The Bookish Life of Nina Hill - Abbi Waxman Page 0,83
things will get clearer. If this guy is meant to happen, he’ll happen.”
“What if he can’t handle my anxiety?”
Louise sounded firm. “His loss.”
“He doesn’t make me feel anxious. He makes me feel good, actually.”
Louise laughed. “Then don’t borrow trouble from tomorrow, baby. Don’t worry about how it might go wrong; just let yourself be happy.”
“Easier said than done.”
“Most things are.”
“Does everyone else feel like this?”
“Like what? Worried? Uncertain? Hopeful and cynical at the same time?”
“Yeah.”
“Sure they do, baby. That’s how it feels to be alive.”
“It’s not a good feeling.”
“Well, who knows what a fish feels; it might be even worse.”
“And definitely wetter.”
“Right.” Louise’s voice was soft. “Get some sleep now, and call me tomorrow. You like being on your own, Nina, but you’ve never been alone. You know that, right?”
Nina nodded, holding the phone tightly. “I know. I love you.”
“I love you more. Kiss Phil for me. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
“Bye, Lou.”
“Bye, you.”
Twenty-four
In which Nina becomes an object of pity.
It’s hard to keep a secret in Larchmont. After Polly’s outburst at the Festival, it took approximately three hours for every single person in a ten-block radius to know that Knight’s was in danger of shutting down. Someone started crowdfunding. Someone else posted on social media that the forces of evil were triumphing and that the existence of literacy was under attack. Someone else made soup for Liz, and on Monday morning brought it to the store.
Liz was disgusted by this outpouring of support.
“It’s just a bookstore,” she said, having spent twenty minutes calming down the soup-giver, who’d been coming to the store for a decade and considered it central to her children’s middle-class experience. “I mean, it’s adorable, and I’m always glad to take free food, but all we need is more people to buy more books.”
Nina looked at her. “I think we need more than that, don’t we? We need to pay six months of back rent, un-triple-mortgage your house, and buy back the kidney Polly already sold on Craigslist.”
Liz made a face. “She only sold the promise of a kidney. I think she may have discovered a new financial vehicle, actually. If I had early-stage kidney disease, I might be open to taking out a rent-to-buy option on someone else’s organ.”
“Organ sale is illegal in the United States, although it is legal in Iran.”
Liz snorted. “Of course you know that.”
Nina shrugged. “I’m shocked you don’t.”
Polly had called earlier to say she was going on a job hunt in the Valley, which Nina and Liz took to mean scouting for a porn job. They talked her out of that, and she appeared a little before lunch, dressed head to toe in black.
“Did someone die, or are you auditioning for a role as an elderly Italian grandmother?” asked Liz.
“I’m in mourning for the store,” said Polly, bowing her head, although probably just to show off the elaborate French braid she had going on. She had incorporated black ribbon, and Nina was reminded of the horses that pull hearses at state funerals. This may not have been what Polly was going for, but that’s the law of unintended consequences for you.
Liz snorted. “Get to work, you two. Make the books look pretty. Smile, but look pitiful. When people ask if we’re closing, shake your head softly and suggest they buy a boxed set.”
“You want us to prey upon the pity of our customers?”
“Yes. Exactly that.”
Liz disappeared into her office and reappeared a moment later shrugging on a jacket.
“Where are you going?”
Liz headed for the door. “I’m going to go home and change into something a little more ragged.”
Over the next few days, business did pick up quite a lot, particularly as several local celebrities posted on social media and people showed up hoping to see them in the store. Failing that, they bought books and took selfies. Nina didn’t think it would be enough, but it was nice to be busy. It helped distract her from the deafening silence from Tom.
She had texted him a day or two after the Festival, just to say hi, she hoped he was OK, she was feeling better, and had he seen that the final for the Quiz Bowl had been scheduled . . . ? Bupkes. Sound of crickets. She couldn’t blame him; she’d been pretty specific that she wanted to be left alone, and she could hardly complain he was taking her at her word. But she missed him.
Polly had calmed down and was accenting her black with the occasional pop of color. She’d