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Well, there’s no way I can argue with that. If it’s to improve her memory, I have to do it. Though, I doubt it’ll be as pleasant an experience with me struggling to read aloud. It’s why I floundered in high school, and flat-out refused to go to college. Hearing me trying to read is a full-body cringe for all involved.
The worst part is she knows this. It’s not something we ever explicitly talked about, but I remember my teacher telling her that I was struggling to keep up with the rest of the class. She didn’t react well to hearing that, and insisted there was nothing wrong with me. At the time, it felt like she was defending me. I felt supported. But her refusal to acknowledge my dyslexia ensured my continued struggle.
It seems she doesn't remember any of that right now, though. Or maybe she intentionally chose to forget since it embarrassed her.
“Um,” I begin, hoping a valid excuse to get out of it will just come to me as I’m speaking. “It’s just that…t-the thing, here’s the thing–”
“If you’d like, Elena, I can come over and read to you,” Mylo interrupts, and even though he’s speaking to my mother, I feel his eyes on me.
“Oh no, you don’t have to do that,” I start to say, just as my mom says, “You’d make a house call to read to me?”
“A house call?” he repeats with a low chuckle. “I suppose that is what a house call would consist of for a librarian, so, yes. I shall make a house call.”
Our eyes lock, and in his breathtaking gray irises, I see nothing but empathy and understanding. He knows. Apart from Mom, my teachers, and my ex-husband, Nate, no one else has ever suspected a thing. Not my siblings, friends, or even my colleagues. Within moments, Mylo figured it out, and he’s helping me keep this secret.
Why would he do that?
He gives me a single nod, and I feel the tension in my shoulders fade. “If it wouldn’t be an inconvenience for you, I know my mom would love to have you read to her.”
“Not at all,” he replies easily. “I am busy tonight, but I’ll come by tomorrow. What time is best?”
Busy? I didn’t think he had much of a social life. From what I’ve heard from Vanessa, he spends his free time reading every book he can get his hands on. Does he have plans with hot Charlie who was in here before?
“She’s usually in bed around nine,” I tell him.
“Then I shall be there at eight,” he says.
“Fantastic,” my mom quietly cheers.
She pulls out her library card and hands it to Mylo as he gets in front of one of the computers behind the desk.
After he swipes her card, I notice his brow furrowing as he looks at the screen, but when his gaze lifts to my mom, the look morphs into a brilliant smile. “You’re all set. And before you leave, Elena, you should check out my romance recommendation table.” He gestures to the display table just to the right of the entrance. She nods as he hands her the book, and she wanders over to the table to browse.
Once she’s out of earshot, Mylo leans over the counter toward me. “I wanted to let you know that your mom has several overdue books at the moment. I have waived the fees, but could you bring those back at some point?”
“Oh no,” I say, flooded with embarrassment. I’m not surprised she forgot to return books she’s borrowed, but it’s just another thing in a seemingly endless list of ways I need to stay on top of her. “I’m so sorry. If you can print out that list, I’ll bring them all back tomorrow.”
“Hey, hey,” Mylo says in a comforting tone, “it’s okay. There’s no rush. Just bring them back when you can.”
I swallow, amazed that I’m on the verge of tears over this small act of kindness. Clearing my throat, I say, “Thank you. I really appreciate that.”
His gaze shifts quickly between my eyes, then down to my mouth, then back to my eyes again. “It is my pleasure.” He starts to step away, but I stop him.
“And, hey, thanks for offering to read to her. You really didn’t have to do that.”
I expect him to confirm his suspicions and start peppering me with questions. But he doesn’t. He just says, “I want to,” and leaves it at that.
He hands me the list of overdue books, and I tuck it in my pocket before Mom can see it. Then we go on our way, swinging by the market for cilantro and back home, with Mylo occupying my every thought the entire time. Too many of said thoughts linger on what his plans for tonight could be.
The rest of the day passes quickly and quietly, and after we eat dinner, which, according to Mom “finally tastes like real food,” we go through old photo albums together and laugh at the pictures of me and my siblings on Christmas morning, our hair a tangled mess and our pajamas wrinkled as we park ourselves around the tree, holding our most cherished gifts of the day.
Then I let her watch a few episodes ofReal Housewives.She’s the most animated I’ve ever seen her with this show on. She gasps, shakes her fist, and yells at the TV when her favorite housewife delivers a scorching zinger.
My phone buzzes on the side table as Mom is fast-forwarding through commercials, and the volume on the show is entirely too high when I answer Jackie’s call.
“What are you guys doing?” she asks. “How’d today go?”
I tell her about our walk and the new book she’s excited about. When I start talking about the arroz con pollo we had for dinner, Jackie stops me. “Wait, what are you watching?”
