The Bookish Life of Nina Hill

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The Bookish Life of Nina Hill Page 21

by Abbi Waxman


  “Masterpiece,” interjected Nina.

  “Yes, and the cockroaches in the Gregor books, and I said bugs are interesting because they’re smaller than kids, right, and the way characters treat them is like how we get treated by grown-ups, and then he stared at me and said I was weird.” She looked at the table. “I thought it was a reasonable theory.”

  Archie took a drink of water. “Well, I’ll be honest, Millie. That’s not what I would call weird, it’s what I would call smart, but ten-year-old boys aren’t famous for their insights into literature.” He put his glass down. “Or their manners.”

  Nina was gazing at her little sister and wasn’t prepared for the rush of affection she felt for a girl she’d met only half an hour earlier. She reached across the table, again. “Listen, I’ll call your mom myself. You have to come to my book club, and then we can go have dinner afterward and talk about all this stuff.”

  “How often is the book club?”

  Nina frowned. “Once a month.”

  “Oh,” Millie said. “That’s not very much.”

  “But maybe your mom will let me pick you up after school sometimes, and we can hang out and chat. I don’t mind coming out to Malibu.” She almost choked on the sentence, but found it was actually true.

  Millie looked happier. “That would be awesome. I don’t really have anyone to talk to, now.”

  “Well then,” said Nina. “I’ll make it happen. We can do it on Thursdays,” she added impulsively. “I have nothing planned on Thursdays.”

  “Really?” said Millie, squeezing her hand.

  “Yes, really,” said Nina, confidently. “Thursdays can be our night.”

  Twenty-two

  In which Nina gets a shock.

  The Larchmont Spring Festival was, as you might expect, an annual affair. There was cotton candy and sno-cones, there were hot dogs and burgers, and the scent of burning onions blended beautifully with Los Angeles’s signature perfume: sunscreen and money. There were even ponies to ride, though it was hard to reach them through the animal rights protesters complaining that there were ponies to ride.

  Knight’s was closed for the day, but Nina, Polly, and Liz always went to the Festival and mingled with the punters, as Liz put it.

  “It’s a community event,” she said. “Get out there and commune.”

  This year, Nina invited Tom to meet her by the carousel and tried not to be filled with childish glee when she saw him. But it was hard; she was a smitten kitten, and she was starting to be OK with that.

  He pulled her into a hug and kissed her firmly. Polly, who was tagging along, grinned and demanded a hug, too.

  “I’ve heard a lot about you,” she said, but thankfully, didn’t elaborate.

  “What do you want to do first?” he asked them. “Pony ride? Corn dog on a stick?”

  “I want to go in a giant floaty ball,” said Polly, confidently.

  A major draw for the children of Larchmont was a vast paddling pool of water in which floated maybe a dozen large, clear inflatable balls. You climbed into one, they blew it up around you, and then you rolled yourself into the water and wobbled about and got wet and overheated, and thirty seconds after you realized sunstroke and suffocation were distinct possibilities, your time was up. The kids loved it, but Nina rarely saw adults in there, because, you know, wisdom.

  Polly was ready to embrace it, though.

  “I think it looks like fun, and every year I want to do it and every year I talk myself out of it, but not this year.” She took a breath. “This year I’m going to ignore my inner voice and go for it.” She looked defiantly at Nina and Tom, but they just shrugged.

  “Honestly, you’re overthinking it. Go, be your best self, and get into a smelly ball of plastic,” said Nina.

  Polly went off to do that, and Nina and Tom wandered over to the sno-cone stand.

  “Sno-cones don’t really make a lot of sense,” said Nina. “They’re only ice and sugar water, yet they’re deeply pleasing.” She sucked on a mouthful of shavings. “They started in Baltimore, you know.”

  Tom smiled at her. “I didn’t know that. What else do you know about the humble sno-cone?”

  “Well, they’re regionally distinct, of course.”

  Tom nodded.

  “And they became widely popular during the Second World War because all the ice cream was sent to the soldiers.”

  “It was?” Tom frowned.

  “Oh yes,” said Nina, warming to her theme. “Ice cream is the frosty treat of choice for the military industrial complex.”

  Tom stared at her. “You know, I’ve never met a woman who throws the phrase ‘military industrial complex’ around with such confidence. It’s very sexy.”

  Nina flicked ice at him. “You should look it up; it’s fascinating.”

  “I’d rather you explained it to me. You’re much nicer to look at than Wikipedia.”

  “Wash out your mouth,” she said, and then turned as someone called her name.

  “Nina!” It was Millie Reynolds, clutching the hand of her mother, Eliza.

  “Hey!” Nina was thrilled and bent down to hug her little sister. “Tom, this is my sister, Millie.”

  “Is this your boyfriend?” asked the little girl.

  “Yes,” replied Tom, shooting Nina a sideways glance. “I think it’s acceptable to say that, isn’t it?”

  Nina nodded, feeling unusually relaxed. Maybe it was the sno-cone; maybe it was the sunshine.

  “You know, Archie’s here somewhere with his little boy, Henry . . .” Millie giggled. “He’s my nephew.”

  “I’ll let him know we found you,” said Eliza. She smiled at Nina. “Millie told me about your book club. I think it sounds like a good idea. I’ll see if I can make it work.”

  “Great,” said Nina. She grinned at Millie, who gave her a quick thumbs-up.

  Suddenly, Liz appeared, moving quickly.

  “Hide me,” she said. “Meffo’s here. He’s cornering people left and right. He just trapped the toy store owner in front of the funnel cake stand.”

  Everyone but Nina frowned in confusion, and Nina started looking around for an escape route. She spotted their landlord moving slowly up the street, scanning the crowd left and right like a cop car cruising a shady neighborhood.

  She had an idea. “Look, Polly’s about to get into a giant inflatable ball. Go take her place.” Nina pushed Liz toward the long line to get into the attraction. “Go on!”

  Liz scrambled over to where Polly literally had one foot in a ball and rapidly explained the situation. The blower guy was harder to convince, and the line of parents was muttering darkly, but Liz’s panic communicated itself, and Polly stepped aside. Liz was launched just in time; Meffo was among them.

  “Hi, Nina,” he said, smiling politely at everyone. “Is Liz at the Festival? I’ve been looking for her.”

  “I don’t see her right now,” said Nina, which was true.

  The landlord sighed. “Can I speak to you privately?” he said, drawing her to one side. “Please tell your boss that time is up. I’m going to rent the store.”

  Nina frowned. “Surely, we’re not that late on the rent, Mr. Meffo?” She’d always kind of assumed the dance about the rent was just one of those things, a normal part of business. Liz certainly never seemed all that worried, not that she discussed business with her. “It’s the first of June, I get that, but May just ended yesterday.”

  Mr. Meffo looked at her curiously. “The rent for May isn’t the issue, Nina. It’s the rent for last December I’m looking for.” He looked sad. “Knight’s hasn’t made rent in over six months.”

  Nina stared at him and shook her head. “But we’ve been busier than usual. I thought . . .”

  Meffo shook his head. “I’m sorry, Nina, but the store is barely staying afloat. I have a lot of affection
for Knight’s, but at a certain point I have to be realistic.” He walked away, and Nina watched him, the sounds of the Festival drowned out by the pounding of her own heart. Then she turned and studied her boss paddling around in circles, barely staying afloat herself.

  * * *

  A little while later, Liz, Polly, and Nina sat in the darkened store, talking quietly.

  Liz was uncharacteristically somber. “It’s true, I’m afraid,” she said. “Despite everyone declaring the death of books, business is really good, just not quite good enough.” She smiled at her employees. “Your generation is filled with awesome book readers. But the rent has gone up and up and I can’t get ahead. I’m sorry. I had to keep the lights on, and I didn’t want to fire either of you.” She hung her head. “I kept hoping something would turn up.”

  Polly said, “Maybe Nina will inherit a zillion dollars and she can save the store. Isn’t that what happens in movies? Miraculous inheritance?” She looked at Nina. “When is that will reading? It could happen, right?”

  Nina shrugged. “It’s next week, but I don’t know if I inherited anything or, if I did, whether my crazy niece will let me have it without a fight. Mr. Meffo sounded pretty definite.” She looked at Liz, not wanting to criticize, but needing to know. “Did you ask the bank for a loan?”

  Liz laughed. “Of course, that’s how I paid the rent two years ago. Last year I mortgaged my house for a third time, so we were good until December. I tried to find a buyer for my kidneys, but I’m too old.”

  “You can have one of my kidneys!” said Polly, clearly meaning it. “I only need one, right?”

  “Yes,” said Nina. “The other kidney gets larger to compensate. In fact . . .”

  “I’m not taking your kidneys or your money,” interrupted Liz, firmly. “This is my business, not yours, and it’s mine to lose, unfortunately.”

  “I could do porn! We could buy lotto tickets!” Polly was starting to cry. “I love this job.”

  Nina was surprised. She knew she loved her work, loved the store as the safest place she’d ever been, but she hadn’t realized how much it meant to Polly. She thought about the customers, about Jim hanging out in the natural history section, about the reading hour and the bookmarks, and suddenly she was crying, too.

  * * *

  When Nina emerged from the bookstore, she found several members of her new family standing nearby, talking and laughing with Tom. Peter saw her first and came to meet her. Nina was trying to hold it together, but she needed to go home and think about things in peace. The crowd in the street was overwhelming, and the smell of burning sugar was making her head swim.

  Peter hugged her tightly. “Hey there, I heard you had to step into work for a bit. Everything OK?”

  Nina nodded. “Yeah, it’ll be fine.” She looked up at him, resplendent in a summer suit. “I didn’t even know you were here.”

  Peter looked shocked. “Miss the Larchmont Festival? Are you mad? Last year there was a near riot over the ponies, as the competing forces of nostalgia and progress went to war over childish ignorant bliss versus animal rights. It was a rich vein, anthropologically speaking.” He looked around. “This whole Festival is fieldwork for me, plus I get to eat funnel cake.”

  Nina leaned over and brushed powdered sugar from his lapel. “You do seem to be entering into the spirit. Powdered sugar is hard to get out of seersucker, though. It gets into the tiny little dimples.”

  “Ain’t that the truth.” He lowered his voice. “I like your boyfriend, by the way, very nice.”

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” said Nina. “We’re just beginning to date.”

  Peter frowned at her. “He introduced himself as your boyfriend. What’s the big whoop?”

  Nina nodded, then shook her head. “I don’t know, I just . . .” Tom and the others joined them, and she stopped.

  “Is everything OK?” asked Tom.

  Nina nodded again, unsure of what she was even trying to say, but then Polly ran out of the store, weeping. She came up to them and threw herself on Nina.

  “What are we going to do?” she wailed. “Everything is ruined; it’s all going wrong. I’ll end up destitute and working in community theater, and what will I do for Christmas presents now?” People passing by slowed down; in common with all actresses, Polly was good at projection.

  Nina patted her shoulder awkwardly and looked around at all the surprised faces trying to parse Polly’s sorrow and catch up.

  “It’s all going to be fine,” she said. “There’s nothing to worry about. Honestly.”

  “Well, that sounds pretty serious . . .” Peter began, but Nina interrupted him.

  “No, it’s fine. Polly’s just feeling emotional, aren’t you, Pol?”

  Polly gazed at her with red-rimmed eyes. “Aren’t you upset? Don’t you care?” She stepped back. “You told me once the store was the only place you ever really felt safe.”

  Nina felt herself starting to breathe more shallowly, her vision narrowing. She had said that to Polly lightly, of course, but it was true. Embarrassing to have it broadcast to everyone, but still true. “Of course I care, but it’s not over yet. Liz will think of something. We’ll have a bake sale.” She tried to laugh but was finding it hard to catch her breath. She looked at Archie. “I need to go home,” she said.

  He nodded, seeing from her face what was going on. “No problem. Let’s go,” he said, turning to Eliza. “Can you mind Henry for twenty minutes while I get Nina home in one piece? I’ll be right back.” Eliza nodded and took the toddler, who immediately started crying.

  “I can take Nina,” said Tom. He stepped forward, but Nina shook her head. He stopped and frowned. “What’s the matter?”

  “I need to leave right now. I’ll text you later, OK?” She was overwhelmed with nausea, starting to lose feeling in her hands.

  “I can take you home, Nina.” Tom looked almost angrily at Archie.

  “It’s fine,” said Archie, firmly. “We’re family.”

  “Wait . . .” said Nina, her head starting to swim. The bookstore was going to close. She would lose her apartment. Polly was staring at her. Tom was staring at her. There were people all around who needed things from her, who expected things of her, things she almost certainly couldn’t give. She reached out blindly, and it was Tom who stepped forward in time to catch her as she crumpled to the ground.

  Twenty-three

  In which Nina lets herself down.

  Nina sat on the floor of the bathroom and laid her head against the side of the bathtub. The back of her neck was sweaty; her palms slipped on the tile floor. She hadn’t thrown up, but when Tom had carried her through the door, she’d whispered that he should put her in the bathroom. There was nothing she wanted more than to be alone, but he was moving around in the apartment, doing things. She needed him to leave; she needed to pull her apartment around her shoulders like the cloak of invisibility.

  She hated herself. At least today she knew why she was losing her mind; other days her anxiety would suddenly flower inside her, set off by a word. A look. A song on the radio she didn’t even remember hearing before. Her anxiety lurked inside like a parasite that occasionally threatened to kill its host; sometimes she could hear it breathing.

  Of course, being scared of having a panic attack meant she was permanently on edge, which increased the chance she would have one, so she would berate herself for getting anxious . . . and so it goes, as Vonnegut would say.

  She stood and ran cold water on the inside of her wrists, then threw more water on her face and rubbed it with a towel. Time to face the music.

  Tom was sitting in her comfy chair, waiting for her. He’d closed the curtains, turned on the little bedside light, made the bed, and turned it down. A cup of tea sat on her bedside table, still steaming a little. It was everything she would have done for herself, and she was touched. She still needed to be
alone, but she was touched.

  “I didn’t know if you wanted tea, but I made it anyway.”

  Nina nodded. She always felt so drained after an episode like this one, so emotionally hungover, every nerve in her body desperate to shut down and reboot later, when hopefully the storm would have passed.

  “Thanks,” she said. “I feel better now.”

  “I can stay,” Tom said.

  “No, I’m OK.”

  “But I’m happy to.”

  “Thanks, but I’m fine. Honestly.”

  “Are you sure? You can go to bed; I could read to you.” He stayed in the chair, even though he wanted very badly to go to her, to put his arms around her and hold her until she relaxed. As it was, she was standing in the bathroom doorway slightly crouched, looking wary and pale.

  Nina smiled despite the twist in her gut. He didn’t get it. “That’s nice of you, but I need to sleep.”

  He frowned. “So go to sleep. I won’t wake you up. I just want to make sure you’re OK.”

  Nina took a breath, praying the panic would stay away for a few seconds more. “Please leave, Tom. I need you to go away.”

  It hung in the air, the simple request.

  He was confused. “I really like you, Nina. I care about you.”

  “Tom, this isn’t about you. This is about me. I get anxiety; I told you. When I get overwhelmed like this, I need to be left alone to recover.”

  “I want to help.”

  Nina started to get a little ticked off. “Tom, you’re not listening to me. In order to feel better, I need to be alone. For as long as possible.”

  He looked at her. “Like . . .”

  Nina decided to risk leaving the bathroom doorway. She sat on the edge of her bed and picked up her tea. It was good, sweet and hot.

  “Thank you for all this, for bringing me home and making the tea and everything.”

  Tom crossed his legs. “You’re not answering my question.”

 

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