The Bookish Life of Nina Hill - Abbi Waxman Page 0,60
on the floor behind the counter, sorting books and listening to Liz’s stories about Dates That Went Wrong.
“Well, he called the next day and asked if I wanted to go out again, so apparently not very.” Liz turned and looked out of the store window, thinking of her twenties and not missing them at all.
“And did you?”
“No. I asked if he was out of his mind and hung up the phone.” Liz smiled. “That was back when you called someone on the phone and had to physically lift a receiver to talk to them.”
“Weird,” said Polly.
“Yeah,” said Liz, “you couldn’t hide behind a veil of casual, the way you guys all do. But you could slam the phone very loudly, which was satisfying.” You could also have a private life, she thought to herself, and not get haunted forever by poor decisions, but decided not to rub it in. It wasn’t as though millennials didn’t know what they’d lost; they simply weighed it up against everything they’d gained and decided it was probably a wash.
Unaware of her boss’s philosophizing, Polly shuddered. “One time I ended up in bed with this guy who was trying to decide whether or not to enter a Catholic seminary, or whatever you call Priest School. I thought I’d provided a pretty convincing four-hour case against celibacy, but the next day he called and said he would pray for me.”
“Wow. You tipped someone over into the priesthood?”
Polly shrugged. “Maybe he thought after me it was all downhill, and he might as well devote himself to giving back to the world, after the world had given him one incredible night with me.” There was no hint of sarcasm in her voice, no self-deprecation at all.
Liz and Nina stared at her.
Polly was shameless. “Or maybe the whole thing was an elaborate ruse to get me into bed. He didn’t realize he could have simply asked. I was in one of my ‘say yes to everything’ phases.” Polly wasn’t overconfident; she was simply one of those women who tore up the societal memo about being underconfident. Nina had never envied her more.
“I remember the last one of those,” said Nina. “You broke your big toe trying out for Roller Derby.”
“Yes. It turns out tiny wheels are not my friends.”
“And got food poisoning after eating a grasshopper.”
“Yes, although in the grasshopper’s defense, I did also have sushi that weekend.”
“And slept with a mime.”
“Yes,” said Polly. “It was great. Quiet, but great.” She looked thoughtful. “Once he got out of that imaginary box, he really blew my doors off.”
Again, Liz and Nina stared at her, and then Nina said, “Look, as far as I’m concerned, this whole conversation is a firm reminder that I’m better off alone. I’m totally happy, I like my own company, and I already have to integrate a load of new relatives. I’m going back to quiet evenings at home and eating healthy and getting to the gym and cutting out sugar.”
“Well that’s unfortunate,” said Polly, sticking her chin out defiantly, “because I was going to tell you about the fantastic new waffle house I found and now I won’t.”
Liz laughed. “Tell me instead,” she said. “I love waffles.”
“Ah, Ms. Quinn.”
They all froze, then Polly and Nina got to their feet. Mr. Meffo had somehow crept up on them, and the landlord was now standing there twirling his mustache and getting ready to tie one of them to the railroad tracks.
Actually, he was just standing there, smiling politely. He wasn’t a tall man, or imposing in any way, but apparently he had a stealth mode.
Liz gathered herself and smiled back at him. “Ah, how lovely to see you, Mr. Meffo. I’m so sorry I missed you the other day. I was meeting with representatives for J. K. Rowling, who is thinking of launching her next book here.” She paused, then doubled down. “It’s a surprise new installment of the Harry Potter series, so I think it might be good for business.”
“Really?” Mr. Meffo was not a big reader, but he wasn’t an idiot. “I find that challenging to believe.” He paused. “I’m here to collect the rent. I noticed it still hasn’t arrived in my checking account.”
“But I sent it! I sent it last week, after you visited.”
“You did?”
“Yes,” Liz said, firmly. “I instructed the bank to make the transfer. I’m so sorry there’s been a problem. I’ll contact them right away.”
Mr. Meffo smiled broadly. “No problem, you can write me a check here and now, and