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It was noisy. Ridiculously noisy. Loosely supervised children dashed around the meeting room, speeding blurs of red and pink, easy laughter trailing behind them. A gaggle of perfectly coiffed, cardigan and pearl bedecked mothers stood by the snack table, supposedly watching over both their children and the assortment of miniature cookies, brownies, cupcakes and chocolate that lay out in an impressive spread over the table but, from what I could tell, were instead sipping weak red punch from dixie cups and catching up on the latest gossip. Because library events were obviously designed, not for the children, but for the mothers.
I had gotten off relatively easy this year, no crafts or games, but I did have story time which, based on the speed at which the sugar-fueled kids were dashing around the room, may be more difficult than I had imagined.
I sat at the front of the room and glanced out over the small bean bags and cushions that had been scattered over the grey carpet. Normally Saturday storytime took place in the Children's Room but normal Saturday storytime didn't include copious amounts of sugar or promises, however unfounded, of presents and assorted treats.
"Guys, it's time to sit down.'' My voice was a little louder than usual, in a vain attempt to compensate for the increased noise. Nothing.n
"Guys, can you all pick a cushion, please?'' A little bit louder still, to no avail. The noise was getting ridiculous between the high insincere laughter from the mothers and the game of tag that had apparently started between three of the little boys who were dashing between their pint-sized companions, the lights on their shoes flashing like crazy.
I kept my position, a stack of books at my side and shook my head, brushing a lock of hair from my eyes. This was ridiculous. Then again, maybe manufactured holidays that served no purpose other than to assign a day to express things that we should be doing anyway, wasn't my scene. But Valentine's Day, for me anyway, held much more than the usual flowers and hearts. My parents, two of the most important people in my life, had loved the holiday despite, or maybe because, of the commercialism. They had always gone all out; flowers, boxes of chocolates, heart shaped pancakes, red and pink outfits for all of us, complete with bows in my hair and, from the time I had been old enough to stay alone, a dinner out, always at the same restaurant that they'd had their first date at. Their first and, as it had turned out, their last. Ten years ago they had been heading home when the snow had begun, heavy and slick. The other driver had lost control and the accident had been head on. All three of them were gone instantly.
I shook my head as though the movement would clear away the haze that had gathered in my head and rested my hand on the small red pendant that hung around my neck. The necklace, as well as the earrings I wore, had been something of a tradition for my mother, and she wore them, without fail every year. I had continued the tradition always pairing them with red and white, more in celebration of their lives than a concession to the holiday. Nobody needed to know that though.
Turning my attention back to the children that seemed to contain an endless source of energy, I glanced back at the sweets table and just barely contained my eyeroll. This was ridiculous. Raising my fingers to my lips, I whistled, loudly and almost obnoxiously, and the room fell instantly silent three dozen pairs of eyes on me.
"Thank you. Let's all find a seat and we can start storytime and then maybe, MAYBE, we can have a snack while we listen."
The younger occupants of the room moved in a blink, quickly sitting down in a flurry of pink and red, ducking and weaving to find their places next to their friends, eager smiles on their faces. the mothers, however, did not reflect their childrens delight as they carefully assembled flimsy paper plates of treats and cups of weak punch. They were not my concern.
Looking back at the now quiet children seated in front of me, I smiled and cracked open the first book, making sure that the pictures were visible.
"Beautiful, kind, brilliant Ida always had her nose in a book…"
The stories went quickly, the children's attention equally split between the bright pictures of the books, the words that they couldn't quite read themselves and the snacks that were carefully passed out, hesitantly, by the room mothers. By the time the last book had been closed and paper plate had been thrown away, I was exhausted. Physically, mentally and emotionally. I loved my job, I truly did but it was more than a bit trying some days. I bustled around the room, quickly cleaning up and gathering miniature bean bags and pillows to take back to the children's room.
My coworkers were gathered around the circulation desk, their giddy voices and laughter drifting across the wide open space. Vases of flowers were scattered across the desk surface and they nibbled from a ridiculously large box of chocolates, the shiny satin lid casually tossed aside.
My head had already started to ache as I headed towards my small office and I wanted nothing more that to spend a quiet evening alone. Or maybe not alone. Jesse's face flashed through my mind, almost unbidden and I felt my cheeks flush. It was ridiculous, really. I was ridiculous. He was a friend, a good one, but a friend. I'd hoped, deep down, that maybe I would see him today but hope was a very dangerous bedfellow.
Balancing the small gifts that had been left by a few of the more frequent patrons, I flipped on my office light and sat down with a sigh at my desk, smiling softly at the framed photograph that sat in the corner before screwing the lid off the jar of red velvet popcorn one of my favorite adolescent patrons had left.
It was quiet and I reveled in the calm for a moment, my eyes closed before a small rap on my door pulled my attention. My smile was almost instinctive as I took in both the man standing there and the breathtaking single bloom he held in his hands. Even Jesse's voice made me feel… light? Calm? Something. I weighed his question for just a moment, my eyes darting once again to the silver frame at the edge of my desk, the smiles of the two people in it, frozen in time, seeming to answer for me and I spoke before I had a chance to think.
" I-I'd like that, thank you. Yes. Very much.'
My words surprised even me for a moment and my fingers returned, for what must have been the 900th time today, to the pendant at my throat, the same one that hung around my mother's neck in the photo on my desk. Maybe hope wasn't such a bad thing at all.