RJ.Reads: If that happens, you’ll get through it the same way you got through the situation in college.

BookshopGirl: By giving up?

RJ.Reads: No, by finding a new path, by adapting and persevering. You’re more capable and resilient than you give yourself credit for.

There’s a long pause, and I start to worry that maybe I said too much. But then three dots appear, followed by her reply.

BookshopGirl: You’re a good person, RJ. I know you said you grew up feeling below average, but everything I’ve seen is top tier. You’re an excellent listener, a thoughtful bookseller, and a wonderful friend. I know that for sure.

I stare at her words, wondering how she’s turned this around so that she’s complimenting and comforting me. But after my run-in with Josie earlier, I needed to hear this, to remind me of the kind of person I want to be. The kind of person I know I can be, if I’m honest with myself about my behavior and make some changes.

RJ.Reads: I appreciate that. More than you know. Chat tomorrow?

BookshopGirl: Of course. The best parts of my days are chatting with you.

RJ.Reads: Same.

13

Josie

I’m at Tabula Inscripta, packing online orders for a local author’s preorder campaign, when the door chimes. It’s Georgia, cane in one hand and phone in the other.

“I just got to Josie’s store!” Georgia says into the phone, flashing me a wide, hopeful smile.

And instantly, I know. She’s talking to our mother. The only person on earth who makes my smart, confident sister regress to an eager-to-please teenager.

I shake my head as Georgia whispers, “Mom’s about to leave for Mexico—she wants to say hello!” Before I can respond, she says into the phone, “Hey, Mom! Josie’s right here!”

She thrusts it at me, and I reluctantly take it. “Hello?”

“Josie!” My mother’s high-pitched voice fills my ear. “Sweetheart! How are you? Are you dating anyone? It’s been so long since you dated anyone, Jojo.”

It’s true, Georgia mouths, and I roll my eyes.

My mom continues, “Georgie sent a picture of you two, and it looks like you’re breaking out a little. I heard about a new acne cream that could help. Darrell can get it for you—he’s a doctor!”

I sigh, not even knowing how to respond. “Who’s Darrell?”

My mom’s laughter peals through my ear. “My fiancé, sweetheart, you know that.”

Fiancé? I mouth to Georgia, who shrugs. I’d bet good money Darrell isn’t actually her fiancé. Or a doctor. Last time my mother was dating a “doctor,” he was just a guy who worked at GNC.