Zen and Xander Undone by Amy Kathleen Ryan Read Free Book Online

number the company uses to identify its pieces. And look—” She tips the computer monitor at me. On the screen is a perfect image of the two white birds on the apple blossom branch. There’s no mistaking it. It’s Mom’s figurine. “It’s a limited edition collectible. Only two hundred were made.” She blinks at the screen, as though she can’t believe what she’s seeing. “It’s worth six thousand dollars.”

Mom and Dad
    A LL FAMILIES HAVE STORIES . After Xander leaves I lie alone in the dark and file through the Vogel Collection in my mind, searching for some hint, some little slip from Mom about John Phillips. But all I can think about is the story of how my parents met, as told by James and Marie Vogel:
    â€œYour mother was the hottest little librarian on campus.”
    â€œThere was Betty Masterson.”
    â€œYuck! Who needs breasts that big?”
    â€œYou noticed her
breasts?
” Mock indignation.
    Uncomfortable pause for comedic effect. “
Anyway.
As I was saying, your mother was the hottest little librarian on campus except for Betty Masterson.”
    Mom hits him with whatever is available—napkin, couch cushion, spatula, depending on which room we’re in. “And your father was the subject of much speculation among the women of Dartmouth College.”
    I was very mysterious.
    â€œDespite your devotion to corduroy.”
    â€œThe first thing I noticed about your mother was her tiny waist. She was looking for a reserved book for some oaf in line ahead of me when I spotted her. I thought she embodied the Platonic ideal of the librarian, in her plaid skirt and clogs.”
    â€œI never wore a clog in my life.”
    â€œHer clogs made her stumble so cutely.”
    â€œ
Cutely
isn’t a word. And they were penny loafers.”
    â€œShe checked out my enormous array of books on Eliot—”
    â€œIt was Yeats—”
    â€œEliot’s
Wasteland
—yes, that’s right—”
    â€œYeats’s
Sailing to Byzantium—
”
    â€œWho is telling this story?”
    â€œIf by ‘story’ you mean ‘pure fiction,’ then you are.”
    â€œI was researching for an article on Yeats.”
    â€œHa! See, I was right!”
    â€œI mean Eliot, and she checked out my books. She stamped them all with her little rubber stamp—”
    â€œThese were the days before libraries gave people those awful computer receipts.”
    â€œAnd she piled them all very neatly for me before she lifted her eyes to my face. She smiled that dazzling smile of hers—”
    â€œI never smiled in those days—”
    â€œâ€”and she said, ‘Have a nice day.’ I do not think she noticed me at all.”
    â€œBut I did, because I remembered you and your corduroy pants when you sat down next to me in our Romantic poetry class a month later.”
    â€œAh, and you spoke so intelligently about that poem by Wordsworth—”
    â€œI hate Wordsworth. It was
Rime of the Ancient Mariner
by Coleridge.”
    â€œShe spoke so intelligently about Wordsworth’s ‘By the Sea’ that I realized not only was she a hot librarian, but she was a hot,
smart
librarian.”
    â€œAnd he begged me to go out with him.”
    â€œI
casually inquired
whether she would be interested in joining me and my colleagues for a friendly drink.”
    â€œTen drinks, more like.”
    â€œWe might have overindulged—”
    â€œYou might have vomited—”
    â€œAt any rate, somewhere between giddiness and total ruination, I worked up the courage to ask her on a real date—”
    â€œHe made me pay for my half—”
    â€œShe insisted on contributing to the bill, and that is the only time I’ve ever allowed her to pay for her own meal.”
    â€œWell. That much
is
true.”
    â€œWe dated for over a year before I had to transfer to the Ph.D. program