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Lena, did you see Tae’s review on this book? You guys have such similar thoughts! Really loved both of your takes.
Maybe I’m complaining over something silly, but it doesn’t feel silly to me.
Sometimes it just really sucks to be constantly compared to someone you never asked to compete with. When you just want to be your own person and do your own thing, and everyone seems hell-bent against letting that happen.
Watching Memphis read his book without a care in the world reminds me of a simpler time when none of it mattered, and I could just read books because I loved them. Without thinking, I open the browser on my laptop and pull up the profile Austin told me is Memphis’s.
BookishReedReads
The account only has around ten thousand followers—much fewer than the rest of us—but the content is actually impressive. Curated photographs all in front of the same background—nicely lit bookshelves, which I suspect must be in his store.
The books aren’t ones I see talked about much. Some are older, some much newer. Independent authors. A lot of classics. Debut authors no one else is sharing. His taste is diverse and impressive.
Still, it’s hard to picture him taking these photos or writing the corresponding book reviews that accompany them. It’s hard to imagine him caring about anything enough to do so.
As if he can read my guilty thoughts, I look up to find him staring at me from behind the book he’s reading—something I’ve never heard of that looks literary and sophisticated.
It would probably go right over my head.
From the kitchen, I can hear Mara humming again over the sounds of them cooking—running water, meat sizzling in a skillet, achop, chop, chopas someone cuts the vegetables. The scent of the chili is intoxicating, and my stomach growls at the thought of it.
“Oh man, people are already freaking out over this one.” Paulette chuckles from behind her laptop. “That tree was such a good idea.” She turns her screen around so we can see the way she made the branches on the cover of her latest read blend in nearly perfectly with the branches on the tree. It’s a perfect shot from the ground, with the camera pointed up to really take in the branches as a whole.
“Love that shot,” Austin says.
“Super cool,” I agree.
My eyes dart to her then back to Memphis, who has returned his attention to his book. I close out of his account and focus again on editing the photo I’m working on.
Another half an hour goes by before Mara announces dinner is almost ready. Paulette and I close our laptops and return them to our rooms before meeting everyone else in the dining room. Passing through the kitchen, I spy Logan cleaning up what’s left of their mess from preparing the meal—wiping down the counters and stove top and dusting crumbs into his palm.
“Smells delicious,” I tell him to fill the awkward silence.
He smiles at me with a nod but offers nothing to the conversation.
In the dining room, Mara stands in a chair to snap a photo of the spread she’s laid out—shredded cheese, sour cream, oyster and saltine crackers, green onions, tortilla chips, jalapeños, and a few slices of avocado and lime.
“This looks amazing, Mara,” I tell her, to which she does a little curtsy and jumps down from the chair.
“Thank you, daaah-ling,” she drawls with a deep Southern accent, then bows. When she’s done, we each fill our bowls from the pot in the center of the table. “And I made margaritas, too, so hope you all like them.”
“Oh, margaritas and chili? Marry me and make me the happiest woman alive, Mara,” Paulette says, dropping to her knee and bumping the chair beside her so it slams into the table. She laughs with her eyes closed, and Mara presses a kiss to her cheek.
“Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?” She winks, and Paulette slaps her butt playfully.
Memphis plops a mug of coffee down in front of his seat as everyone else pours a margarita from the pitcher.
Paulette watches as Mara drops two jalapeños in her drink, then does the same. “Oh, fancy. I think I’ll try that.” She takes a sip, blinking rapidly and patting her chest. She puffs out a breath. “Wow.”
“You like it?” Mara asks with a grin.
Paulette nods, puffing out another breath. “It’s delicious, duh. Just spicier than I expected.” As she’s sitting down, she asks with a hoarse voice, “You don’t drink, Memphis?”
“I do,” he says. “I drink coffee.”
“Coffee at dinner?” Paulette says, taking another small sip of her margarita. “I’d never sleep again.”
“Who says I want to?” he asks.
