Page 77

“Is it true if you have to insist?”

“Shh, yes, of course it is. But I did get texts from both Justine and your dad that suggested you might be here awhile.”

Molly’s heart swelled, doubly grateful to have dinner literally served at her desk and such wonderful support from the people in her life.

“Got the text from your dad as I was leaving the Thai place,” Aster continued with an assessing look around her office. “He’s great, your dad. Really puts into perspective how . . . not great mine is. He said you called him about work. You want to talk about it?”

Molly didn’t know. She did, because she probably needed to. And she didn’t, because doing literally anything else sounded like a much more pleasant way to enjoy this meal with Aster. Regrettably, reason won. As it usually did for her.

“I got a little stressed out, is all. But being a little stressed out is about eighty percent of my personality.” She had to assume this was part of the process of coming back into herself, of retaking control over her life.

Aster made a vague sound into his sandwich.

Molly shot him a look. “You disagree?”

Rather than answer, he stole the water he’d brought her and reached back into the take-out bag. He set an unfamiliar mug on her desk. Bright green with a long dinosaur head and neck curled up and around one side of the mug; on the other side, a tail curved into the shape of a handle. Without missing a beat, Aster poured her water into the mug and slid it across the desk to her.

“Wow,” Molly said.

“You love him dearly.”

“Him? Does he have a name?”

“Not that I’m aware of, but I’m open to suggestions. Got a bit of a Reginald quality to him, if I had to hazard a guess.”

Molly picked up the mug and had a sip, mentally bracing herself for whatever story Aster felt was important enough to share on a day when he’d had to come find her asleep at her desk.

“Let’s hear it then,” she finally prompted. The food, more than anything, was helping to unwind her. “What’s the story about little Reginald?”

“I’m not sure I’m going to get this one right,” he said with a deep breath. “It’s so much about you. I was just . . . there for it. But I think you might need it today.”

Molly bristled a bit. She’d yet to fully shake the discomfort of being so known by him, to not automatically flinch away from it. She tried to forcibly let go of that feeling, running her finger down the length of the green dinosaur tail while she waited, ever so patiently, for him to continue.

“When you were having trouble finding the kind of career you wanted at a library, you did have a part-time circulation desk job for a few months. You hated it. Well, you loved it in a lot of ways, but you hated that it was only a temporary position, and that they couldn’t find anything permanent for you even though they loved you. Budgets couldn’t swing it, I guess. So when that job ended, you didn’t work for a little bit.”

Molly bit back embarrassment, fixating on her curry as a distraction. There was something mortifying in a way she didn’t fully know how to articulate about having spent time unemployed. She had been the valedictorian of a prestigious prep school. She’d attended an equally prestigious university. She was someone who was meant to do well in all things. That was who she was, how she knew herself best.

“Eli and Justine hadn’t had their epiphany about going into business with you yet, so I think you had a bit of an identity crisis.” Aster had abandoned his food, focusing intently on the dinosaur mug between them. He continued, “I hated seeing you feel so . . . I don’t know, purposeless. We spent a day at the natural history museum, looking at fossils, talking. You’d burned yourself out, that was the conclusion you came to sometime between the Devonian and the Cretaceous. And you admitted that you’d started enjoying some of the blank spaces in your calendar. Between all the backlogged leisure reading you did and all the time we got to spend together, I think you really started to appreciate what a slightly slower-paced life looked like.” He tapped the mug. “This guy’s from the gift shop. And he’s been a symbol ever since that you know your balance. You’re still ambitious, still you. But you know how to rest. I get him for you whenever you need the reminder. That’s our deal.”

Molly’s heart clenched, catching on the lovely testament to her partnership with Aster composed of some ceramic and green glaze. She breathed through it, lungs shaky, as that awe evolved. Much as she wished it wouldn’t, the despair of not remembering did what it often did: hijacked her ability to appreciate a memory in the same way Aster could.

The word irreparable tried clawing its way out of the dormancy she’d forced it into. She shoved it down again, choosing instead to focus on the gratitude swelling inside her.

Before

“You are aware it’s one thirty in the morning, aren’t you?” Molly asked, feeling quite self-righteous as she sat in one of the squishy armchairs in the dormitory commons. The lights had long since dimmed to half strength for quiet hours, but she could still make out her Latin flash cards if she squinted.

Bishop paused just inside the door. He scanned the room, clearly unsure where she’d spoken from. His eyes narrowed when they found her.

“Congrats on learning to tell the time.” He sneered, heading to the elevator bay.

“It’s past curfew.” Molly scrambled to stand, trailing after him. “We’re supposed to stay in the building after eleven—”

Bishop jammed the elevator call button. “I’m well aware of the rules,” he said, facing away.

“Then you know I could report you for—”

He turned, glaring. “You know how pathetic you are, waiting up just to tattle on me? Get a life, Graham.”