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I laugh. “Heaven forbid you go to the bodega like everyone else.”
She makes a little shushing noise which I recognize as self-mockery. “I know. The shame.”
My mom is an unrepentant snob, but she’s sweet about it. I guess I only really started to realize it when I went to college. Everyone at Chamberlain is a lot like her—not all snobs, but all exceptional. We (and yes, I still consider myself one of “us”) appreciate our privileges, but we also expect them.
“You’re working on Saturday night?” she asks.
“Mom, it’s not even four o’clock in the afternoon.”
“But you’re going in for the rest of the day.”
We’ve done this before.
“Yep. As long as kids need a place to study, the library stays open on weekends.”
“But not tomorrow?” she asks.
I hope she’s not planning a surprise visit. That happened a couple times a year when I was a student here, and it was fine, but then, other students’ parents also came to campus. I’m not a kid anymore, and you don’t see Tyson Perry Miller’s mom walking around the quad and eating at the Caf.
I don’t want to tell her to stay away, but I really don’t want a visit on the table.
“Not working tomorrow. I have a date,” I say.
She sucks in a breath.
“Shocked, are you?” I ask. “That wasn’t very subtle.”
“Pleased,” she says. “Who is your date?”
“His name is Grayson. He works here.”
“A teacher?” She’s not quite as pleased about that.
“He’s not, actually. But if he was, that’s nothing for you to turn your nose up about. We do have the finest faculty in the whole world,” I remind her, using words she has said to me. To everyone who would listen.
“Right. Of course,” she says, and I can imagine her shaking her head as if to deflect any hint that she’s being snobby.
I’m almost to the library, and I really don’t want anyone overhearing my part of this conversation. Of course, it would be a thousand times worse if they could hearherpart.
“Time for work. Have a great day, Mom. And thanks for everything.”
“Bye, love,” she says. She got that from one of our British nannies. I know it’s one of Mom’s affectations, but I adore it when she calls me “love.” And I know she means it.
When I get inside the library, I take a second to appreciate the vibe. There’s so much dark and golden wood in here that it always feels warm—the light from fixtures and windows reflects off shelves and cupboards and floorboards and the huge circulation desk and makes everything glow. The only thing that would make the main entry room feel more snug and perfect for a fall afternoon is a roaring fire, and that’s just never going to happen. Fireplaces in libraries are nice if you’re at home, but it really doesn’t work in public spaces. I mean, they could do one of those fake fires run by gas line, but there’s no way Wanda’s ever going to okay that. The dorms have real fireplaces, and that’s perfect and cozy and nostalgic. Also, everyone smells like camping most of the winter. Without the hassle of camping. It’s a win.
Hank Grantham is leaning over the counter talking to the back of Desi’s head as she packs up a few of her last things. Her leather bag overflows with new books she’ll probably read tomorrow—she’s committed to knowing the books we buy.
Hank’s English accent fills the air around the circulation desk. “And maybe there will be a roast of some kind. I mean, Lola didn’t promise anything, but she told me to think ‘traditional Sunday dinner’ and I can’t tell you how much I’ve been salivating about the very idea since Thursday.”
Desi turns and sees me, gives me a wave and a smile, and answers Hank. “Traditional Sunday dinner at my house meant cold cereal. Toaster pastries on very special Sundays.”
He makes a horrified face. “Impossible. No one would ever try to recreate that tragedy.”
Desi grins. “But if Lola did it, it would be delicious.”
She turns to me. “Everything is chill today. Midterms are finished. If things are quiet enough, go ahead and close down early and enjoy the evening.”
This isn’t the first time Desi has offered me the option of closing the library before the official closing time, but I’ve never done it. As long as there’s a kid who wants to study here, there’s a place for studying. But not on Sunday. Closed library means one day I’m definitely off work.
