Tangled

16 Ava: Settling In (II)

Thunk.

That’s it. That’s the last book, tossed onto a pile of mystery novels. Fifteen boxes are now empty, and while it might appear that my apartment is little more than a haphazard pile of empty boxes and organized book piles, my heart breathes with the room I’ve created by tackling the monster that is everything Mrs. Elkins stored in this apartment for the last who knows how long.

The couch is soft and springy as I flop onto it, taking a well–deserved break. Selene’s ears perk up at my sudden display of enthusiasm, but she doesn’t move, content to rest by the front door, which happens to be one of the few places in the living room not covered in something.

“We did it, Selene! We’ve tackled the monster and unpacked it all!”

Well, everything that was in the living room. The kitchen still has a few boxes, and let’s not even talk about the bedroom. But the living room? The living

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16 Ava: Settling in (11)

room is done, and that’s what matters.

I survey the piles of books scattered around the room, separated by genre. There’s a stack of classics, a pile of contemporary fiction, a few biographies, and even a small collection of poetry. The biggest pile by far, though, is near and dear to my heart. Romance. Tantalizing little bodice–rippers with bare male chests whispering to me, enticing me to flip them open and be drawn into a world of magical, mystical, perfect

men.

I used to read them whenever I had a chance. The

White Peak library was full of them, and I was desperate for any happy ever after I could get my hands on.

They’re a lot less appealing these days.

I rub my chest, frustrated by the ache that likes to poke its head out in my weak moments, and snap a quick photo of the piles to send to Mrs. Elkins.

[AVA: What should I do with all these books?]

Selene seems to realize that I’m done moving for a while and slinks over on her silent paws, jumping beside me. She circles once, twice, then settles down,

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16 Ava: Sottling In (1)

her head resting on my thigh. I scratch behind her soft ears as I wait for Mrs. Elkins‘ response.

My phone buzzes.

own library. They’ve already been up there

were a luxury. Books were unnecessary,

surrounded by the musty

doesn’t seem so far–fetched.

stopped petting

a silly question. As if it was ever an option to get rid of them.

lets out a contented sigh, which I choose to

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Settling in (1)

as their titles. Some are smooth, others ridged, a few even cracked with age. Each one holds a story,

to read, mine to cherish, mine to

But where?

the living room with a critical eye. The walls

hold my new library.

the hardcovers. The smaller paperbacks could go on a lower shelf, maybe under the

that could work.

living room in not

inat

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had a

Ava: Settling

and see my beloved books, ready and waiting to be read. And maybe, just maybe, I could squeeze a

only by the space I have and the strength of the shelves. But I’m determined. These books have waited long enough to

watches me from her spot on the couch, her blue eyes curious. “What do you think, girl? Should we go shopping

head, considering, then lets out

bark.

crisp white bookshelves and the colorful book spines that would enliven them up. Maybe I would even do something

my books by color. It would be impractical, yes, but fun.

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Ava: Settling In (1)

in my belly as reality sets in. Bookshelves cost money. Money that I don’t have in abundance, not with my barista wages. Not with how much I’ve spent just to establish life here.

Happy Ava is gone, and regular Ava

comfort.

and saving for school is

have a car, once

in piles on the floor is almost

dreaming of building a better life. People turning old crates into rustic shelves, repurposing ladders into quirky bookcases, even

on Gøøglᴇ to access

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Settling in (1)

again, staring at my walls. It can’t be that hard,

the excitement in my voice.