “That’s my mom.” Anna peers into her beer glass. “You can’t have told her that you’re into women, otherwise I would surely have known about it already. Heck, she would have set us up already.” An actual grin appears now. “She’s my mom and I love her, but she’s a bit much sometimes, even for me.”

  We chuckle together, which is a nice feeling. Even though it’s at the expense of another person. But it was only a gentle jibe, the kind a family member can easily get away with.

  “I asked you for a drink because you’re clearly into books and I run a bookstore. And, well, I’m new to town. I have to meet some people.”

  “I’m surprised Mom hasn’t taken you around the town yet, introducing you like a debutante.” Anna drinks from her beer again. She seems suddenly very thirsty. I knew she was a lesbian when I asked her to meet me, but she didn’t know it of me. She probably has some recalibrating to do in her head.

  I take a sip of my wine and Brooklyn’s inappropriate question from last weekend pops into my head: Which one of the two
would you choose?

  “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, Anna. I’m just looking for a friend, that’s all.” My instincts tell me this is what Anna needs to hear. If that changes during the course of the evening, and she suddenly starts flirting with me, then I might go about things differently as well.

  But not quite yet.

  11

  Anna

  How did I not see this? I keep taking sips from my beer to get my bearings, but I can’t. I don’t know why I’m making such a big deal of this. But everything suddenly seems different now that I know that Zoe’s a lesbian.

  While I find her very attractive—who wouldn’t, with her glossy lips and smooth skin and energizing smile?—I’m not interested in anything more than this drink. Not that I believe that the likes of Zoe would be interested in someone like me, but I guess beggars can’t be choosers.

  “Are you okay?” she asks.

  “Yeah. Sorry. Just processing. I should be glad that another lesbian has arrived in DG. Now that Cynthia has taken up with a man.”

  “Has she?” Zoe quirks up her eyebrows. I probably shouldn’t be telling her this. I don’t know if Cynthia’s telling people—but she told me, and I’m a person.

  “She told me the other day, when we ran into you and your daughter.”

  “How does that make you feel?”

  I shrug. “I just want her to be happy.”

  “Is that why things ended between you? Because she had feelings for men?” Zoe surely doesn’t mince her words. I’m used to my mother telling it like it is—I look forward to hearing what she has to say about Cynthia and John—but Zoe is something else. There’s a directness about her that I’m not used to, and don’t necessarily know how to deal with.

  “God, no. That was all down to me.” This would be a good time to deflect attention from myself. I don’t want to talk about why Cynthia and I broke up—I don’t want to revisit my failures in front of, as far as I know, the only other lesbian in town. “How about you and your ex?”