We Are Inevitable by Gayle Forman (read aloud txt) 📕

“Whole town showed up,” Ike says, grinding more beans. “Line went down the block. Beana waited hours to get her book signed.”

“Man,” Garry says, shaking his head. “Wish I’d been there. I love Tuesdays with Morrie. Ain’t too proud to say I cried my eyes out when I read it.”

“Me too.” Chad says. “I mean when I saw the movie. But it must have the same ending. When they say goodbye and you know Morrie’s about to die . . .”

“Hey!” Richie objects. “No spoilers.”

“You’re not gonna read the book, so what do you care?” Garry asks.

“Maybe I will read it,” Richie shoots back.

“If you do, I’ll read it too,” Chad says.

“If you two read it, I’ll reread it,” Garry says. “And we can talk about it.”

“Like the Knit and Lit?” Richie asks.

“Yeah. But we can drink beer instead of knitting. Lit and . . .” Chad taps his temple. “Getting lit?”

“Books and Brews?” Richie suggests.

“I like that,” Garry says. “Can we borrow some copies, Aaron?”

I stare at my phone. Should I just call her? Say, Hey, why didn’t you tell me you were an addict? I mean, it’s cool and all but you should know that my brother . . .

“Aaron?” Garry asks again. “Can we borrow some of the Morries?”

“Yeah, sure. Take as many as you want.”

“For real. Maybe I can send a few to Caleb,” Garry adds. “He says the prison library is shit.”

This gets my attention. “I didn’t know Caleb was locked up.”

“Serving three years for breaking and entering. Idiot broke into a cop’s house.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. If he hadn’t gotten locked up, he probably would’ve wound up like your brother.”

“Why?” I say, but then I realize what Garry means. Caleb’s an addict. Hannah’s an addict. Is everyone but me an addict?

The bell rings over the door. “We’re closed,” Richie shouts without looking up. “For renovations.”

“Uhhh . . . I’m here for my jacket?” Lou says. Behind him is a guy in a porkpie hat and a woman with a buzz cut and sleeve tats.

“Right, your jacket,” I say, jumping up. “It’s in the basement.”

I lead them down the stairs. “These are your big spenders?” I whisper to Lou.

“Don’t be deceived. These guys are total vinyl junkies.”

Maybe everyone is addicted to something. Maybe it’s not a big deal.

I grab my phone and text Hannah: Hey, can we talk?

“And they brought beaucoup bucks,” Lou adds.

“Good. I have till the end of the month to sell a shit ton of these records.”

“We’ll get you there.”

I unlock the bins. “Remember, don’t come up. Just text me when you’re done.”

“Got it, boss.”

Ike is waiting for me at the top of the basement stairs, arms folded across his broad chest. “What’s going on down there?”

“Nothing,” I say.

“I know nothing when I see it and this ain’t nothing.” He pushes past me down the stairs and sees the Lous.

“Aha!” Ike exclaims. “I knew that fellow wasn’t from Cascadia. No uniform.”

“I’m selling records,” I admit.

Ike sighs noisily. “Now we gotta change the blueprint.”

“What blueprint?”

“Of the store.”

“Why?”

“To sell the records.”

“I’m not selling the records.”

“You just said you were.”

“Not on the store floor.”

“Why not?”

When I don’t answer, Ike asks, “What do you know about Viagra?”

What I know about Viagra is that I don’t want to hear Ike say the word Viagra.

“It was originally developed for blood pressure,” Ike says. “And when they discovered the side effect, they switched it up. And now it’s like the bestselling drug of all time. Maybe records are gonna be your Viagra.” He turns to Lou. “Hey, Mr. Not Cascadia. Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure,” Lou says.

“If you were gonna install record bins in a bookstore, where would you want ’em?”

“We aren’t installing bins,” I say right as my phone buzzes with a text. It’s from Hannah.

Ruh-roh.

Quickly I text back: No ruh-roh here. Just wanna see you. I add a heart emoji.

“But just say we were gonna put in bins,” Ike continues. “Would you want ’em up front by the register? Or in the back by the café?”

“Up front is good for impulse buys,” Porkpie Lou says.

“No. Back of the store would be better,” Sleeve Tat Lou says.

“Why’s that?” Ike asks.

I’m only half listening, distracted by the three dots on my phone. Hannah’s typing. But then it stops and there’s no reply. Fuck. Did I just mess this up too?

Sleeve Tat Lou is telling Ike why she thinks the back of the store is best. “You know how when you go to a department store to buy a hat, but while you’re riding the escalators up, you have to walk all the way across the floor to get to the next escalator and so by the time you get to the hat section, you’ve also bought boots and a sweater?”

Ike nods, as if he frequently impulse-buys while browsing at department stores.

“Same idea. Record collectors will drive hours for vinyl like this. You might as well make them wade through the books. They might buy them too.”

I’ll come by tomorrow, Hannah finally texts. But no emoji.

“And what about cappuccinos?” Ike is asking the Lous. “Would record buyers also like cappuccinos?”

“Are the Flamin’ Groovies overrated?” Porkpie Lou asks.

“I don’t know, are they?” Ike says.

“Decidedly,” Sleeve Tat Lou says. “Coffee would be dope. Maybe beer too.”

“Beer, Books, Coffee, and Records,” Lou says. “That’s a store I could live in.”

“Diversify your ass!” calls Chad from the top of the stairs, where he’s been eavesdropping. “Told you so!”

“We can’t sell the records in the store!” I shout.

“Why not?” Ike asks.

“Because Ira can’t know I’m selling them.”

“Why not?” Ike asks.

Because when Sandy built the bins and handed me the key, he made me promise not to sell them. By then, our relationship was on life support, so I couldn’t understand why he was trusting me with his records. Still, I promised. And now I’m breaking the promise.

“Ira just can’t know,” I tell Ike.

“Don’t you think he’ll find out?” Ike asks me in a quiet voice.

About the records? Maybe. But what I did to Sandy?

No, that my father can never know.

Moby-Dick