Lost and Found (4 page)

“No.”

“So….”

“You won’t see her again, so she doesn’t need to eat your pie. She’s already gone, probably to eat someone else’s pie.”

“Got it,” I said, suddenly feeling very sorry for Meta
llica girl. They could have had something real. She had a real spark about her. Poor thing. “Keep it.”

He nodded, then pulled something out of his back pocket and handed it to me. “This is for you.
For wrecking your bike.”

“Oh. Thank you,” I said with surprise as I took the check.

“I’m not very nice, but I am fair.”

And with that, he retreated to his apartment.

***

Much to Ursula’s irritation, Oliver wasn’t home the next night for her to yell at. I didn’t see him until I was coming back from an early morning bike ride the day a
fter and he was trudging up the stairs in green scrubs right in front of me.

“Late night?”
I asked, and he stopped and turned.

“Oh.
You. Skunk girl.”

I winced and automatically put a hand up to the white streak, the insult hitting me hard. I plastered on a fake smile, hoping he didn’t see how he affected me. “Yup, just me,” I chirped, pulling my ear buds out of my ears.

“Night shift. I’m on night float right now,” he said, and then immediately yawned. “So I just got off of work. You?”

I quirked my head to the side.
  “You’re asking about me?”

“I’m not allowed to ask about you?”

“Of course you are.”

“So?” he grumbled.

“I just went for a bike ride. I get antsy.” 

“Did you repair your bike?”

“The tire, but not the light. They didn’t have one in stock.”

His face flashed in frustration, red splotches growing across his pale cheeks and down his neck. “J
esus, I didn’t know you were an idiot.”

“Wait, what? What the hell is your problem?” I said, fisting my hands.

He rubbed his hand down his face. “And where’s your reflective gear? You don’t have a working headlamp! It’s dark out there.
Jesus.
”

I stood there dumbfounded, and he looked up toward the ceiling. “I work in an ER. Don’t ask me how many bicyclists’ brains I’ve seen, because I can’t count that high.” He shook his head as if in fru
stration and climbed the rest of the way to our apartments.

“Jackass,” I said to his apartment door. I was def
initely not going to let him eat my pie again.

I overheard Delaney in the stairwell as I was making my way down. Every time I saw her, I turned into a raging as
shole. So far I’d called her ugly and dumb.

I didn’t think she was either.

She was strange. She was always wearing six layers of clothing, like a homeless person who carried all of her belongings on her back. She buried herself.

Didn’t she know how weird she looked? Didn’t she care? She didn’t seem like the type that did, so maybe she was dumb. It didn’t help that
she was so nice.
It didn’t matter how mean I was. She was nice. That was stupid.

I thought maybe, despite what she’d told me, she was trying to start a fling with me. She’d been a nervous mess when I showed up without a shirt, and she kept baking me things. She was into me.

Except when I made my way down the stairs this morning, in front of every apartment door was a plate of chocolate chip cookies covered in plastic wrap, with a little card, the same card she’d left for me when she’d moved in.

She baked cookies for
everyone.

I really didn’t like her.

“Cliff, listen, I’d love to fly out but I just started a new job,” she said. I stopped one flight away from the mailboxes and my ears perked up.

Brother?
Boyfriend?

“Cliff, of course I miss you. But
you know, you cheated on
me.”
There was a long silence while I waited for her voice again, and she finally said, “I know. I’m so, so sorry. Of course. I’m sorry.”

She looked up then and saw me standing there. Her eyes went wide, her mouth went flat, and then she turned away, her phone still clutched near her ear, scuffing the toe of her boot against the bas
eboard. “Mmm hmm,” she said in a whisper. “I love you, too, Cliff. Just…you know.”

I walked past her and out the front door. I didn’t li
ke Delaney, but I hated Cliff.

“I have a favor to ask you,” Ursula said after the Reference meeting.

“Sure,” I said.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” she asked as concern wrinkled her forehead.

I didn’t know what was wrong. I could usually let pe
ople run me over with their opinions and stay quiet, but I’d been cranky and confrontational all week. I’d even gotten in trouble at work. The head of Reference had reprimanded me three times: once, for letting students use Wikipedia, another time for expressing the correct opinion that the Dewey Decimal System was more helpful than the Library of Congress classification, and last because I told students that the Prairie Glen Public Library had a more equitable and less discriminatory computer use policy than PGU Library’s.

I was sabotaging myself. I hated this job. I wanted to be in Special Collections with the Jenny Edmonton a
rchives.

But I’d hated all my other jobs, too, and I’d never wrecked myself quite this much. Somehow, though, I was just
done
being nice. I blamed Cliff. And maybe also Oliver.

“Nothing that matters,” I said. “I’m just reminding myself why men are a waste of space.”

“What happened?”

“Cliff called. Jackass said I was ugly. I didn’t stand up to either of them, so I’m also a waste of space.”

Ursula put both her hands on my shoulders and said, “Oh, sweetie. No. You’re just nice. You’re a nice person. Don’t give up.”

I shook my head. “Nice doesn’t explain not standing up for
myself. From now on, I’m going to be more like Emily.”

Ursula looked skeptical. “Emily’s pretty tough.”

“I’m going to try. Just keep me away from men. Or really, keep men away from me. They say awful things. And do worse ones.”

“Like Kelsey,” Ursula said.

“Like Kelsey. So, what was that favor?”

“Never mind,” she said. “Can I take you out for coffee?
Espresso Royale?”

“Nah, I’ve been waking up too early anyway, so I’m trying to cut down.” I poked her in the shoulder. “Tell me.”

“It has to do with men, so I revoke my favor.”

“Does it have to do with Cliff, or Oliver, or you se
tting me up on a date?”

“No, but—”

“Then tell me.” I poked her again when she didn’t budge.

“You sure?”
I nodded and she continued. “So, you know how I gave you that recommendation for my doctor?”

“
Mmm hmm.”

“He’s not
actually
my doctor. He’s a friend. And, um, I want to know more about him. And I was wondering if you could find out at your appointment next week.”

“Uh, why can’t you just ask him whatever you want to know?”

She averted her eyes. “Because.”

“Is he in the mafia? Is he a human trafficker? Does he like to watch
Full House
reruns?”

“No, nothing nefarious
like that. I just want to know more about … his interests.”

“You like him,” I said, my grin widening.

She blushed and looked at her cuticles.

“You like him! And you want me to find out if he likes you! Like this is the sixth grade!” I yelled.

“Shhhhh.” Then she covered her face and groaned into her palms. “God, I really am like a sixth grader, aren’t I?”

I pulled her hands away and beamed at her. “I would be happy to work it into conversation at my appointment next week. I’m sure it will go very, very smoothly.”

“You sure?”

“Of course I’m sure,” I said. “And hey, I’ve been thinking about something. Could I get your opi
nion?”

“What?”

“I’ve been thinking about getting a dog. For company. You know.”

She tilted her head. “You’re lonely? Is it because of this stuff with Cliff? Did he say something horr
ible to you when he called?”

“No. I’m not lonely.  I’m better off without Cliff. I was lonely
with
Cliff. I just thought—I don’t know. I don’t have much company.”

“You have me, and Emily,” she said with a pout.

“I know I do. You’re great friends. You’ve been so great in helping me get settled back here and everything. It’s been great. But it’s not the same as having someone in my apartment every single day. Someone who
has
to love me.”

“Delaney.”

“Like a child, or a spouse. But I’m not getting married, ever. Ergo, I’m not having kids. So, I thought, why not a dog?”

“It’s such a librarian thing to do.”

“Trust me, I’m not trying to solve all my problems. And the librarian thing to do would be to get a
cat.

“And then knit a sweater for that cat.”

“Exactly. And
I don’t even like cats. I’m getting a dog.”

“What did Cliff say?” She poked me.

“Not telling.”

“Don’t you think it would be better if you tried d
ating again? Get Cliff out of your system?”

“I think I’d need a full chlorine dip to get Cliff out of my sy
stem.”

“Dating might be a good start, though.” Ursula bit her lip and then smiled.

I shook my head. “I think I’d rather get a dog.”

***

The next time I saw Oliver, he wasn’t alone. As I unlocked my apartment door, his swung open, a tall strawberry blonde stumbled out backwards, her mouth attached to Oliver’s. Her hair was tangled down her back, her freckled shoulders exposed in a thin black tank, and the back pockets of her tight jeans were covered with Oliver’s hands. She was gorgeous. They were gorgeous together. I couldn’t take my eyes off of them.

“
Mmmm,” she said.

Oliver groaned and then leaned away, breathing hard. “Good night.”

“Yes, it was,” she said into his mouth. I gagged.

He ran a finger down the curve of her neck and she shivered. “Bye, Oliver.” When she turned, both sets of eyes landed on me.

“Um, hi.” I gave them both a lame little wave.

“Delaney.” Oliver nodded, his lips a thin line.

“I’m just—I was just coming home. From work. I’ll see you later,” I said, and then I tumbled into my apartment, away from them, but before my door was closed completely, his hand caught the door. Oliver leaned into my apartment. “Delaney, could we talk for a second?” he asked, his dark hair falling into his eyes as he spoke.

“You need a haircut,” I said, and automatically reached over to brush his messy hair out of his eyes like I used to do with Cliff. That’s when I noticed how very tall he was. He must have been at least six foot two. He stepped backwards like I’d slapped him.

“Sorry.” My hand fell to my side.

He brushed his hand against his forehead, where my fingers had been, and he said softly, “No, that’s fine. You’re right. I need a hai
rcut.” He stepped back into the threshold. “So, can we talk?”

“Sure.” My heart beat against my ribs, and I hoped he wasn’t going to explain the strawberry blonde, or the brunette, or any of his other visitors, in case I was judging him.
I
was
judging him, but I was trying very hard to fake unconcern anyway.

He stayed silent a moment as his eyes scanned me, and then he frowned. “What are you wea
ring?”

“Um, work clothes?”

“Do you work with a bunch of blind people?”

“Ouch?” I loved my clothes. I was wearing a vintage red and black plaid jacket with brass buttons over a black dress with a big A-line skirt, neon blue tights, and my polka dot booties. I topped it all off with a red striped scarf and a gold necklace, and dangling leaf ea
rrings.

It was great armor against being seen. As long as ev
eryone was paying attention to my clothes, no one considered what I was hiding.

And I knew it was a bit much for some people, but it brought some quirk to me. There were a lot of bright
pinks and yellows, bejeweled buttons on shirts, cardigans with sequins. “You look like a cracked out Golden Girl,” Emily had said one day when I came in with a fuzzy red cardigan with pearl buttons, a blue shirt dress that tied at the waist, and my cat eyed granny glasses. I’d felt protected by the clothes. Nothing could get me under these layers.

“Are you always this charming with women, or is it just me?” I said to Oliver.

“It’s just you,” he said as he inspected my clothing. “And sorry. I should just greet you with, ‘Sorry,’ instead of hello, since I can’t seem to stop insulting you.”

“That’s okay. My friends and I call you ‘Jackass,’ so I guess it evens out. And I like how I dress. This is me.”

He pointed to my bangs, and then leaned close enough to touch the hair on my forehead, just like I’d done to him a minute ago. “And this? Is this you too?”

I crossed my arms and stepped back, wariness building in me. He was going to say something about my streak of white hair. “It’s me,” I said, looking away from him. “It’s natural.”

He had a faraway look in his eyes, like he hadn’t heard a word I’d said. “Didn’t you say you needed to tell me something?” I asked him.

He nodded and leaned against the door jamb, leaving space between us again.
“Right. I wanted to apologize for what I said. Before, not about the clothes. Your clothes are….nice,” he said with an obvious struggle.

“No apology necessary.”

“Are you kidding? Of course I need to apologize. When people treat you like shit, tell them. I’ve treated you like shit.”

I nodded. “You’re right. You were a jackass. But that’s just you.” Then I added, “I’m just not very good with people.”

“You’re not?”

“With men.
I’m not very good with men,” I clarified, feeling my face go hot again.

“I have a feeling you’re not telling the truth,” he said.

“I am.” I gesticulated around my body, indicating my general aloofness. I was flustered by his presence, and hoped he’d go away.

“Well, I’m sorry I was rude to you. I’ve been working night shifts and not getting enough sleep and I’ve had a lot of other things going on and I’m an asshole to pretty much everybody, but that’s no e
xcuse. I didn’t mean it.”

I noticed the circles under his eyes for the first time, the way his face was pale and drawn, and I knew he wasn’t lying. “You’re e
xhausted.”

“Bone tired,” he said, and I understood him a lot be
tter than I had.

“
Oh
. This is like
The Sixth Sense
.”

“Excuse me?” he said with a small laugh.

“Like, at the end of the movie,
The Sixth Sense
, when you know what was really going on, it seems
so
obvious when you re-watch it. It’s like that with you. You’re just tired, just like Bruce Willis was just dead.”

“Ah,” he said, wrinkling his forehead.
“If you say so. But I am sorry.”

“Except about the clothes?”

“Yeah.” He nodded.

“And you didn’t need to explain it to me,” I said, finally crac
king a genuine, if small, smile at him.

“I didn’t, but I am.” He ran his hands through his hair and said, “Well, that’s all.” He cleared his throat and I said, “Bye,” just as my phone rang. I fished it out of my purse, which was still slung across my body, and the caller ID flashed:
Cliff.

“Are you going to answer that?” Oliver said, sounding perplexin
gly angry.

I clicked the ignore button. “No.”

“Good,” he said. “Anyway.” He backed away from the door.

Even though I knew I shouldn’t, that I’d told Ursula and Emily and myself that I was completely done being nice to jackasses, I also knew that I didn’t want Oliver to leave. “Do you want to come in for some cookies? Or I have an apple crisp in the freezer I could throw in the o
ven.”

“Oh?” His eyebrows lifted. “You don’t mind?”

“No. I love baking. I love feeding people.”

“Even me?”

“Especially people like you. Baking transforms people from grumpy to nice.”

“When have I been nice to you?”

“Point. I guess it doesn’t work on you. Maybe you’re impervious to niceness.”

“I am,” he said but stepped into the kitchen nook, which was really just a tiny dinner table with two chairs shoved in a corner.

“Maybe that’s because you haven’t had my crisp.” I opened the freezer and found it stacked neatly in the back, and I pulled it out, preheated my oven, and rested it on the counter. “Do you want a meal before dessert?”

“I’m a dessert first kind of guy. Seriously, why are you being so nice to me?” He lifted an eyebrow and stared down at me as I leaned against the kitchen counter.