Chapter Text
She was at the library when she saw him next. She was using their printer to print flyers for her next open mic night.
She looked over to the silent reading room and saw him hunched over a book. He was wearing a flannel and green pants. In his hand was a travel mug with a teabag coming down the side. It made her smile. Please tell me he’s reading something secular, she thought to herself. She couldn’t see the title from where she was standing so she walked around to the other side of the adjacent room. She saw the title. Emma. She has to catch the laugh that almost came out with her hand. Emma??? Why was this man reading Jane Austen… Then again, it was very like him to be surprising.
She didn’t want to disturb his reading. She still had a lot of printing to do. Ten minutes later, he looked at his watch and got up to leave. He came towards her and noticed her. He looked… spooked.
She wondered about that.
He came over. “Hi,” he said. “Phoebe.”
“Andrew,” she nodded. “Reading Jane, are you?”
“What—oh. Yes. I’ve been trying to read more fiction. I’d never read her and decided it was time.”
“And what do you think?”
“Oh, she’s brilliant. She’s sort of an expert on love. Isn’t she?”
“Yes. Although she never got the happy ending she wrote for her characters. Flings and dalliances, but never married.”
“Hm.” He nodded at her, clutching the book to his chest. “Then how could she write it so well?”
“I think because she knew love didn’t come without pain.” She said this without thinking, and when they briefly looked in each other's eyes, she could barely hold herself together. So she looked away.
He rocked back on his heels. “Um, so–”
“I’m just printing some flyers. But I’ll be free in five minutes if you want to wai—… or not. Whatever you want.” Her heart was racing.
“Okay,” he said. “Do you need help with it?”
“No, I’m pretty sure I know how to use a printer,” she said, not sure why that comment made her defensive.
He nodded. “I wanted to apologize to you about that. About that tendency I have, to correct. I know I said that to you many times. 'I just want to help you,” or “I’m always here if you want to talk,' like a goddamn therapist. God, it was so infuriating of me.” He looked around as if looking for someone who could explain his behavior to him.
“Did you just say God, Father?”
“Oh. Yeah. I’ve completely lost my faith, to be honest.” He laughed.
That took her aback. “Have you?”
He sighed. “All the things I was using the Church for… I’m not sure any of them are relevant anymore.”
“Well, that’s… a development.”
“Indeed.” He smiled in a pained way.
“Well, I’m here, if you need to talk, or anything,” she said, delighting in the opportunity to give him a taste of his own medicine.
He laughed. “Well played. But I wouldn’t burden you with all that. Not after what I did to you.”
He looked like he was maybe going to cry. They were quiet for the next minute.
“Well, I’m done,” she said at last. “Should we go on a walk?”
He wiped his eyes and nodded. “Love to.”