“Oh no, dear!I only meant that you seem to have become just as absorbed in the shop’s evening activities as Marigold did, even if your interests are distinct.”
“Well, I’m busy with the book, of course, and I like spending time with all of you.But I’m making it work.”
“You may not think it now, but I fear the time we’ve spent together has kept you from a life outside these walls.A life with friends who exist beyond the page,” Marmee said.
“No, everything’s fine!Things will get easier once I’m done with the book,” Aurelia insisted.“Until then, my friends just have to understand that I need to spend my time writing.”
“And what of Oliver,” Marianne whispered, suddenly mischievous after her tears.“Are you finding time to become better acquainted with him?”
“Marianne!”Aurelia groaned.“He’s just my editor—and friend, I suppose.”
“If you insist,” said Marianne with a smile.“But perhaps he could beyourD’Artagnan, Aurelia?If you gave him more of your time?”
Aurelia rolled her eyes and shook her head, laughing to see everyone looking at her hopefully.Then she spotted Vronsky sitting at her desk, waiting for her.
“Thank you for sharing, Marmee.I should get back to writing, though.”
She headed for the spiral staircase, hearing whispers and laughter behind her, and shook her head again.Marmee’s warning had a ring of truth to it.There was a certain kind of comfort and safety in spending time with characters who would never change, never grow old, and never get ill, but she was hardly a shut-in.She still went out for her walks, and she talked to Antonia, David, Kali, and her dad every week, even if she didn’t see them every day.She told herself once again that her life would get back to normal after the book was finished—giving her all the more reason to keep working on it.
47
Ithadonlybeena few days since she’d given Oliver her latest draft, but time seemed to drag on until he finally called to let her know he was ready with his next round of edits.They made a plan to have lunch the next day at a spot around the corner from her shop, and she suspected he was testing the waters to see if she could handle hearing his critiques in person again.It reminded her to try and take his edits with a little more grace this time around.
Oliver stopped by the shop to pick her up for lunch, instead of meeting her at the restaurant as they’d planned.She liked seeing him there amongst the books as it seemed to soften his edges and also put her at ease.
“It looks like you’ve got every Dickens title here,” he observed as he scanned the bookshelves.
“I have.”
“I never got the appeal.Tale of Two Cities,Great Expectations,Oliver Twist—they’re alright, but I was never blown away by his writing.”
“But what aboutBleak House?That’s an amazing book.And so isLittle Dorrit.You have to admit those are good.”
“I haven’t read them.Once I read the shorter ones, I just didn’t see the point in diving into his thousand-page doorstops.”
Aurelia’s mouth fell open.
“You work with books, and you gave up on Dickens because his are too long?”
“That’s not what I said,” he told her reprovingly.“I gave up because his books were nothing special.”
“No, unacceptable,” Aurelia said, shaking her head and walking over to join him.“I can’t let you leave here thinking that.Alright, I agree—Tale of Two CitiesandOliver Twistaren’t my favorites either, but you’re absolutely missing out if you stop there.”
She looked at the shelves, assessing the options.
“Doesn’t think he likes classic literature, but he’s never readDavid Copperfield,” she added in an undertone—knowing full well he could hear her—before saying, louder now, “How am I supposed to choose?Our Mutual Friendis my favorite, but I think you really should start withDavid Copperfield.But then there’sNicholas Nickleby… andBleak House…”
She finally pulled copies ofDavid CopperfieldandLittle Dorritfrom the shelves and walked over to her desk, placing them in a canvas shopping bag.Oliver sighed and walked over to join her, pulling out his wallet.
“Oh, no,” she said, shaking her finger at him.“This is a literary intervention.These are on the house.”
“You can’t give your books away!You’ll go out of business,” he laughed.
“It’ll be worth it if I can convert you to Dickens.”
“Tell you what, I’ll buy one and you can give me one.”
Aurelia narrowed her eyes at him in a challenge.
