Page 1 of Comfort Read

PROLOGUE

In the seconds after he pops the question, Kit has one of those moments where he can feel everything. The crusty fibers of ancient carpet crunching beneath his knee; the draft whickering in from under the front door; the folds of his favorite sweater, a Christmas gift from Emerson back in college, bunching underneath his raised arms.

Mostly, though, what Kit’s feeling is dread. The look on Emerson’s face is an answer, but it’s not the one Kit wanted.

“You’re saying no?” Kit’s voice cracks. Emerson winces, and Kit scrambles to his feet and shoves the ring box in his pocket as he says, “I’m sorry, I thought—we’ve been together since high school! And we’ve talked about taking the next step! Am I crazy? I definitely remember⁠—”

“No, we did.” Emerson looks like a trapped animal, his eyes darting around as if seeking an appropriate exit. “We talked about it. And then I thought about it, and I realized I could see our whole life, exactly how it would go. Every date night, every family holiday, every stupid PTA meeting—even this proposal, Kit, God.” His eyes widen, and frantically he adds, “Not that it isn’t sweet! But, like, we worked here in high school. And we’ve both lived in this town all our lives. And—well…” He pauses, clearly frustrated with the semantics of shredding Kit’s heart to confetti, before giving Kit an entreating look. “Don’t you ever wonder if this is all there is?”

“Do I ever wonder…” Kit repeats. He pauses, and then, the realization almost winding him, gasps, “Oh my God. You don’t just mean you don’t want to get married, do you? You mean you don’t want any of it. Oh my God, you’re breaking up with me!”

“This isn’t how I wanted to tell you.” Emerson rubs the back of his neck, his weight shifting from one foot to the other. “And it’s not you, not exactly. I want to see who I am. And I think I have to do that somewhere else, and… with someone else, maybe. I don’t know yet. I’m sorry.” He at least has the decency to look like he feels wretched about it. This is cold comfort, but Kit’s getting the sense it might be a while before comfort is available at any other temperature, so. Seems like he might as well take what he can get.

“Okay, then.” Kit’s voice is thin, edged with hysteria. “To sum up! You don’t want to marry me, or to live in Cedar Falls, or, in fact, to be with me at all? Your official response to ‘Will you marry me?’ is ‘No, and also I’m leaving town, and you.’ That’s where we are?”

Emerson grimaces. “That’s not exactly what⁠—”

“That was a yes-or-no question!” Kit’s not proud of the way he raises his voice, but in the circumstances, he doubts anyone would blame him.

For a second Emerson scowls at him, and Kit thinks they’re going to have a proper fight, and say all the things they’ve avoided saying to one another for the last fourteen years. But then Emerson sighs and looks away and mutters, “Fine, Kit. Whatever. Yes, more or less.”

“Fantastic!” The cheerfulness in Kit’s voice is so brittle and forced that it’s looped around into a snarl as he adds, “You can get out, then! Fare thee well on your grand journeys! I hope you find whatever you’re looking for!”

A stubborn expression Kit has grown to dread over the years flits across Emerson’s face. “Look, I’m sorry, I know it’s a lot right now, but we should talk about this. The apartment’s in my name, but⁠—”

“I said! Get! Out!” This is more shrieked than anything, which, while humiliating, seems to do the job. Emerson gets out, hunching into himself and scuttling out the front door of the closed bookshop.

Kit still hasn’t moved from the spot where he proposed. Without meaning to, his mind filled with static, he sinks back down to the floor and pulls his knees to his chest. As he wraps his arms around them, he looks blankly at his surroundings, which are both familiar and abruptly almost alien, belonging to another life.

Sawyer’s Books had been a firehouse once. The space inside is odd and whimsical, deeply beloved by the town and by Kit himself. For him, Sawyer’s is preserved forever the way it was when he and Emerson spent most afternoons and weekends there. The two of them had fallen in love over a shelving cart full of Ursula K. Le Guin novels, in that corner by the window.

It was a romantic story, up until about five minutes ago.

Kit’s not sure how long he sits, hollowed out in shock, before his first visitor arrives. It’s a cat, ginger and huge and giving off that air certain cats do of being a prizefighter. Kit’s seen him around once or twice, but always at a distance, and always in moments he didn’t have time to investigate. He is clearly a stray, and looks like a mean one; Kit had assumed befriending him would involve weeks of work, and probably a little bloodshed.

But to his surprise, the cat comes right up to him, bats lightly at his pant leg, and, when he receives no reaction to this, presses up against him and starts to purr. He chooses to do this in the spot directly under Kit’s bent knees, making it essentially impossible for Kit to move, but still. It’s an unexpected kindness in a difficult moment, and Kit’s grateful for it, although he can’t help but wonder how the cat got inside. He hasn’t yet found any holes in the walls large enough for such a beefy creature to slip through, and that makes his presence a worry for all it’s a comfort.

His second visitor is Allison. Her presence is more of a mixed blessing: On the one hand, she’s been his best friend since before he and Emerson met, and he’s not sure he’s ever needed her more than he does right now.

On the other hand, her arrival does remind him that he’d gathered their friends and family outside for a surprise post-engagement party, so. That part’s a bit of a knife wrench.

“Sooo,” she says, clearly with all the gentleness she can muster. “That didn’t look like it went great.” Kit shakes his head, mute with horror. “I sent everyone home when it started to look like things might be taking a turn. In case that’s helpful to know.” Kit nods. Allison looks stymied for a moment and then says, “Listen, screw it, I’m not the ‘Oh, sweetie,’ friend, I’m the ‘I’ll kill that guy,’ friend. Do you want me to kill that guy? Or you can tell me what happened and I can make my own call vis-à-vis murder.”

“Well,” Kit says, his voice sounding in his own ears like someone else’s, “he doesn’t want to be with me, or marry me, or live here. So he’s leaving me, and also Cedar Falls.” Swallowing hard against rising nausea, Kit adds, “Oh, and because my brilliant plan was to propose first, and then surprise him with the information that I’d used my life savings to buy us this bookstore, I never got around to telling him that part.”

“Ah,” Allison says, after a pause. “I see. Well, I think this is a classic ‘run him over with my truck’ situation,” and Kit laughs so hard he’s mostly crying.

ONE

EIGHTEEN MONTHS LATER

The first thing that goes wrong the morning of the meeting is that the bank manager turns out to be Steph Gervasi, who went to high school with Kit. They weren’t close—Steph was in his sister Maggie’s grade, and the two of them hadn’t exactly been pals, either.

Steph purses her lips, and she makes The Face. The face that means, “Oh, Kit, I heard about you proposing to Emerson and him leaving you instead of accepting, because everyone heard about it, because you basically invited an audience and it’s all anyone in town talked about for months. And the thing with the bookstore, oh my God, it’s like a Greek tragedy! Are you aware that you’re the saddest man in Cedar Falls?”

Everyone in town has made The Face the first time they saw Kit after The Incident, so he has grown familiar. His own sister still makes it every third time he sees her, although she has the decency not to mention it.

Kit prays to higher powers he’s never been sure he believes in that Steph, too, has some decency, and won’t actually say anything about⁠—