By Tuesday, Wesley had become the closest thing to a celebrity that the library world had seen.
Well, the closest human celebrity. There was a famous library cat named Dewey who once captured the world's hearts: he'd been left abandoned in a book return bin, and librarians had raised him in the library. I was always surprised his story hadn't been turned into an Oscar-winning movie.
And now Wesley was approaching Dewey-levels of fame.
When we were driving home, I'd tentatively told Wesley that his presentation had been filmed and that it seemed to be gaining traction. He'd laughed and thought it was mildly creepy that someone had filmed him without his permission. "It's kind of cool," he admitted. "I'll enjoy my fifteen seconds of fame. But trust me, by tomorrow, something new will capture the Internet's attention. Probably a dog video."
I guessed he would have been more interested had he not had a death grip on the steering wheel, keeping an eye out for other drivers, moose, meteors, and anything else that could possibly hit us.
We still hadn't spoken about What Happened Last Night by the time Wesley dropped me off at my apartment. Half of me was glad to be home, and the other half was disappointed not to be invited to Wesley's house. I couldn't fault Wesley for wanting to be home – he'd been twitchy throughout the entire drive. We'd made it home in one piece, and I counted that as a win.
That night I took the world's longest shower. By the time I dried myself off I had a passable resemblance to a lobster. I threw on my comfiest pajamas – the ones with the dancing pineapples – and sat down in front of my computer. I went to Facebook and pulled up Wesley's video. There were over a thousand likes and three hundred comments.
Libraries are such an undervalued resource, someone had written. It's time we treat them with the respect they deserve.
This guy gets it, someone else said. I suffered for years with mental health problems as a librarian. We were expected to do so much with so little.
Another comment said, Sexy singles in YOUR area!!!!
In between the spam comments were people who had stories of their favorite libraries and librarians. Books they'd read while tucked away in private nooks. Workshops and meetings and events they'd attended.
Then, one comment jumped out at me. I held back a gasp when I saw her profile picture.
I have been a loyal patron of my library for years, Florence Linaberry wrote. I'd never known her first name. I hope it's not considered too sad if I consider the librarians as my friends. Is there anything more comforting than chatting with someone who knows you? When I hear my favorite librarian say my name, I think to myself, "Someone knows me." One can never be lonely in the library. These days I take pleasure in the small things: The smell of a good book. The scandalous look on the librarians' faces when I check out a bodice-ripper. The breathless feeling of not knowing what will happen when I turn the page. Quite simply, I would not be myself without the library.
Her comment was a kindness that I didn't deserve. I still remembered the way her hand trembled when she'd confronted me about my mistake, when her personal information had ended up online.
I didn't want to read any more. I shut off my laptop, set my alarm for the morning, and hoped that Monday would be a quiet enough day.
---
It was not.
Melissa and Matteo acted as if I'd been gone for years rather than a weekend. Melissa wanted to hear about the food, Matteo wondered if I'd eaten any city rats, and both of them wanted to know if I'd hooked up with any locals. (My high-pitched "Of course not!" didn't sound convincing, even to my own ears.)
My meeting with Lakshmi was less stressful than I'd anticipated. I was worried the whole getting-into-an-accident-and-kind-of-almost-dying thing would have made her angry, but she was just glad to see me alive.
"Staffing is such a pain," she joked. "If you died, it would be a paperwork nightmare. No thanks."
The day never calmed down. An hour was dedicated towards chasing a bird out of the magazine section and into the great outdoors; two moms got into a fight when their kids wanted the same book; somebody stole only the yellow LEGOs. I'd been forced to skip lunch, and the thought of my sandwich languishing in the fridge almost brought me to tears. I thought about the title of Wesley's presentation: WE ARE ALL MISERABLE.
Maybe he was right.
Cherryhill was a large community with only three library branches – and one of them would be closed. We were already understaffed. How would the surviving branches deal with the lack of staff? Would services need to be cut?
The answers were obvious: staff would suffer, and so would the public.
---
I hadn't thought about bringing up the popularity of Wesley's speech to Lakshmi, since I thought it would blow over.
I was wrong. No new cat or dog or toddler video blew up on Twitter. There was a wide-open field for a new viral video, and Wesley's half-speech, half-rant fit right in.
The first indication that things were exploding came from a text from Wesley on Tuesday morning. We'd made a big show about exchanging numbers after the car ride home, when we hovered awkwardly outside of my apartment.
My phone dinged, and Wesley's name appeared. Hello, this is Satan, may I speak to Emma?
Thankfully I was at my own desk, and Lakshmi didn't care too much if we occasionally texted. You're not Satan anymore, I texted back. You've gone down a level. Like Satan's henchman.
That's disappointing. I need to sharpen my pitchfork. He added a devil emoji.
This was our first discussion since Sunday. I hated the way I was conscious of my own heartbeat, the way I adjusted my skirt. I felt like a lovesick teenager who was hoping to get asked to prom.
Little dots appeared on my screen, indicating that he was writing. Then the dots disappeared for a few seconds before coming back. It took him two minutes to type out his short sentence.
You're not going to believe this, he wrote. CBC wants to interview me about my presentation.
He was right: I didn't believe him. I stared at my phone, wondering if his phone had been hacked or if I had fallen into an alternate dimension.
In theory, this was great news. Wesley's presentation had been fantastic, and he'd deserved this.
But on the other hand, that insidious snake of jealousy once again started to coil around my shoulders. Riverside would receive all the attention. It was another strike against my own library. CBC was the national news broadcaster for the country - Wesley's story would be heard from Newfoundland to British Columbia.
Wow! Hollywood is calling, I said.
I'm a bit nervous. Never been on TV before. Want to come over tonight to help me pick out my outfit?
There it was: an offer to hang out. To continue what had started this weekend. My stomach did an impression of a gymnast as it flipped and turned and spun.
The problem was that I didn't know what I wanted. Part of me wanted to drag him into another hotel room; another part wanted to fly to Australia and hide in the outback and hang out with kangaroos. I wanted to kiss him and hate him and talk to him about everything and never speak to him again.
I'm actually busy toni-
Sounds like fun! When should I co-
How about we just make out inst-
I erased all my attempts at a response and stared at my phone, willing the universe to spontaneously write the perfect message for me.
Then the universe responded in a different way.
"Emma?" I looked up to see Paige the page hovering in the doorway. "There's someone at the front desk requesting to see you."
"Sure." I threw my phone in my desk drawer. I was so focused on mulling over the perfect response to Wesley that I didn't think for a moment about who would want to see me.
When I got to the front desk, I couldn't help but smile. I shouldn't have been surprised.