Ten Months Overdue

It truly wasn’t that important.

This is what she told herself as she strode towards the library steps. The August heat sifted languidly through the small Californian town, the pavement warm enough to wince at even though the sun had only risen hours ago. The palms of her hands felt slick against the laminated spine of the book. Far off, a siren wailed down the highway.

East of Eden. She had read Steinbeck in high school for an English class, and never again thereafter. It made her eyes hurt. She resented the weight of the pages in her sweaty hands like she resented the errand she ran, and she felt the eagerness of being through with the task at the back of her mind. She pulled on the warm metal of the antiquated building’s door handle, grimacing in annoyance. 

The book was, in fact, ten months overdue. He had checked it out under her name in the hopes it would prompt her to read it. If she was responsible for it. He learned that winter that not only would she not commit to reading the great American author’s words, but she would not commit to him. The break up was blunt and awkward and disorienting. He felt as if he was the last word scrawled on a piece of paper and everything before and after him had been erased. She felt liberated. And promptly forgot about the book.

As he listened slowly for the ticking of the clock behind him, neither awake nor asleep, he felt the chill of the air conditioning briefly stutter as the door opened. The small, brown library lobby smelled sweet and musty to him, like the floral fabric on his grandmother’s couch. He payed the newcomer no mind, though faintly he registered the sound of rubber sneaker soles sharply protesting against the linoleum flooring. The footsteps had seemed to halt rather abruptly before his desk. Reluctantly raising his chin from his palm and opening his heavy eyes, he finally recognized his company. “Oh.”

She blinked. He had not been a volunteer at the library when they had messily parted. She wasn’t surprised, however--he had always loved to read, and had fondly said the building smelled like his MeMaw’s house. “Hello.”

The human stress response is a funny thing. Science dictates which hormones elicit which bodily responses and so forth, but no amount of educational jargon can fully encapsulate the sensation of an eighteen wheeler punching outwardly from inside one’s ribcage. 

“Uh. Hey.” He straightened warily, cheeks flushing a dull flat red. He heard his blood rush angrily in his ears and felt his stomach muscles tighten. Her eyes only met his for an awkward beat before they dropped to the corner of the desk, then her hands, then to the wall behind him. He watched her shift her weight on her feet, then open her mouth hesitantly.

“I’m...uh. I’m sorry.” 

She had spun around and marched out the door before he could respond. East of Eden remained clenched in her hands. He cursed first at himself, then at the old door that clunked shut behind his ex fiancee.

-

Some ten months earlier, Madison and Paul sat together on the couch in her living room. Her legs were tucked at the knees, pointing away from him. His phone cast a blue light on his face as he ignored the movie in front of them. The silence wasn’t comforting anymore, as it had once been. Before, the two had embraced the sweet ease of a quiet compatibility--now it felt heavy and bitter. Their tongues felt thick behind their teeth, and sat unmoored as they do when one becomes too aware of a tongue’s position. Paul looked up from his phone to the TV screen. “I went to the library today.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Got you a book.”

Madison glanced at him with distaste. “What’d you do that for?”

“Because you should read more,” Paul said defensively. “It’s a good book. East of Eden.” He watched her from the corner of his eye as her head rolled on her shoulders, easing tension from her neck. She let out a long breath through her nose. “Didn’t that guy do Of Mice and Men?”

“John Steinbeck. Yeah.”

“Hm.”

The silence continued for a few long minutes. Neither of them knew what was happening in the movie. Madison felt the metal of her wedding ring against her finger and wished she could take it off. 

Paul felt a lump rise in his throat. The same bleak hopelessness that had sporadically pitted in his sternum over the past month began to form again. Something was wrong--he felt her discontentment radiating off of her like heat. “Madison.”

“Mm.”

I love you. “What’s up with you?”

She exhaled again through her nose, slowly and deliberately. I don’t think I’m in love with you anymore. “Just tired.”

“Okay,” Paul said, and some part of him then understood that they would not be married. He didn’t consciously believe it yet. He didn’t want to. “Mads?”

“Yeah.”

“Will you read the book?”

“Sure, Paul.”

He knew that wasn’t true either.

-

Madison felt a hot tear slide down her cheek as she sat alone on her couch. She remembered the way the cushions tilted when Paul would sit down beside her--he was large, built like a lumberjack; his friends had jokingly called him Paul Bunyan. When he sat, it was as if he had forgotten what it felt like to be off his feet. He would plunk down with a whoosh of air, a sweet exhale of relaxation, and the soft seat would collapse inward under his weight. Anyone else sitting on the couch was sucked toward him as if he had his own gravitational pull. The couch seemed too big without him. The cushions felt too level.

The library earlier that day had forced Madison to face the ugly regret she had avoided acknowledging for so long. She shouldn’t have ruined things, shouldn’t have left him. Should have at least read the stupid book. She knew this now, and it burned hot and angry in her belly. Impulsively, she snatched the thick book from the coffee table in front of her and flung it across the living room. It smacked the wall, rather unsatisfactorily, and thudded open to the floor. The pages bent under the weight of the impact. She sobbed heavily, feeling the corners of her mouth pulling towards her ears like an ironic smile. She wished she hadn’t been so terrified to be married. She wished she could have fixed things. She was ready now, and had been ready since she realized that she was completely uninterested in a life without him. 

Pushing the tears up her face with the heel of her hand, Madison stood and picked up the book. Maybe it was a sign, today at the library. Maybe it wasn’t too late. She smoothed the rumpled pages, took her place back on the couch, and began to read.

-

Six days after seeing Madison at the library, Paul sat alone eating breakfast in his parent’s kitchen. He hadn’t stopped thinking about her since she had fled the library earlier that week. They weren’t all good thoughts, necessarily--there was plenty of bitterness left over from their breakup--but he couldn’t get it out of his head what it would feel like to hug her again. He was a big man, and she was so small, but somehow it had always felt like she was the one holding him when they embraced. He pushed the memory out of his head sourly and tried to reign in his sentimental side. She had left him. She had given him back the wedding ring he had scrimped and saved for. He grimaced, stabbing at his cereal. 

The doorbell rung and startled him from his stupor. The milk sloshed from his bowl as he pushed away from the table, chair scraping against the tile floor, and lumbered for the front door. Opening it, he froze. Madison stood in front of him, clutching East of Eden against her stomach like she was afraid somebody would steal it. Before he could speak, she took a step forward. “I read the book. I know it’s so stupid now because it’s almost a year late and you probably thought I stole it or something, but I finished it and I wanted to give it back.”

Paul opened his mouth, not sure what words would come out, but Madison continued. “I felt really dumb at the library last week. Like, it’s not that hard to return a book, especially because I’ve had it for so long, and I shouldn’t have just left like that, but I just…” she twisted her mouth in a brief second of thought. “I’m not here to try and fix things or ask for you to take me back because I ruined things and I broke your heart and I handled everything in the worst way possible. I just wanted to say I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, and I miss you, and I messed up, and I really liked the book.” 

She thrust East of Eden towards him. It took a beat before Paul reached out to grab it. 

She spun to leave. The awkwardness was palatable, and she yearned to run away. “Hold on,” Paul said. She stopped. He was quiet--he hadn’t actually planned to say anything. “You liked it?”

Madison nodded cautiously, her body still half turned towards the street. “Yeah.” She laughed nervously. “Cathy was kind of a psychopath, wasn’t she?”  

“She was.” Paul chuckled. Paused again. Remembered how it felt to be hugged. Remembered how it felt to be left. Took a breath. 

“Do you want to come in?”

Madison smiled. “Yeah. That’d be cool.”

As the door closed behind them, Paul laughed. “This is not at all how you return a library book.”