Page 98 of The Librarians

“It’s my mom’s house and she wants everything to stay the way it is. I’m not going to fight with her over décor when I get to live here for free.”

“Oh, I’d have fought her tooth and nail,” says Sophie. “No old woman is allowed to cramp my style.”

They all laugh, Ryan uproariously.

The doorbell rings. Ryan checks his phone and leaps up. “It’s them.”

Hazel and her long-lost beau glide into the living room. Sophie considers herself to have met plenty of genetically blessed individuals. Still, what a fantastic evening to have functioning eyes.

Besides her, Astrid looks beauty-drunk, and doesn’t recover her concentration until Hazel says, “Astrid, we need a huge favor. Would you consider going back to your condo? Tonight itself, if possible.”

Outside her condo, Astrid keeps backing out and reparking her car until it is exactly equidistant between the two white lines that delineate the spot.

She turns off the engine and closes her eyes.

The drive back to Sophie’s place for Astrid to pick up her Prius was silent. It was only at the very end that Sophie said,You know, I’d probably have done it too, if I could. Made myself out to be a hot, Creole-speaking babe from Reunion Island to live without my own baggage for a while. Of course, my cousin was at the same college so it never happened. But that version of me, she would have been a lot more chill.

Sophie did not absolve Astrid of the stupidity of her choices, but for her to say she got why Astrid did what she did—a thunderbolt of happiness had struck Astrid despite her thoroughly frayed nerves.

Now let’s get this behind us, so you can enjoy your new life, Sophie had added, before pulling Astrid in for a tight hug.

True, telling other people that she’s been an ass doesn’t seem all that daunting anymore. Now Astrid is only scared of how to put “this” behind them.

She elbows the car door open, grips the overhead bar, and hoists herself up and out. Inside her condo, she puts away her purse, changes into her pajamas, and brushes her teeth. All normal activities for someone who comes home late in the evening on a Sunday night, right?

Then she turns on her TV—a bit of streaming at this hour is also perfectly understandable. But before she sits down on the couch, she grabs a spray bottle, a microfiber cloth, and her potted aloe vera.

With one eye on the screen, she sprays and wipes down the plant, taking care not to scrape her fingers on the teeth of the spear-like leaves. Then, frowning at the spots on two of the leaves, she pauses her K-drama, picks up her aloe vera and her phone, and ambles about the condo, turning on the lights in each room she enters.

Eventually she places the aloe vera on her dining table. Her phone buzzes. It’s a text from Hazel.

Could you give me a call if you haven’t gone to bed yet?

With an index finger that’s almost not shaking at all, Astrid jabs at the phone. Hazel picks up after a few rings.

“Hi, Astrid. Thanks for calling me. I hope it’s not a bad time for you.”

Hazel sounds strained. No, overcome. Astrid’s stomach twists. “No, not at all. I was just going around my house looking for a better spot for my houseplant—I think it needs more light.”

“Did you find it?” asks Hazel.

Astrid shakes on the inside until Hazel adds, “That better spot for your houseplant?”

“I’ve decided to put it on my dining table for now, because there’s a skylight overhead, but I won’t know for a few days whether that’ll solve the problem.”

Hazel is quiet for a moment. “You sure you can talk now?”

“Of course. I still have a couple of plants to clean—so it’s a perfect time for talking, actually. Hold on, let me turn on my speakerphone and bring them over.”

“Lucky houseplants.” Hazel’s voice, not just low, but almost hoarse, emerges from Astrid’s phone.

“Oh, they are—the pandemic taught me that I’m a great plant mom.” Astrid sets a spider plant and a snake plant on the dining table. “So, what’s going on with you?”

“Nothing really, I’m just…uneasy. But I don’t know. Never mind—I should go to bed. I’ll feel better about everything after a good night’s sleep.”

“No, no. Don’t keep it bottled up, Hazel. Let it out. What is it? And trust me, I’m not at all sleepy.”

She’s in a worse state: tired yet hopped up.