Anne of Manhattan by Brina Starler

It occurred to her she might have miscalculated how much exposure to Gil’s annoyingly broad shoulders she could handle as she made her way through the library stacks that Friday night to where he sat, his half of the table already strewn with several books, a laptop, and what looked like a contraband bag of trail mix. Her traitorous pulse stuttered when he smiled wide enough for his dimple to make an appearance.

It smoothed out again when she sat down and pulled her things out, the ritual of placing everything just so, within reach, perfectly ordered, as calming as a chamomile bath. Also dampening the wild attraction to Gil was the realization that he still hadn’t managed to shake some of his bad habits from high school. She watched with morbid fascination as he tipped his chair onto its back two legs, as he did habitually, chewing on the end of his pen.

“Okay, so what do you have on your list?”

Once again Anne could only hope to see the day he lost his fight with gravity. She absolutely would say she had warned him.

“First, ugh, stop doing that. It’s gross. And unhygienic.” Ignoring the way he tossed the pen back on the table with a roll of his eyes, Anne folded her hands on her day planner and leaned forward. “I read over the ideas in your email, and then mine again, and honestly? I think the one that appeals to me the most was your number three.”

Gil lit up, nodding. “After-school programs and the role they play in creating healthier, happier students? That’s my favorite as well.”

“Perfect. That was easy,” Anne said, making a note in her planner.

“Now I’m nervous, because that was easy. Painless, even.” Gil smiled at her over the edge of his laptop screen, eyes crinkling at the corners, and wasn’t that annoyingly charming? Eye crinkles. Of all the things her libido decided to find attractive in that moment. What kind of word was “crinkle” anyway? It didn’t sound sexy at all, and yet.

“Anne? Earth to Anne?”

She blinked to find Gil’s sexy eye crinkles were out in full force, along with his cute dimple, as he slowly waved a hand in front of her face. Ugh. She was failing at this “be cool and unaffected” thing.

“Sorry. I was just thinking,” she spoke quickly, dropping her gaze to her planner, “what about offering a creative writing after-school program? It’s a skill that gets overlooked too often in English classes, and it’s one we’re both very qualified to teach. Also, I think we should stick to middle school–aged kids. Younger, and it’s closer to an after-school camp. Any older and we’ll probably spend most of our time convincing them we are old enough to teach.”

“Solid point.”

“Even if the main focus is on the writing part of creative writing, I still think we need to include at least two assigned books. As they read through them, we can break down what works and what doesn’t. Talk out themes, structure, characters . . . it could give them a little insight into their own writing project.” Anne paused, thinking. “It’d be easier to catch, and keep, their attention with books that were made into a movie we can watch afterward. That gives them something fun to work toward.”

She waited while Gil studied the ceiling for a long moment, chewing on that damn pen again. Dropping back onto all four chair legs, he pulled his laptop close. “Not a bad idea. If we can make the program fun, or at least interesting, there’s a better chance they might retain the information.”

While he typed, she eyed the short stack of books at his elbow, reaching across to pull the nearest one close. Furrowing her brow, she flipped through the first chapter, skimming a couple paragraphs that caught her interest.

Gil shrugged when she raised her eyebrows upon realizing she was holding a book on child psychology. “I figured, if we’re going to be working with kids, especially middle school kids, we probably don’t want to walk in unprepared. I took a class at Berkeley, but that was years ago, so I figured it wouldn’t hurt to brush up.”

“Okay. And same. I think it was maybe sophomore year, but since it wasn’t my focus, I never took anything beyond the base class,” Anne said slowly, working his reasoning out. She closed the book, turned it over, and studied the back copy. “‘Juvenile psychology and therapy techniques.’ Feels a little like overkill for a supplementary, after-school writing program.”

“Do you remember what we were like in eighth grade? Complete dicks.”

“Speak for yourself, I was a delight.” She ignored his loud snort. “But . . . good point.”

Puberty was like precariously negotiating a twisted path through a minefield of mood swings and social disasters waiting to happen. She wouldn’t go back to being a teenager again for any amount of money.

They spent the next hour negotiating the structure of the yearlong program, sometimes arguing over specifics, such as which books they planned to assign the kids, which movies they’d like to add in for fun content, and which schools to prioritize in contacting to host the program. Thankfully they both agreed the Herschel Public School for the Arts, Brooklyn, was the top choice for both of them. It was a magnet school, with a curriculum split nearly evenly between academics and the arts. The only way to be accepted for the magnet program itself was by completion of a rigorous application and a demonstration of their chosen art medium, then a lottery; their student body drew kids from all over the borough.

The school had experienced some unfortunate budget cuts over the last few years, however, and from what information Anne and Gil were able to unearth, an after-school program like theirs would fit neatly into those underfunded areas.

The longer they worked, the more excited Anne became. She’d done some tutoring over her summer breaks from college, back in Avonlea, but nothing on this scale. The project was going to be as much a mentorship program as it was an extra creative writing class. It was firmly in the overlapping middle of her Venn diagram of interests, and she was eager to really get going. She and Gil worked up a list of schools besides Herschel to contact for appointments to talk about their idea; teaching grants to research; and the materials they’d need to price, then split those costs down the middle.

A sense of optimism buoyed her as she left the library an hour later. They’d come up with a good plan and a workable time schedule, and she’d only lost her train of thought two times while looking at him. He’d been wearing another one of the T-shirts that hugged his shoulders and chest, this one a mossy green that only served to highlight the golden flecks in his eyes. All in all, Anne was proud of herself for only being distracted twice. It was a relief to know she was building up a resistance to Gil again. Soon she wouldn’t even wonder if his hair would be as soft to the touch as it looked, if his stomach was as flat as it looked through those T-shirts, or if he was a cuddler, after, well . . . after.

Determined to put Gil out of her mind, Anne took a chance on the subway’s spotty wifi on her ride home and called Marilla’s cell. The older woman would be just completing her nightly routine of reviewing sales and profit margins, that sort of thing. She’d tried to instruct Anne more than once over her high school years, hoping to train her as a sort of assistant, but for all Anne’s academic achievements, math was the subject she’d liked least. Finally, the older woman had thrown her hands in the air and relegated Anne to filing. It had been a bit of a mindless task, but that had just given her more time to plot whichever story she’d been working on at the moment.

On the third ring, Marilla picked up. “Anne-girl. How did you know I was thinking of you?”

“Great minds and all that,” Anne replied, smiling. She tucked her backpack farther under the seat with her heels, then crossed her ankles, relaxing on the bench. Thankfully the subway wasn’t elbow to elbow at this time of night and she had the short row of seats to herself. “How are you?”

“Same as always. Good.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you sound tired.”

“Well, it’s been a long few days. There was a hiccup with payroll. Nothing too disastrous, but it took some untangling with the bank to get the funds transferred in so I could get payroll in on time for next Friday.” There was a moment of static as the train moved through a tunnel. “—and Ruby cut her hours to part-time, so now Matthew has to find someone to replace her. It's a bit of a mess at the moment, but I'm sure it'll be sorted soon enough.”

Picking up enough of what she’d missed to follow the thread, Anne frowned. Although Marilla insisted she and Matthew were just as capable of running their business now as they were in their twenties, Anne couldn't help but worry that they carried too much on their shoulders now that she wasn't there to share the load. She made a quick decision in the moment to get back home for a visit soon, mentally flipping through the autumnal events Green Gables hosted every year. It shocked her to realize how close to the winery’s annual Autumn Jubilee they were.

“I’m on the roster for the Jubilee, right? We can talk more about this then,” she said. “I’ll come home Thursday and stay until Sunday evening. I don’t have classes on Fridays anyway.”

“You don’t have to do that. I know this year is a busy one, Anne-girl. We can get on fine without taking you away from your studies.”

“I know I don’t have to, but I want to do it. It’s tradition, Marilla. And I’ll show up whether you add me or not, so you might as well just do it.” The announcement for Anne’s stop drowned out her voice for a moment, and she pulled on her backpack, then moved to hang on to the pole closest to the doors. “I miss you all.”

The smile in the older woman’s voice was clear, even though her voice was gruff. “We miss you too. If you think it’s going to be a conflict, don’t hesitate to cancel . . . but I’ll be glad to see you again. Seems like August was forever ago.”

October at Green Gables was more beautiful than anywhere else in the world, in Anne’s opinion, and she was glad she wouldn’t miss it this year. Or the apple cider doughnuts Marilla's longtime, close friend Rachel Lynde only made this time of year, steaming and rolled in sugar and spices. Just the thought of them made Anne wish she had more than store-bought lasagna waiting for her in the freezer.

“On the other hand, I can’t believe I’m halfway through the semester already,” Anne said. The train rolled to a stop, the doors whooshing open, and she made her way quickly across the platform and up the stairs. The autumn evening air was a relief after the stale, warm atmosphere in the subway stop. “Oh! I haven’t even had a moment to tell you. Remember I said that Gil had moved to the city and transferred into Redmond?”

“How could I forget,” Marilla said dryly.

“Hey.” Anne laughed, remembering her long, annoyed series of texts about his sudden resurfacing directly into the middle of her life again. She had omitted the bit about how the brief touch of Gil’s hand on her lower back made her entire body tingle. “This might sound weird, considering, but we’re actually getting along fairly well now. Which is good, because get this: Dr. Lintford paired us together on a thesis project.”

“Oh Lord.”

“I know, right? I’d have thought by now we’d have murdered each other, but it’s working. So far, anyway. We’re only a quarter of the way through the year. There’s still time for homicide.”

Marilla laughed, then there was a pause so long that Anne thought for a moment they’d been disconnected. The older woman cleared her throat, sounding uncharacteristically hesitant as she spoke. “I also have something I meant to tell you last time we spoke. Rachel is moving in.”

Another pause.

“With me.”

“Oh,” Anne said, momentarily caught off guard. She’d suspected over the years that Rachel and Marilla were more than just friends, even close friends, but they were so circumspect it was difficult to know for sure. Anne had figured if there was anything to tell, that Marilla would let her know in her own time. She’d always been a very private person with her emotions. Anne wouldn’t dream of forcing her to share something like this before she was ready.

Marilla continued, “I know you and Rachel didn’t get off to the best start, but things have settled since, haven’t they?”

This made Anne chuckle, remembering how it had taken a few years after she arrived at Green Gables to get used to Rachel’s unflinching commitment to the truth, even if it wasn’t very sensitive at times. But that was a long time ago, and she’d become genuinely affectionate of the older woman since.

“No, of course. We’re fine now. She’s lovely . . . and I’m really happy for you,” Anne hastily reassured Marilla. “I just didn’t realize things were moving this way, but actually, I think this is going to be really good for both of you. When is she moving in? Is she selling the house? Are her sons coming into town to help pack up? I haven’t seen them in forever—what are they up to now?”

They talked for a few more moments, Marilla filling her in on the details and assuring her that in no way was anyone going to allow Matthew to move Rachel’s heavy, antique furniture, Anne only saying her goodbyes as she unlocked the door to the apartment. It had been good to catch up; she wasn’t the best at remembering to stay in touch regularly. Which reminded her she probably owed Jane a call as well. She tried to see her old childhood friend whenever she was home, but it seemed that time passed so quickly when Anne was away from Green Gables. Each year, when she went back to Avonlea, it felt like the space between her and Jane was just a little bit wider.

It was a shame that people had to grow up, and move on, and drift apart.

Calculating how much work she had ahead of her over the weekend, Anne passed through the kitchen just long enough to heat up her subpar lasagna and give Phil a loud, smacking kiss on the cheek that had the other girl squealing and rubbing at the damp spot. Settling on her bed, balancing her food on one folded knee and her textbook on the other, Anne spent the next two hours buried in coursework. When she finally lifted her head, she was shocked to see it was after midnight. Cracking her stiff neck, she set aside her work, pleased with the progress she’d made. That was a big dent to give her a bit of breathing room over the next few days.

The quick shower she took relaxed the last of her sore muscles, tensed from spending hours hunched over her laptop. Toweling her hair quickly, she braided it with deft fingers, and threw on a knee-length, old T-shirt from one of the events at Green Gables years ago. Finally climbing into bed was like heaven, the thick comforter a soothing weight as the fan perched on the edge of her desk blew cool air across the room.

Her mind grew heavy, thoughts drifting.

For the most part, she loved her life. She had the girls, Marilla and Matthew, school, and the bookstore. Dating wasn’t really a priority right now, and that was fine. There was an order to things, a routine that Anne was content with. Had been content with, until Gil came back and complicated her life, as he was wont to do. She wondered what the universe found so amusing about throwing the pair of them together again and again.

Maybe one day she’d figure it out.