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

“Your brother had the collection appraised.”

“He did?”

“What do you think that index is for?”

“If you knew how much they were worth, why didn’t you sell them?”

“They aren’t mine to sell,” Ira says.

“But they could’ve saved the store!”

“Sandy didn’t leave the records to me. Or to the store. He left them to you.”

“He didn’t leave anything to me. He gave me the key and made me promise not to sell them.”

Ira cups his fingers. “I think he meant not to sell them when he was alive,” he says in a soft voice. “It wasn’t lost on him that we mortgaged your future to try to save his. I think he wanted to set something aside for you in case the worst happened. I always assumed the records were his legacy to you, and when you were ready, you’d do something with them.” He kicks off the sheets and gets up. “But not for eight thousand dollars.”

I let this sink in: Inheritance? In case the worst happened? Had Sandy seen the asteroid? Did he know his days were numbered? And if so, when did he know? And why didn’t he say anything to me?

But as we get into the car to head home, I realize I need to let this one go. My brother’s thoughts on his own extinction are—like the dinosaurs’ thoughts on theirs—a mystery that will never be revealed to me.

The Great Good Place

Though the store has been all fixed up, when we walk in that night it feels as empty and desolate as it’s been these past few years. Chad and Ike and the Lumberjacks have been fixtures for only a few weeks but their absence is as glaring as the now-fixed broken shelf was. Hannah was right: time is no measure of something like love.

“You want dinner?” Ira asks.

“In a bit. I have to go see Chad.”

Ira puts a hand on my shoulder. “He might need some time. He’s pretty hurt. They all are.”

“I gathered that.” On the drive up, I texted him a dozen times but got no response. “But time is the one thing we don’t have.”

Aside from that day I was tricked into building the ramp, I’ve never been to Chad’s house. His mom knows exactly who I am and leads me down a wide hallway to the converted garage that’s now his lair. The floor is full of books, our books.

“Your mom let me in,” I say when he greets me with silence.

He grunts in response.

I gesture to the books. “How’s the indexing going?”

“Like you care.”

I walk toward him, stumbling over a copy of Pride and Prejudice. “I do care. I’m so sorry, Chad. If I’d known you were pulling out of the Stim for the store . . .”

“You think that’s what I’m pissed about?” He shakes his head. “Man, for someone who’s supposedly so smart, you can be hella stupid. I pulled off the waitlist because I changed my mind.”

“You did? Why?”

“Because it’s risky and unproven and maybe love is not dependent upon a person’s genitalia.”

“So what are you pissed off about?”

“Aside from you lying to me for weeks on end?”

“Yeah,” I say, chastened. “Aside from that.”

“You got my hopes up, dawg.” He fiddles with the seams on his gloves. “You got me believing in a great good place.”

“What’s that?”

“Damn, don’t you read your own books?”

“Not all of them.”

“You should read this one.” He wheels over to his side table and pulls out a paperback titled The Great Good Place. “It’s about these spaces, like bookstores, like coffee shops, where people can come together. How important they are. And I thought the store was going to be my great good place. Not just a bookstore but a musical venue, and a place to have your dad’s tai chi classes, and Bev to have her Knit and Lits, and Jax’s twelve-step meetings and my support groups.” He holds up the book. “It coulda been so great. A place for everyone. You let me believe we could have that.” His voice breaks. “You let all of us believe that.”

“If it’s any comfort, I let myself believe it too.”

Chad’s head whips up. “But you said you don’t want the bookstore. You sold it.”

“I don’t want to own the bookstore,” I tell Chad. “But I do want to be a part of a great good place. I just didn’t think it could happen here. I’ve lived above that bookstore all my life but it never felt like a great good place . . . until you showed up and made us build you a ramp.”

Chad nods slowly. “Conned you into building me a ramp, you mean.”

“Con is a strong word, wouldn’t you say?”

When Chad cracks a small smile and says, “Swindle?” I know I haven’t lost him.

“Look, Chad, I came here to say sorry. But also because I have an idea. Did you spend all the money you had in the bank?”

“Not all of it.”

“So how much do you have?”

“About six grand.”

I do the math. I can almost make the numbers work. “Can I have it?”

Chad raises an eyebrow. “Hell to the no!”

“Hear me out. I have about a thousand left from selling the records. If we add in six grand of your money, I think it might work. But only if . . .”

“If what?”

“If you really want to be a partner.” I feel shy, like I’m making a promposal, not that I ever did that kind of thing. “Do you want to?”

Chad paces back and forth in his chair. “I mean, it’s crazy, right? I hardly read books.”

“You’ll start.”

“And I don’t know which movies were books first.”

“You’ll learn. And you have more business acumen than Ira and me combined.”

“True, but that’s a low bar.”

“I have a meeting with Penny tomorrow morning. If I go in with your money and mine, that’s seven grand. And I know I can scratch up the rest quick. I think I can make this work. But there’s one catch.”

“Ain’t there always?”

“You