The Book Signing

**Story alludes to terminal illness and death.**

I stared into the bathroom mirror, deep inhales and exhales making my mouth drier than it already was. I couldn't wait to get to my Brooklyn Moss that Janelle was holding for me. I took a paper towel from the dispenser on the wall left of me, thankful that some Barnes and Noble locations still had paper towels along with those hot air shooting machines that didn't seem to dry your hands. I patted the material against my neck and around my face, removing any of the remaining sweat beads that lingered after the first time I made them disappear. I wished the nervousness went along with it. Dare to dream.

I'd worked so hard to get to that point. My dream had finally come true. I was a published author having my first book reading and signing at one of my favorite bookstores. There I was, the woman who always hid behind my pages, taking every life experience or lack there of and making it into something others could relate to in some way. Of course, I had to classify the story as a fiction novel. There were very few people who knew otherwise and most of those people I knew hadn't picked up a book since high school. There were moments where I regretted not taking on a pen name and remained hidden underneath it. After all, a lot of artists thrived under aliases and such. I very much loved the mystery of it. I could have been a modern day Lady Whistledown. Or not.

My thoughts were disturbed by the bathroom door swinging open. My eyes shot to it, letting out a sharp breath when I saw Janelle standing there with her hands on her hips.

"Girl, seriously? Scare the mess out of me, why don't you..."

"Shush. Why are you still in here? Everybody is waiting. Wait until you see the turn out!" Her grin spread quickly, her eyebrows wriggling.

"Oh sure, that makes me feel better." I replied, pulling at my sky-blue dress for the hundredth time. It was too short for my taste. Janelle disapproved of majority of my wardrobe and told me that if schools tolerated teens to wear dresses that were fingertip length, then I could wear them too. She came over to me, taking my hands from my sides and holding them in her hands in between our bodies.

"Tamar, you got this. Come on, you did it! This is your dream. This is actually not the hard part, not as much as you think."

"Yes, it is."

"It's really not. This is your work, something you've worked a gazillion hours on. You wrote, edited, and all that other time-consuming stuff that you authors have to do. All that is none of my business, but the point is it's done. All you're doing now is showing how proud of yourself you are and showing people a glimpse of your mastery."

"Mastery is the word you thought to use?"

"Yes it is because I'm right. Your book is amazing. Well, for what I know about it because someone won't let me just get my own special best friend copy." She gave me an eye roll that brought out laughter I knew I needed. I smiled, and she returned it.

"This is so surreal."

"It is. I'm so freaking proud of you, girl. I'm not going to say anything else because crying is not happening with this make-up, you hear me? Now come on, let's go."

"Wait," I grabbed her wrist lightly, looking down at the charm bracelet I gave her back in high school. I shifted some of the charms with my thumb before looking at her.

"You don't think...you don't think he'll be here, do you?" I asked. Her expression softened, but not in a way that gave an illusion of hope.

"I don't know. But either way, remember this is your day. Your accomplishment. It isn't made or broken with his attendance. I hope he does come. But if he doesn’t, we forget about that and we enjoy this day celebrating like crazy teens afterwards." She gave a nod as if to solidify the plan, and I chuckled again.

"Alright, alright. You're right. I can do this. This day is to celebrate."

"Now let's go, published author!" She yelled, waving her hand in the air and swaying her hips from left to right. Then she used that same hand to grab mine and pull me out of the bathroom.

I could have cried. Not realizing how long I was stalling in the laboratory, I only expected a handful or two of people. When I came to the back area reserved for events, the room was full. Almost every seat was filled. When Janelle gave me an introduction they all stood in applause. I kept my composure, straightening my dress again before giving everyone a wave. My grin went from one ear to the other as I walked to the chair in the center of the room. The guest seating was arranged in the half-circle facing it. I saw two more of my favorite people in the front row right in front of the chair.

"I love you, sweetheart!" My mother yelled with tears streaming down her cheeks. My stepfather tried his best to catch them with the handkerchief his old soul still carried around. I went over to them, kissing them both on the cheek. I tried to be quick about it but knew my mom wouldn't let it be so. Her hug was a comfort that I needed more that she knew. As a mother, maybe she did know.

After pulling out of her embrace I went to my seat, crossing my legs as Janelle handed me my copy of the book. My eyes were glued a moment, remembering that familiar sense of shock I felt when I received it in the mail. My hands slid down the cover, embracing the texture of the embroidered title:

"Love At The Oak Tree," I said out loud, though it was to myself just as much as to my future readers. As corny as it was, I hugged my book to my chest. Tears fought my eyelids and failed, a deep swallow jumping in my throat. I opened my eyes but kept them on my published work as I sat it on my lap.

"This book has been a work in progress for a very long time. Even now as I stare at it, it doesn't feel real, but feels too real all at the same time." I smiled at it, opening it with both hands and flipping the pages from front to back. Then I looked up at all the eyes on me, the eyes that seemed proud, supportive, curious and engaged.

"Becoming a published author was a dream since I was a little girl, watching my mother typing away her poetry and my grandmother taking every chance she could to pull out her notebook. Ever since then you rarely saw me without a journal. I wanted to write about many things, but what always stuck to me the most was love."

I proceeded to tell the room of mostly strangers that I was a full-on romance girlie, not hopeless exactly but floated in the realm of sappy stories with sappy endings. I told them how I wanted to write about the kind of love my parents had, the kind of love that kept you married for over forty years. It was the kind of marriage that you fought for. It was the kind of love I wanted. I didn't tell them that part.

"This story is about a love that wasn't typical, between a boy who didn't know what love was and a girl who knew it too well. They found themselves embracing a friendship that brought the two of them through some of the hardest of life's challenges. But the older they were, the more they saw there was more between them than just friendship. Still, there was one thing that kept them from considering to be more than friends." I gave a slightly suspicious look to the everyone, praying in my head that I was keeping them engaged.

"What was it?" A voice asked in the background.

"Ah, just you wait and see, sir." I said back, flipping to the page I'd bookmarked to read from. Then my eyes narrowed and I looked away from my book. My eyes widened. I looked up and around. I knew that voice. I looked from left to right through the crowd. I didn't see him. I reminded myself that I was indeed there to engage an audience and needed to focus, slightly feeling a little crazy but ignoring it. I gulped, placing my attention back on the pages. I cleared my throat and began to read.

"'I can never give you what you want,' he told her. Her response was an eye roll and a throwing up of her hands. Her cheeks soaked in her emotions, she shook her head in disbelief. He wasn't listening to her. She didn't know how to get him to understand. She loved him. It didn't matter what he thought she couldn't give. Wasn't his heart enough? Hadn't he already given her that? Couldn't any and everything else be resolved in time if they were together? The questions flooded her thoughts as she looked at his face, tear stains matching her own. She wanted to say she loved him, that though he may not be able to love her for the rest of her life, she wanted to love him for the rest of his. She wanted to know that he loved her too, even if it felt unfair to do so. She looked up at the tree. Their tree. The place where they could exist and be free and wondered if she would ever be there with him again, if it would ever be their tree again."

I stopped reading, resisting the urge to look through the chairs again. He was there. I knew I heard him, at least I was almost certain. Instead I pulled my head up slowly, with the intent to catch the audience's expressions. I glanced over at Janelle, the one who swore she wouldn't cry yet was dabbing tissue under her eyeliner. I refused to look at my mother and step-father's faces because I knew my tears wouldn't stay hidden and I stood on the vow that I wouldn't let anyone else know this was a true story. Janelle knew. My parents knew. I wanted to keep it that way.

"As you can hear, this story has a complicated love that battles some hard situations, as most love stories do. I know you're probably wondering what happened, or if they ended up together."

"Did they?" A woman asked. "Girl I need to know!" The room erupted with laughter.

"Well ma'am, you're gonna have to read and find out." I said with a hint of laughter. "I won't give any more spoilers, but I'm open to any other questions. If no one has any we can get started with the signing."

"Can you at least tell us if he said he loved her?" Another woman asked. I smirked, shaking my head. But someone else answered before I could.

"No. No, he didn't." The voice rang from the back of the room, everyone in their chairs shifting in their seats. I looked at Janelle who came over to stand with me. I stood. When I did I saw Nathaniel, who also rose to his feet. My mouth parted open and I lost my breath. He came. He heard it. He knew.

"How do you know?" The woman asked him, her brow raised with her lips curled at the corner. Nathaniel looked me in the eye, silently asking permission to tell the truth. Movement became impossible and speaking became foreign. I didn't want to stop him, but I also did. I found myself wanting to run. But to him. He ran with my silence and answered miss nosey.

"Because he was an idiot." Nathaniel said, stepping away from his chair and toward me. My heart was treating my ribcage like a punching bag. I couldn't fight the tears anymore or concern myself with those who saw them fall. All I could do was watch him walk.

"He was an idiot that thought he could cruise the rest of his life without her. He really thought her life would be better without him and that confessing his feelings would just hurt her. Then he realized, she had to know. She had to know that she was his favorite person in the entire world, even if it were just to confirm what an amazing person she was. She deserved to know she mattered to him in ways he never would have dreamed." Distance kept closing between us, his steps stopping a foot or two in front of me. My eyes fluttered, my trembling fingers dropping my novel on the floor. Janelle moved back, away from us. A few oh's and aw's rang behind us.

"Nathan..." I whispered, unable to say anything else.

"I should have told you, Mar. I was a coward and I'm sorry. But I do. I love you. I love you more than anyone in this world." He confessed, the background noise louder than before, though I heard a few people shush the room, saying they couldn't hear.

"That's all I wanted. That all...that's all I want. I don't need anything else."

"I know you say that. But what you deserve is the world."

"I don't want the world, and it's not yours to give."

"You're right. It's not. And I hate that I won't be able to love you for the rest of your life. But if I can live the rest of my life loving you than that's a beautiful life to me."

Nathan took my hand as the room filled with screams and shouts. When he went down on one knee, Janelle's exclaim was heard above everything else except my heartbeat. I could barely remain standing, my free hand covering my mouth as my body slightly sank. Janelle came behind me to help me stay on my feet, but I only fell into his arms. I felt them around my back, my head finding comfort in the crook of his neck as my sobs were buried between our flesh. I held onto him tightly, a hand on his shaved head and the other gripping his back. I didn't give him a chance to pull out the ring or even ask the question.

"Yes. Nate, I love you so much, yes I'll marry you." I choked the words out as I tightened my grasp of him against me. His laugh was soft, sniffing subtly. He managed to create space between us, only to claim my lips as his hands held my head.

***

Janelle and I rocked in the outdoor rocking chairs in the back sunroom, my mother and my dad across from us, next to each other on the sofa with the cutest baby voices I'd ever heard. Mom held Makeda and dad held Malachi, every few seconds talking to the other child they weren't holding to make every effort to give equal attention. Janelle was finishing her slice of cake, watching me from the corner of her eye. I pretended for a few seconds not to notice, enjoying watching my parents be grandparents. Then I finally looked at her with a head tilt.

"For the hundredth time ma'am, I'm fine. I'm just tired."

"Heck yeah you're tired. I'm tired and I didn't do any of the pushing. But if you need anything I-"

"Yes, I know. You're here." I said with a smile, my focus turning back to my babies and their cooing sounds.

"They are the most beautiful babies in the world." She spoke.

"They are. I still can't believe they're here." I shook my head in disbelief before looking over at the end table Nathan and I’s wedding photo sat on. On the left of it was a picture of him and I holding the first sonogram. On the right was a picture of us celebrating when I became a best-selling author, the same picture that was used in the New York Times article. I sighed, feeling the sting in my eyes and refusing to fight them. I smiled, brushing one of the tears away with the back of my finger. Janelle looked over too.

"Here he thought he couldn't give you the life you wanted."

"He couldn't. God could. And he gave me better than I wanted." I turned to her, and we exchanged knowing smiles. She leaned over to the table that sat in the center of all of us, grabbing the glasses for my folks and handing them over. She then grabbed ours, mine filled with apple cider since I didn't drink. We all raised our glasses.

"To Tamar and Nathan." Janelle said, my parents repeated it after her. I looked up, gulping with a smile.

"Happy anniversary, baby." I said, moving my sight outside of the sunroom to our favorite oak tree in the distance.