Bookends

The sooner I got this over with, the better.

I went inside the old bookstore, directly to the saleswoman at the counter. “Hi, I’m Jane. I have an order for a book. I paid for it online last night.”

“Hi, Miss Jane,” the woman told me. She looked familiar, and I could tell she thought the same with me. “Let me find that book for you.”

As she rummaged through the bookshelves, I stood there, waiting at the counter, playing with my fingers. How many times I had been to this bookstore and the quaint coffee shop inside it, I could not keep count. One thing was for certain though: I never expected to be back here ever again. But I needed to, if I wanted to pass my thesis.

And maybe, I also wanted to.

The saleslady went back to me, her face all scrunched up. “I’m sorry, but this might take a while. If you want, you can browse other books first or have some coffee.”

“I’m kind of in a hurry,” I told her apologetically.

“I’m sorry, but I promise I’ll get back to you the soonest.”

There was really no escaping this. “Okay. I’ll stay there.” I pointed to a secluded area in the bookstore. She smiled and continued her search for my book.

This was my favorite area in the bookstore. People seldom visit the biography and autobiography section, so I usually stayed here, sat on the carpeted floor, and read a book that I got from a different section in the bookstore. At least I was left in peace here.

I grabbed a random book (“Ian McKellen: A Biography” by Mark Barratt) and sat down at my usual spot. I hoped this would not take long.

Someone lightly kicked my leg.

“Kaye? What on Earth brought you here?”

Even without looking up, I knew it was him. Of course, he always found me here. He knew this secret hideout. And then, it wasn’t so peaceful here after he knew. I cursed under my breath, but I felt a flutter deep inside.

I looked up. “Hi, Jared.”

He crouched beside me, his face just a foot from mine. “I never thought I’d see you here!” Wow, he was really delighted, I could tell. His eyes had that excited look that I was so used to seeing before.

“Well, this is my spot, isn’t it?”

“It was before you left. Now, it’s mine.” He sat on the floor so he was facing me, his legs cramped beside me. A big smile was still plastered on his face. “How are you?”

“Good. You?”

“I missed you.” Wow, that was unexpected. I laughed awkwardly but didn’t say anything.

“Can’t a friend miss a friend?” he asked, apparently trying to remove the cloud of awkwardness that suddenly appeared between us.

“Well, I guess,” I replied. “Except that we’re not really friends. You know that.”

His smile quickly faded away. “Oh.” I felt a tug in my heart. Damn it.

“Kidding,” I said with a forced smile.

“I know.” He moved a little closer to me so that his face was just inches away from mine. “So, what brought you here? You just… disappeared.”

“Oh, there’s this book that I need for my thesis. It’s the only bookstore with that title. So I went here. I’m actually just waiting for the saleslady.” Finally, an actual friendly conversation. There might be some hope for us after all.

“I thought you missed me.” And he was back to flirting mode again.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re here. In this spot.”

“This was my spot.”

“As was mine.” He inched closer until I could feel his breath on my face. “You knew I’d find you here.”

He was right. Ever since I got here, I couldn’t get the possibility of running into him off my mind. When I got the slightest opportunity, I went here, hoping I would find him. He did find me. And now his lips were about to find mine, again.

“Miss Jane, I found the—Oh!” The familiar voice of the saleslady jerked me back to my senses. Thank God for her. I got the book and muttered a “Thank you,” but she quickly turned her back and walked away from us. Poor girl.

“Well, I got what I needed,” I told him when I realized that he was still looking at me. “I have to go.” I started to straighten myself up.

“When will I see you again?” He grabbed my hand and held on to it tightly. It hurt.

“What?”

“You still owe me a drink.” He gave that familiar smile, where only the left side of his lips moved. The smile that he gave me when we went out for our first drink. His smile when he was sweating on top of me and told me I was special. His smile during the many times I tried to put a stop to our dysfunctional relationship, but he just kept showing up in my apartment. The same smile when he told me we should stop, and, just like that, ignored me completely.

And still, I owed him a drink. I scoffed, pulling my hand away from him and standing up. “No, I don’t. I don’t owe you anything.”

“Well, maybe I do.” He stood up so that we were looking eye to eye. “Not just a drink, though. I owe you a lot.” He really thought it would all work out just like before.

I smiled. “You don’t owe me anything, either. It was nice seeing you.”

It really was. Seeing him was just what I needed. I walked away but I could feel his eyes boring on my back. But I was too lazy to turn my head back to him.

There was no reason to look back.