Originally written sometime in early 2023

Marjorie’s bookstore was filled with the very kind of literature that preserved Boothbay’s sanity. Contemporary fiction and no other. It proved too good a fodder for the common folk to fill the gaps during the dog days. Every sunday morning, the place would swell with the chatter of brethren all in need for a bite of the best sellers. The coffee machine at the rear would whirr tirelessly for as long as it took its customers to have their fill and wave goodbye. But that wasn’t when we happened. Me and you. Our rendezvous. We were a postprandial affair.

At exactly quarter to three, you’d appear with a sling bag, a brown hat and station yourself on the east aisles. I’d pop in ten minutes later and see you sifting through the pages of a romance that was set to fizzle out your interest some forty pages in. I stood watching you, my afternoon face hanging over the bookshelves. You swivelled to the right and caught me staring at you quietly. “How long have you been standing there?” You asked, visibly surprised.

“For a while.”

“And how long is that?”

“A while…I didn’t know you liked those.” I said, motioning to the shelf where you’d picked the book from.

“I don’t. I just-”

“-wanted a taste.” I finished for you. “Sort of.” You replied, suppressing a smile. “I thought the title was appealing. That’s all.”

“I didn’t like the premise.” You continued, when you saw me raise a questioning eyebrow. “There’s nothing more to these romances than the drama and their sappy little conversations.”

“And I also know that if it ain’t life sciences, it ain’t romance.”

“Said absolutely no one ever.” You scowled and moved up the aisle.

As you swept through shelves one after another, the pile of books in my arms kept growing, much like the set of medals you had won at the district science fair through the years. On your hat sat a pair of sunglasses, reflecting the glare when it met pockets of sunlight from behind the shelves. The same pair, witness to the beach party on Kate’s birthday two summers ago. The day I asked if you’d ever fancy going fishing on our boat. The day we both tasted of roasted sea bass. The day before we experienced the totality of companionship. But now, it was never going to be the same.

“You’re awfully quiet today.” You said, waiting for a response that lingered in the air.

“You’re awfully pretty today.”

“That is not flattering. Tell me.” You turned around and looked at me, sapphire eyes burning my soul. “You’re leaving us.” I muttered under my breath, placing the heap of books on an armchair beside me.

“I’m not leaving. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“And this place-”

“I’m not leaving! I’ll only be three hours away.” You cried.

“The farthest three hours anyone could be.”

“Now, don’t say that. I’ll always be here. This is where I belong.” Your honey-glazed cheeks, now a little rosier than before, wringed out a smile. We had both accepted the choices we were dealt with rueful solemnity and none were comforting.

It was when you turned your back to the shelves again that I noticed the print on the back of your pullover that read,

Can you distract me from all the disaster?

I traced your footsteps and stood right behind you. “I’m sure you know this.” I said, coiling my arms around your waist and giving you a squeeze.

“You’ll always find me on the pier when you need me.”