#marrieds

Hank was greeted by the owner and manager of Read This, a man named Philip, who he considered to be a step above an acquaintance, but not quite a friend.  They had a relationship built upon reciprocity.  Hank was a regular customer, even name dropped the store a few times in interviews to give it a boost, and Philip always stocked his books and made sure signed copies were on display.

The event space in the store was just a small stage at the back, barely large enough to fit two chairs comfortably, and an assortment of mismatched folding chairs scattered in front of it.  The bookstacks were at angles, pointed towards the stage in a vee formation like an arrow down the aisle.  Hank had done a few signings there in the past and they always felt more like intimate gatherings than events.

Philip kicked off the appearance with a short speech thanking everyone for coming out and for supporting the store over the years.  He kept it short and simple and then gave Hank the floor to a round of applause.  Hank stepped up onto the stage and gave Philip a quick hug before he sat down.  All the seats out in the audience were full - all fifteen or twenty of them.  He took a passing glance at the crowd as he unfolded the pages he’d brought with him that had been tucked into his back pocket.

“Any of you motherfuckers blog about this later and call me an old man for what I’m about to do, fuck you in advance,” he said, taking out the reading glasses he had hooked to the collar of his shirt that had recently become a necessity.  

Everyone laughed.  Someone woo-hooed from the audience and Hank dropped his chin to look over the rim of his glasses.  

“Philip said I could read whatever the hell I wanted,” Hank said.  “So I’m going to read an excerpt from a new novel I’ve got coming out in a few months called Alone Together.  A couple things you should know going in, the novel follows the story of Miranda and Scott, a married couple who are on the verge of calling it quits after fifteen years when the pandemic hits and forces them hunker down together when they’d really rather be anywhere else.  This bit I’m about to read is about half-way in, when Scott is starting to reflect on what exactly went wrong and when.”

Hank paused to smooth his pages again.  When he looked up, he straightened his shoulders in surprise.  He saw Stella, leaning against one of the bookstacks with a mild smile on her face.  She was in her work clothes, a white silk blouse and fawn colored pencil skirt and tan heels.  She had a tan blazer over her arm and her briefcase in hand as well.  He took a subtle glance at his watch as he adjusted his pages.  Her night class should have only started a half an hour ago.

“Uh,” Hank started and then hid a grin behind his fist as he cleared his throat.  “Scott watched his wife at her computer from across the room.  She had her headset on and she was laughing.  He couldn’t actually remember the last time he’d heard her laugh.  It occurred to him that he’d forgotten what it sounded like.”

It took about fifteen minutes for Hank to read the full excerpt.  He was momentarily distracted when he saw Becca walking down the aisle.  She went straight to Stella, gave her a hug, and then turned towards the stage with Stella’s arm across her shoulders.  The surprise of having both his wife and daughter there for him almost made him cry.

When he finished, the audience clapped, and Philip came back onto the stage to moderate audience questions.  All the questions were the same variations of questions he had been asked his entire career.  He could answer them in his sleep.  While he was droning on about his routine and writing habits, he saw Becca tip her head back, whisper something in Stella’s ear, and then duck out from under her arm and walk away.  He hoped she wasn’t leaving without saying goodbye.

“Gentleman in the green shirt,” Philip said.

“You said earlier that you were inspired by the pandemic, so I have to ask, how much is fiction and how much is reality?”

“Are you asking me if I based it off my own life?” Hank asked.  “Well, first of all, I want to make a broad statement about writing in general.  That whole ‘write what you know’ garbage that people, mainly professors, let’s be honest, try to instill into you, is bullshit.  Do you think Bram Stoker was a vampire?  Do you think Thoms Harris was a cannibal?  And believe me, I’m not saying that writers don’t cull from their real life when they’re putting words to paper, but there always seems to be this assumption that if you’re writing a modern story, set in a modern world, that somehow that must be your life and your voice.

“Unlike Scott, I am happily married to the most beautiful, intelligent, way out of my league woman and I would never forget, not even for a hot second, that I am the luckiest bastard alive.  We started off the pandemic in very close quarters and when I was trying to think about what I might be interested in writing next, it occurred to me that I could very well be in a miserable position if my life was different.  But, it’s not my life that I was imagining when I finally sat down to write.  It was two people who were at odds with each other and how would they respond to this?

“I’ll say this, though, and then I’ll get off my high horse on the subject.  There is one thing in the story that I gave to Scott that belongs to me.  I even read from that passage tonight, and I’ll read it again.”

Hank put his glasses back on and flipped through his pages until he found the paragraph he wanted.  He glanced up and out to where Stella was before he re-read the lines.

“He could recall in stunning detail the moment he knew he was in love with her.  It wasn’t a romantic moment.  They weren’t out on a date.  It wasn’t during or after sex, when he was naturally euphoric.  It was on a hot summer morning in August when the air conditioner had gone out overnight and they’d both slept poorly and were pissed off at the world.  He watched her angrily brushing her teeth with her pink cheeks and dark circles under her eyes and in his exhaustion and anger he wished for a moment that she wasn’t there, but then he had a flash of his life without her and suddenly he felt a swelling in his chest that stole his breath.  He never wanted to envision a life without her again, not for a minute.”

Hank stared at the page for a few beats before he finally took off his glasses again and looked up.  He first looked for the man that had asked the question and then he turned his gaze to Stella.  

“The fictional situation was different,” he said.  “But, the feeling was the same.”

Stella gave him a subtle smile and her lips puckered very briefly.  His own lips twitched in response and he finally cut his eyes away.  He took a few more questions and then Philip thanked him for his time and invited anyone that wanted to stay to have a book signed to wait for a few minutes as they set up the table.

As people began to talk amongst themselves, Hank left the stage to go to Stella.  She was chatting with Becca, who had returned with two cups of coffee from the cafe next door.

“Hey,” Hank said, sliding his arm around Stella’s waist and squeezing her hip.

Stella put a hand on Hank’s face and her thumb briefly circled his mouth.  She didn’t say anything, but her eyes held his in a warm gaze.  She tilted her chin up at him and he leaned down and kissed her cheek.

“Daughter,” he said, turning to Becca while still holding onto Stella.  He put his hand on the top of her head and kissed the part in her hair.

“Father.”

“I’m glad you came.”

“We thought we would take you to dinner,” Stella said.  “When you’re finished.”

“I would love that.”

Philip came up from behind Hank and said his name.  “We’re ready for you,” Philip said.

“Philip, this is my wife, Stella Gibson.  And my daughter, Rebecca Moody.”

“Lovely to meet you,” Philip said to Stella and then nodded to Becca.  “We sold out of the hardcover of your last book.  Please, let me know if you’d ever like to do a signing.”

“Sure,” Becca said.

“You’d have to put twice as many chairs out,” Hank said.  He could tell Becca wanted to roll her eyes at him so bad.

“Go do your thing,” Stella said, putting her hand over Hank’s on her hip.  She rubbed her thumb over his and he captured it and pinned it down for a moment.  He nodded and then kissed her cheek again.

“Love you,” he whispered into her ear.

“I see what you mean,” Philip said, walking Hank back to the stage where a folding table was set up.  “She is out of your league.”

“Right?” Hank said with a laugh.  “And she married me.  Unfuckingbelievable.”