Page 190 of Checking Out the Librarian

It was perfectly arranged, three dish towels with screen-printed images of the Western Meadowlark, the Swallowtail Butterfly, and a bowl of pears, all state symbols adopted by Oregon. He’d also included a package of cute sponges shaped like the state of Oregon, a candle made from Willamette Valley-grown herbs and beeswax, dish gloves with fake fur cuffs that were to die for, and a little box of dark chocolate salted caramels and another of espresso chocolate truffles, both made in Eugene.

Maybe the sponges and dish gloves were weird? But they looked cute in the basket, and the sponges at least rounded out the Oregon state theme.

He shouldn’t have chosen dish gloves. He felt his breathing speed up again.

He would not panic. He would not panic. Connor’s mother looked just like him. Her name was Jennifer, he must remember that. Jennifer. She’d raised the nicest man in the world, and Connor had claimed she was excited to meet him, so Jennifer would be happy with this gift and find something to like in the basket. It would be fine.

They all collided somewhere on the pebble path to the front stairs and Connor made the semi-formal introductions.

“Oh, that’s beautiful!” She took the basket from Jonathan’s hands. She had Connor’s easy blushes as well as his smile and hair.

“Thank you for asking me to come visit.” The hanging flower baskets coordinated in bright orange and white flowers and vivid green foliage. Connor’s own coordinated house hadn’t sprung out of nowhere, Jonathan could tell.

“I need to be thanking you for making this drive. How was it? Was there traffic in Prineville?”

“All of it must have been at the Starbucks drive thru.”

Connor’s free hand alighted briefly on Jonathan’s shoulder to steer him around Ribby and a profusion of potted plants, but he dropped it to hold the door open.

Jonathan checked, and his breathing was even. And more importantly, he was managing without sarcasm. He was fine.

Until he saw the wall inside the door.

Now he was not fine.

In front of him, Connor’s mother stopped and turned when she realized Jonathan had barely moved. His feet couldn’t take another step.

The entry wall was a gallery display, sure, he had one of those over his couch, but this one wasn’t showcasing art and clever posters. This was four feet high and eight or more feet long, all framed photos of Connor and a girl who must be his sister, almost all of them people in full laughing mode.

Jonathan had to cover his mouth with his hand, or he would flat out yelp over each picture of young Connor. Connor in baseball outfits at every age. Connor on horseback, also at every age. Connor in a tiny suit, probably as a ring-bearer at a wedding.

“Wait, I don’t understand. What is Connor riding there? Is that a sheep?”

Jennifer laughed with her head thrown back and one arm extended toward him and Connor. “Went to that one right away? It’s my favorite. Mutton bustin’ at the fair. He won that year.” She reached up to Connor’s curls. “Stayed on a full twelve seconds. My little tick. That sheep couldn’t shake you off.”

He looked at Connor and thought about how those big arms would cling to him in the night, a full-body wrap that meant Jonathan didn’t need more than a sheet. “A little tick?”

“Mom.” Connor sounded like he was one careless fact away from requiring an urgent care visit.

“Earned his first buckle.” She leaned closer to Jonathan. She smelled like peaches and cinnamon. “His last, too. He loves horses but didn’t like to barrel race. Not like Jess, she was flat out trying for trophies and buckles her whole childhood.”

There was a display case in his mother’s study where he’d abandoned his plaques and trophies when he moved to Eugene, and he knew there were framed podium photos around his parents’ home, but he didn’t think there was a single displayed or framed photo of people laughing, not him, not his mother, not his father.

Laughing was too uncontrolled, too unpredictable for either of his parents. Too messy.

His new life could be like this. When he returned to Eugene, he could print and frame a photo—no, photos, plural—of him and Connor, and also that excellent one Connor had taken of Pawsley and Ribby, because homes should look like this place, bedazzled with smiling, laughing memories.

His grandma’s house had loved its occupants like that. He wasn’t going to adopt the geranium print wallpaper border Gammy had used, but he could create a photo display that included more than moody landscapes and movie posters.

Surely his father’s cloud photo storage would have an image of a similarly missing-tooth tiny Jonathan on skates, someone must have taken one. And he could frame it with a copy of a gap-toothed Connor for a matched set.

The next several hours were busy enough and crazy enough that Jonathan had to live in each moment and not think. Or at least, not think much. He met Jess, who was a mix of Connor’s enthusiasm, a wickedly sharp sense of humor, and an absolutely obvious dash of ruthlessness with respect to protecting her brother.

“Want to gather eggs with me? You’ll like the chickens.” Her big cartoon-shark grin meant he undoubtedly would not, but he had no choice.

“Jess.” Connor stretched his sister’s name in warning. Jonathan shouldn’t like that voice quite as much as he did, at least not while standing in the yard.

“What?” She spread her hands and shrugged at her brother, and he couldn’t believe there were so many Connors in the world, in all shapes and genders, but this whole family was alike. “I’m only going to point out your favorites, the fluffy silkies and the Polish crested. Because he deserves to know exactly who he’s dating.”