Knox: Trained with Coach Disik over winter break. Heard he asked Mrs. Flower out on a date. Did you know that?
Emory: He’s been coming into the library to “check out” baseball books. I had to direct him on where to find them. He wanted nothing to do with those books and everything to do with Mrs. Flower.
Knox: He said he’s never seen anyone more beautiful in his life.
Emory: Why does that make me want to throw up a little in my mouth?
Knox: Because you always thought she looked like a praying mantis.
Emory: Yup, that’s it.
Knox: Sorry I missed seeing you.
Emory: Yeah.
Two Years Post Breakup
Knox: Coach and Mrs. Flower eloped? What?
Emory: News of the century.
Knox: Were you invited?
Emory: No, my internship has been over for a bit.
Knox: Oh . . . what are you doing now?
Emory: Working at a local school library, getting my hours in.
Knox: Cool, just like you wanted.
Emory: Yeah. Seems like you’re doing good at spring training.
Knox: Fingers crossed I get called up.
Emory: You will.
Three Years Post Breakup
Emory: Congrats on starting. Are you nervous?
Knox: Nah, feels like I belong here.
Emory: You do.
Four Years Post Breakup
Emory: Mia Franco? Wow, is she as nice as she seems in person?
Knox: She’s pretty cool. Keeping tabs on me?
Emory: It’s hard to miss your picture on the gossip magazines with the most famous actress of our generation.
Knox: I hate those things.
Emory: Well, you’re bound to be on them if you’re dating Mia Franco.
Five Years Post Breakup
Knox: I ate an entire package of Oreos for dinner. Thought you would appreciate that.
Emory: Still addicted?
Knox: Yeah, and now I have Mia addicted too.
Emory: She needs to eat some. #TooSkinny
Knox: Don’t hate.
Six Years Post Breakup
Knox: I’m drunk.
Emory: And I’m waiting for Harvey to get home.
Knox: Who the fuck is Harvey?
Emory: My boyfriend. Didn’t you read my Christmas card?
Knox: Too painful.
Emory: Well, he’s my boyfriend. Hey, sorry to hear about you and Mia.
Knox: Sure you are.
Seven Years Post Breakup
Knox: Happy Birthday.
Emory: Thanks.
Chapter Thirty-One
EMORY
Eight Years Later
“I’m not reading that book again.” Cora flops on the desk chair next to me and tosses Mother Bruce, this week’s story-time book on the desk. “I love Bruce, I really do, that bear owns my heart. But I can’t stomach telling it again, especially when the kids don’t appreciate the effort I put into telling the story. The boys constantly try to pinch each other and the girls are always doing each other’s hair. This isn’t a free-for-all, it’s story time.”
I chuckle, pushing my paperwork to the side and turning toward my good friend. Cora started working at Cedar Pine Elementary a year after me, once Mrs. Gunderson retired after thirty years of service. She taught me everything I know, and somehow the stars aligned and I became head librarian while Cora is secondary. Together, we are an unstoppable duo. We delight students with fun and interesting stories, we teach them problem-solving techniques in conjunction with their in-classroom lessons, and most importantly, we make reading fun.
We’ve dedicated ourselves to making this the best library in the state of Illinois. Our library is quaint with bruised and battered books, but we go above and beyond, using our own salaries to decorate the library and turn it into something magical.
I live quite modestly in a studio apartment just outside of the city. I’m doing what I’ve always wanted to do—educate children through literature, so I’m happy.
“They’ve ruined Mother Bruce for me,” Cora continues.
“Aren’t you being a little dramatic?”
“Maybe, it’s that time of the month. Can we please have a girls’ night out tonight? I want all the tortilla chips and tons of margaritas.”
“I can arrange that. Let me see if Lindsay and Dottie are free.”
I shoot a text to my two best friends, who both still live in area. After we graduated, we swore to stay close together. Lindsay teaches third grade at Cedar Pine—she applied so we could be at the same school—and Dottie is a bigwig at her dad’s company, living the single life to her fullest. I swear it’s a new guy every week with her, but she’s too afraid to become attached, because she’s been used by guys . . . far too many times. Everyone seems to know who she is and how much she has in her bank account, so she keeps everything casual with men. It works for her.
Lindsay is the first to text back.
Lindsay: YESSSSSS! Girls’ night. I love my baby, but I could use a night without him kicking me in the crotch as I wrestle him to the ground to put on his pajamas.
Emory: Perfect. Cora wants chips and margaritas.
Dottie: Come to my place. I’ll have my chef make homemade chips and extra-strength margaritas. It’s Friday, so you ladies can sleep over if need be.
Excited, I look up at Cora. “Dottie said she can have her chef make us homemade tortilla chips.”
She perks up. “And guac?”
I type back.
Emory: And guac?
Dottie: It will be a fiesta. Just bring your yoga pants and oversized shirts. We’re dining fine tonight, ladies.
Lindsay: I think I just orgasmed . . . while my kids are playing Thumbs Up, Seven Up.
Emory: Seriously, you can’t say shit like that.
Lindsay: Whatever, none of you have kids. You don’t know what it’s like to be a single mom. I already talked to Nana Grace. She’s in for the night. I’m passing out at Dottie’s.
Dottie: Not in my bed.
Lindsay: Fuck that. I want the big pillows. I have a date with your bed whether you like it or not.
I set my phone down as a student walks up to me. “Miss Ealson, could you help me find a Judy Blume book?”
“Of course, sweetie.” I stand and make my way around the desk, but not before flicking Cora in the arm to look alive. She resumes her position as the perfect librarian and starts helping out again. Sometimes we need five minutes to let it out, and then we’re back in the game. I don’t how I got so lucky with my friends, but I’m grateful. Years ago, I thought the sun would never shine again, but here I am happy, healthy, and with three incredible women as my best friends. Life is good.
“Is your chef single?” Cora asks, popping another chip in her mouth. “Because I would marry him just for these.”
“He’s gay,” Dottie informs. “And his partner is a baker.”
“What?” Cora’s eyes widen. “How on earth did you score that perfect combination?”
“Drunk at a gay bar, came across Yan and George, and got to talking. Best decision of my life going to that bar that night.”
Curled up on Dottie’s enormous couch that overlooks the skyline of Chicago, I sink into the plush cushions and say, “This was exactly what I needed. I’ve felt so stressed lately with the budget cuts I have to make.” I take a long pull from my straw, the lime of the margarita puckering my lips. “I knew getting into education would be rewarding and infuriating at the same time, but when they ask me to make so many cuts from an already minimal budget, it seems impossible.”