Page 2 of Festive with a Grumpy Fae
“Lachlan.”
“Lachlan, you’ve made my day.Thanks for your help.”
“It’s my pleasure.Drive safe.”I wave him off, then sell a waiting tourist a new release biography.“This is a great read,” I tell her.“Especially if you like dry wit.”
She smiles and thanks me as she takes the book, crossing paths with Godfrey on her way out.
“There you are, Lachie,” he pronounces.“Have you— Oh, dear, did that customer forget to take this?”He grabs the slim, leatherbound book that’s sitting beside the register.
“No, I had that in my hand when I helped another customer, and it ended up coming downstairs with us.”I take it from him and flip the pages so he can see.“It’s another one of those wannabe witchy spell books.”
He sniffs disapprovingly.“Remember, if it’s dated after 1960?—”
“I’ll get rid of it.Yes, I know.”We find a surprising number of handwritten “spell books” from the 1960s and 70s that are mostly just the diaries of stoners.Godfrey decided long ago that nothing “arcane” from that era would be accepted into inventory.Personally, I think stoner spell books are the best of the lot, but they don’t really sell.It’s too recent a period in history for most people who are looking for old arcane books.
“Thank you.Now, I’m afraid I need to ask a favour of you.”
“Oh?”I try to sound interested, but Godfrey’s favours are inevitably boring.
“The chamber of commerce called earlier to remind me that we’re required to decorate for Christmas.”That’s all he says, but the half-baffled, half-afraid expression on his face fills in the gaps.Godfrey has nothing against Christmas, but the concept of decorating the store seems pointless to him.The clientele he wants to sell to are serious antiquarian collectors or hobbyists searching for specific subject matter, like the doctor I just helped.That’s not a customer base that fluctuates around the holidays, so he doesn’t understand the purpose of seasonal retail shoppers and why we might want to attract them with a decorated store.I’m working on changing his mind about that, too.
“I’ll take care of it,” I assure him.“As soon as I’ve finished processing this latest shipment.”
He beams at me in relief.“You’re a good sort, Lachie.I’m so glad you moved to town.”
The stab of pleasure/pain is familiar.I’ve found a home and community—of sorts—here in Typford, but my decision to move from Melbourne wasn’t exactly voluntary.Being thrown out of home at fifteen by bigoted parents wasn’t in my plans.I had very little money and nowhere to go when I called my mum’s estranged sister in the hopes that she might help me.Her offer for me to move in with her wasn’t ideal but it was all I had, so I left the city and moved here.That was nine years ago, and I guess I’m stuck in a rut now.I could move back to the city, but I have a decent job here with a lot of autonomy.I also don’t pay rent or have roommates, because Aunt Maggie lets me live in an old workers’ cottage on her farm.I didofferto pay rent, because she could let it out to tourists for an obscene price, but the thought of having strangers on the farm horrified her.As she put it, either I live there or nobody does.
So… maybe I didn’t want to come here to begin with, but now that I’m here, I’m too scared to leave.I just wish I didn’t feel like an outsider all the time.Even Godfrey is only glad I’m here because I’m good at my job, whereas for me, he’s probably the closest thing to a dad I’ve got.
Pathetic, right?
“Lachie,” Godfrey says as I turn away, and I glance back at him.“It’s still okay for you to mind the store while I’m on my buying trip, right?”
I nod.Leave it to Godfrey to plan a business trip for the week between Christmas and New Year.“Yes, as long as we hire a couple of casuals to help out.The tourists will be thick that week.”
“Yes, of course.What a relief.Sheila at the hot bread shop said that since Maggie is away on her cruise, you might want to go visit friends or a boyfriend or… I’m not really sure.I wasn’t listening.But I told her you’d be here like usual.”He turns to help a customer, and I try not to let his words hurt.It’s not his fault I don’t have a boyfriend or friends to go visit.
It’s not his fault I’ll be spending Christmas all alone.
two
I’m prettysure it’s a law that twenty-four-year-olds aren’t supposed to spend Friday nights at home, alone, working.That’s gotta be the trifecta of pathetic.Patheticness?Pathet…icity?Whatever, I don’t think anyone would say I’m living a wild, fun life.
What makes it even worse is that I’m not supposed to be working.Godfrey has no idea I brought a stack of the books from today’s shipment home to continue cataloguing, but right before I locked the store, I thought about the long, empty hours ahead and decided a distraction was in order.
So… yeah.My crazy Friday night consists of me, my laptop, books that were around before my great-grandparents were born, my couch, half a bottle of Moscato (because it barely tastes like wine, so I can convince myself I’m not actually drinking alone), and crappy free-to-air TV in the background.Next time Mrs.Hannigan at the chemist says that young people today only care about partying and Instagram, I’ll know for sure that means I’m not young anymore.
An old man at twenty-four.How depressing.Is this really what my life has come to?
I pause with the glass halfway to my mouth.Maybe I should stop with the wine.I’m getting maudlin.
Setting the glass down, I pick up the next book in the stack—and frown.It’s the spell book I looked at today, which means it shouldn’t be here.I already put it in the pile for Angie from the historical society to look through before we trash them.
“Did I pick up the wrong pile?”I wonder aloud, opening the leatherbound cover and flipping the pages.No, I couldn’t have—I’ve already catalogued four books, and I hadn’t seen any of them before.“I must have mixed you in by mistake.”
Oh hell, I’m talking to a book.Definitely no more wine.
I stop flipping and glance down at the page.