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It’s not the first time Fran has woken up hungover on Bernard’s sofa, and it’s unlikely to be the last. This time, it’s thanks to a bottle of Merlot and a shot of something that looked like vodka but tasted like spaghetti sauce.
Fortunately, customers are a rare species in Bernard’s shop, so she doesn’t usually have to worry about anyone watching her drool and snore once the sun rises.
Usually.
On this particular morning, Fran opens her eyes to find a stranger staring down at her. She sits bolt upright, nearly knocking heads with the woman who seems to have confused her with a book to peruse.
“Sorry for waking you,” the woman says, not looking very sorry at all.
Fran’s brain still hasn’t quite caught up to the fact that she’s awake. She blinks at the woman, who’s only just starting to come into focus. She does have a nice haircut, Fran will give her that.
“I just wanted to tell you I think it’s really lovely what you three have going on here.”
What does that mean? Does she think Fran works in the bookshop?
“It’s just that you don’t see very many relationships like yours,” the woman continues, oblivious to Fran’s look of utter bewilderment. “Even if they did throw you out on the sofa.”
She giggles at that, and the sound makes Fran feel like her head is splitting in two.
“I’ve got two of my own at home,” the woman says, as if Fran knows exactly what she’s talking about. “It’s our anniversary today, in fact. I just popped in to get them a couple of gifts. Benny likes history, but Leonard is more of a novel reader.”
She holds up a paper shopping bag with BLACK BOOKS printed on the side. Is that what Bernard gives his customers? Fran doesn’t think she’s ever seen him make a sale.
“Anyway, I’ve got to be going,” the woman chirps. “Good luck to you three. I’m sure you’ll make up soon.”
She gives Fran an over-the-top wink before gliding out the door with such panache, the sign flips from CLOSED to CLOSED on its own.
Once she’s gone, Fran sits there for a moment pondering the encounter. What was that woman on about? Who are Benny and Leonard, and what anniversary are they celebrating? And what does any of it have to do with Fran?
She glances over at Bernard’s desk, where he sits in his usual pose – book in one hand, cigarette in the other. Manny stands behind him, karate-chopping Bernard’s shoulders and muttering something about tension.
Sometimes Fran has trouble deciding whether Manny is more like Bernard’s servant or his boyfriend. Although she hardly has a place to talk, considering how much time she spends here.
Wait a minute…
Oh.
Oh, no.
Did that woman think that the three of them were…?
Fran was already feeling nauseous from the hangover, but this threatens to send her over the edge.
Manny must notice that she’s turned a bit green, because he runs over wielding a bucket and crying, “Not on the Dostoevsky!”
She doesn’t end up needing the bucket, but Manny still sits beside her on the sofa and pats her back like she’s a toddler who’s had too many sweets.
“Manny,” Fran says, shrinking away a bit. “That customer thought that we were…”
She can’t even bring herself to say it.
“Did she think we were part of Goliath Books?” Manny asks, looking disappointed. “I knew it was too good to be true. A paying customer, pfft.”
“No, Manny. She thought we were…” Fran gulps. “A couple.”
She realizes immediately that this is the wrong word to use, but none of the alternatives are appealing. “Threesome” makes her think of a bad porn film, and “ménage à trois” just sounds pretentious.
Unsurprisingly, Manny doesn’t catch on. “Well, it wouldn’t be the first time. My parents just sent us an anniversary card last month.”
“I don’t mean just you and me, Manny.” Fran tilts her head toward Bernard. “Him, too.”
Bernard, who is highly skilled at tuning out all conversations which aren’t about him, suddenly looks up from his book and shouts across the shop, “What about me? What are you two conspiring about? I won’t stand for it!”
Fran supposes she might as well be out with it. She stands up, feeling a bit wobbly, and drops herself into a chair next to Bernard’s desk.
“That customer thought that the three of us were in a relationship,” Fran explains. “You know. Polyamorous.”
“I thought that was when a cat had six toes,” says Manny, coming over.
“That’s pterodactyl,” Bernard informs him.
“It’s very in right now,” says Fran.
“What, cats having six toes?” asks Manny.
“No. People having six partners,” she says. “Well, maybe not that many. Although I’m sure it’s happened.”
Bernard lights another cigarette. “Sounds like a nightmare. It’s bad enough being with one person. Who wants to pay for that many dinners?”
“You don’t even pay for your own dinners,” Fran points out. “You owe me over three thousand pounds.”
“Yes, well…” Bernard flounders. “Who wants to owe money to that many people?”
“I think it sounds nice,” Manny admits.
Fran and Bernard turn to him with raised eyebrows.
“I’m not saying I want six,” he says defensively. “Maybe two. That way, if one is busy, you always have someone to spend time with. And if one is ill, or hit by a bus or something, you won’t be alone.”
Bernard blows a raspberry.
“Oh, stop it,” Fran scolds. “That’s very sweet, Manny.”
Manny smiles, looking encouraged. That usually means he’s about to suggest something dreadful, like a game of chess or a picnic in the park. It’s what she gets for trying to be nice.
“You know,” he says, forcing a casual tone, “that customer might not have been far off. Maybe the three of us are polydactyl and we don’t even realize it.”
Fran is too busy scoffing to correct him. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I told you,” says Bernard. “It’s pterodactyl.”
“Why not?” asks Manny, ignoring him. “Bernard and I already live together, and you sleep over practically every night.”
“That makes us roommates at best,” Fran argues. “It’s not as if any of us are sleeping in the same bed.”
Manny and Bernard suddenly become very quiet.
“Oh, no,” says Fran. “Don’t tell me…”
Manny scratches his beard nervously. “It’s only been a few days. We ran out of bananas, and the thing under Bernard’s bed got… angry. So he’s been sleeping in my room.”
“Head to feet,” Bernard makes sure to specify.
“Yes,” Manny confirms, reaching into his pocket and retrieving a clothes peg. “Which is why I pinch my nose shut with this every night.”
Fran shudders. Where did Manny leave that bucket? She might need it after all.
“All right,” she concedes. “So you two are sharing a bed. That doesn’t mean anything. It’s not like we have sex.”
Manny makes a face. “Well…”
“What?” asks Fran in a warning tone.
“Bernard did tell me about that one New Year’s…”
“I’m not allowed to remember that,” Bernard blurts out, at the same time Fran calmly replies, “That never happened.”
She hits Manny with a withering stare, daring him to challenge her. He breaks eye contact after three seconds, sweat dripping down his temple.
“Well, as long as we’re talking about things that never happened,” Fran says pointedly, “I seem to recall a certain incident during our trip to Saint-Honoré last year. One that didn’t involve me, I might add.”
Manny looks wistful, while Bernard fumes.
“That was part of the ritual!” he shouts. “It’s a Canadian tradition!”
An awkward silence descends, broken only by the tinkle of the bell on the door as an old woman scurries out of the shop. However much she overheard, it was apparently enough.
“I say we go for it,” Manny says, undeterred. “What’s stopping us? It’ll be an adventure.”
Fran narrows her eyes. Whenever Manny gets like this, there’s usually something else going on. Luckily, it’s never too hard to get the truth out of him.
“Why are you suddenly so eager?” she wonders. “You’ve already got a girlfriend. Didn’t things go well with Rowena?”
“They did.”
“Well, what happened?”
Manny looks sheepish. “I lost her number.”
“Well, she’s been to the shop before,” says Fran, failing to see the problem. “I’m sure she’ll be round again soon enough.”
Manny sighs. “She lost the address.”
“Ah.” Probably should have seen that one coming. “That’s a shame. You two really were perfect for each other.”
“That’s just it,” says Manny. “If I couldn’t make things work with Rowena, I don’t see how they’ll work with anyone else. You and Bernard could be the only thing keeping me from dying alone. Won’t you at least give it a try?”
Fran can’t help but feel a bit sad for Manny – although not nearly enough to go through with what he’s suggesting. Just as she’s trying to figure out the best way to let him down gently, Bernard does it roughly.
“Count me out,” he says, returning to his book. “Enjoy your lonely, lonely death.”
“Well,” says Manny, “if you don’t want to be involved, perhaps Fran and I can—”
Bernard slams his book on the desk. “Absolutely not! It’s all three of us or nothing!”
Manny gives Fran a hopeful look.
“I’m sorry, Manny,” she tells him. “It’s never going to happen.”
Thirty years later…
It’s another Friday night, and the shop is about to close for the day. Bernard and Manny have already gone upstairs, leaving Fran to wait for the last customer to finish browsing.
She’s just about to say something polite but pointed when the young woman finally approaches the till. Fran marvels at her haircut. She couldn’t even begin to describe it to her stylist.
Kids these days.
“I’ll take this, please,” the customer says, handing over her chosen book.
Fran glances at the cover. The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo.
The customer smiles. “I love the classics.”
Fran resists the urge to climb over the desk and strangle her.
“It’s so nice to see three friends working together,” the customer remarks as Fran puts her book in a bag. “Especially at your age. I hope you don’t mind me saying so.”
Fran is so distracted by the young woman’s word choice that she doesn’t even remember to be angry about the age comment. She thinks about correcting her but decides she’s too tired to go into it.
“Not at all,” she says instead, handing the customer her bag. “How sweet of you to notice.”
Once she’s gone, Fran locks up and turns off the lights. She leaves a sugar cube out for the thing under the fridge and makes her way upstairs, groaning about her creaking knees with every step.
“Did she finally leave?” asks Manny when she opens the door.
“With seconds to spare.”
“Good,” says Bernard. “I was about to get the broom.”
He’s sitting up reading, while Manny has already closed his eyes and is waving off the smoke from Bernard’s cigarette as it wafts over to his side of the bed.
Fran peels off her work clothes and nudges her way between the two of them. Even with Manny’s freezing cold feet and Bernard’s aversion to ashtrays, she much prefers the bed to the sofa.
Not that she’s been a complete stranger to the sofa over the past few decades. But it’s like that woman told her all those years ago – they always make up.
“Want to hear something funny?” Fran says, wiggling further under the duvet. “That customer thought we were friends.”
To her right, Manny chuckles sleepily.
To her left, Bernard sneers. “We’ve never been friends. Now where is my goodnight kiss?”