Previously in "Dulcius Ex Asperis":

NYU law professor Jefferson Thomas and bookstore owner Monique Vasquez have adjusted well to their new lives and relationship, established in the previous book. Now, now opportunities and challenges present themselves.


October 2 was a Saturday. Any kid was thrilled when their birthday party could occur on the day of the actual occasion. Matthew was no exception.

Monique sat at a table in one of the Party Rooms at Jump-a-thon. The indoor trampoline center was about fifteen minutes from Jefferson's brownstone and on the same block as a bakery, yogurt shop, and pizzeria. Jump-a-thon's requirement that party food be provided by the families was easy to meet.

About twenty kids were running in and out of the room. For Monique, seeing them all wearing masks was depressing. Sure, she understood the health risks and required the same at her store. One reason she and Jefferson selected Jump-a-thon was their vaccine mandate for employees and their mask requirement for visitors. The Party Room was also big enough for kids to social-distance when they came in to eat later.

Jump-a-thon also had one or two employees who dressed up as clowns. With their masks on, Monique thought the clowns looked even creepier. And now, one was approaching her.

"Well, hey there," he said, beeping the bicycle horn he was holding in one hand. "How are you this wonderful day?"

"I'm fine," Monique replied.

"Which one's yours?"

"The seven-year-old."

Monique had no interest in conversing with this or any other clown.

The clown was about to say something else when he spotted a boy and a girl entering the Party Room. He headed in their direction as Amy Nelson came over and sat at Monique's table.

"You okay?" she asked.

"I don't like clowns," Monique replied.

The redheaded Amy nodded and adjusted her own mask.

"You didn't have to help," Monique pointed out. Amy's sons were well over Matthew's age and weren't even at the party. Yet she and Eric were present.

"I wanted to," Amy insisted. "It's not like we could have left it up to Jefferson and Eric."

Monique shook her head, laughing. She understood Eric's and Amy's devotion to the twins and Matthew. Eric had helped Jefferson with the paperwork to become their guardian and later their adopted father. Amy had helped orient him through the beginnings of parenthood. To the kids, they were "Aunt Amy" and "Uncle Eric".

"I suppose congratulations are in order," Monique said. In the fourth month of her pregnancy, Amy's baby bump was hard to miss.

"Thank you," Amy said.

"You doing okay?

Amy took a deep breath.

"It's nerve-wrecking for sure," she admitted.

"Anything I can do to help?" Monique asked. "Anything I should tell Jefferson to do to help you?"

Amy laughed and then turned her head towards the room's large windows.

"Looks like the pizza's here," she reported, seeing the delivery guy entering the lobby. "I'll go find Eric so he can help me get it in here. He's probably on one of the trampolines."

Monique couldn't help but chuckle. The scenario was perfectly believable and she could picture it.

"dulcius ex asperis," Amy added as she rose to her feet.

Monique stared at her.

"I studied French in high school and college," she said, "not Latin."

Amy had minored in Latin at Columbia University and liked to pepper her conversations with it. Monique had yet to figure out why she'd want to study a dead language, let alone have it qualify for the Columbia University ciriculmn's foreign language requirement.

"It means 'sweeter after difficulties'," Amy explained. "Yeah, it'll be tough, but things will turn out all right."

Monique nodded, hoping that sentiment could apply to multiple situations. Thanks in large part to the pandemic, the two women had yet to accomplish regular socialization. But, Amy had known Jefferson as well as Eric for about two decades, at least since they were all at Columbia. That had to count.

As Amy headed out to the lobby, Matthew entered the Party Room.

"Hey," Monique said. "Are you having fun?"

"Yeah," Matthew replied.

Monique supposed he was smiling by the way his cheeks bunched up behind his mask. She sighed. Sure, she saw him smile at home, but that wasn't enough.

"Are you okay?" Matthew queried.

"Yeah," Monique replied, "I'm fine."

"You don't look okay."

Monique had to smile at his perceptiveness. She'd been in the bathroom earlier and, while alone, pulled down her mask. A pale version of herself stared back in the mirror. The physical and mental exertions were taking their toll.

"I'm okay," Monique said. "This is your birthday and we are all here for you. Is your Dad out there?"

"Yes," Matthew replied.

"Go tell him the pizza's here," Monique said, seeing Amy and Eric talking with the delivery guy in the lobby. No, it wasn't a guy. It was a girl, probably college-aged with short, cinnamon-colored hair. Monique wasn't sure why this was important.

Matthew left the Party Room and Jefferson entered a couple minutes later.

"They've got staff rounding up the kids," he said as Presley guided him towards Monique. "For some reason, they don't think it's safe for me to walk through the play area."

Monique chuckled. She and Jefferson had been told the floor out there was literally part-trampoline. While eyeing Monique's wheelchair, the manager had expressed sure certainty she'd go right through any of them.

Jefferson slid into the bench next to Monique.

"How are you doing?" he asked.

"I'll make it," Monique promised. She wasn't sure if that was meant for him or herself.

"What's going on with you anyway?"" Jefferson pressed. "Something's definitely been on your mind."

Monique sighed. One could only hide their feelings of stress and anxiety for just so long.

"I'm thinking about the store," Monique explained. She knew Jefferson wasn't stupid. He knew she'd been struggling.

"Anything I can do?" Jefferson offered.

Monique knew he'd write a check for a few tens of thousands of dollars. She could never let him do that. Mallard's Book Corner had been in her family for generations and generations before her had always managed to keep it viable. Maintaining it had to fall on her shoulders alone.

"It'll be okay," she said. "Things are opening up, so there's hope."

Jefferson nodded. Monique wasn't sure if he'd been convinced.

Eric and Amy then entered with the pizzas.

"I better go lend a hand," Jefferson said and rose. "Come on."

Presley, who'd settled herself on the floor beneath the table with her chin on Monique's foot, didn't move.

"Come on," Jefferson insisted. "Let's go."

He added a short whistle. This time, the message seemed to have gotten through. Presley rose, shook, and moved to stand next to him. She then opened her mouth in a long, audible yawn.

* * *

Elaine Williams was on duty that evening. Monique would only have ever had discussed her store's struggles with one nurse. But Joan Anderson was no longer around, so she stayed quiet.

But, like Jefferson, the younger nurse noticed things.

"I just ate something that didn't agree with me," Monique explained when pressed.

"How are you feeling," Elaine inquired. She was on guard for further signs of illness.

"I'm okay," Monique replied. She'd had soup for dinner and her stomach felt fine at the moment.

Jefferson was already lying on the bed when Elaine helped Monique into it. He was watching the news on his iPhone. Monique glanced over as Elaine slipped out. It seemed a convicted serial rapist in California was exonerated by new DNA evidence after spending twelve years in prison.

"That's good," Monique remarked as the story moved on to an Illinois businessman who'd become a recluse in recent months.

"Harper Wexler turned a twenty-thousand-dollar loan into a billion-dollar defense contracting firm," the reporter was saying. "However, tragedy struck the family earlier this year when his fourteen-year-old son, Kelsey, was killed during an armed robbery ..."

"And there's the bad news," Monique said. One could always count on that.

"Yeah," Jefferson agreed, ending the livestream and setting his phone on the nightstand.

"What did you think of the party?" Monique said, in part hoping to distract him from inquiring about her again.

"I think it went well. Matthew seemed happy."

"He was."

Each now knew the other was thinking the same thing. They'd made an agreement.

"So," Monique ventured, "do we talk about it now or when?"

Jefferson sighed.

"Now is good, I suppose," he replied, not sure if he was ready. "Where do you want to start?"

Monique reached out and placed her hand on his chest.

"I think we should do it," she said. "All of it."

"You serious?" Jefferson asked, looking at her.

"Yeah."

Propping himself on his side, Jefferson stared at her.

"You're sure?" he asked

"Yeah," Monique repeated. "If you want to run for Congress, I'll be there for you. I'll be there for you through Election Day and beyond. We'll just need to make a plan."

Jefferson couldn't believe this. She made it sound so easy.

"Do you want to run?" Monique asked.

"I guess," Jefferson replied. "I mean, I want to change things. We all see the news and the mess we have for representation. I couldn't tell you what inicitive Adam Murphy ever took."

"I think you can make a difference. That's why you want to run."

Jefferson chuckled.

"You have such faith in my abilities, huh?" he asked.

"I do," Monique said, her tone opposing his a hundred percent.

Smiling, she rubbed his arm.

"You're strong, confident, and handsome," she said. "They'll love you and they'll listen to you."

She leaned as far forward as she could and, tugging him closer, kissed him. Jefferson kissed her back, wrapping his arms around her torso. After a few seconds, he moved one hand up to the neckline of her shirt. He tugged at it and Monique let him pull off the garment.

She reached between the cups of her bra and undid the clasp. As the cups fell away from her chest, she took Jefferson's hand and guided it towards her breast.

"You still have condoms, right?" she asked and kissed Jefferson again. Eric and Amy flashed through her mind at that moment and she knew she could not handle a baby of her own at this juncture.

* * *

Sex could only be a distraction for a little while.

The next morning, Monique was back in her office, reviewing the dreaded envelope's contents. Each document was emblazoned with the logo of the U.S. Small Business Administration and the words "Office of Disaster Assistance". Below ththis banner headline, "COVID Disaster Loan".

Monique had taken out bank loans before to make changes to the store. But this felt different. This was a loan from the federal government, designed for businesses like hers which would otherwise close once and for all under current circumstances. Sure, business had sagged before, but Monique and her team were always able to prevent a total crash. Now, she had no choice but to ask for help or give up. She'd never done either before and the choice hadn't been easy.

The first packet in the envelope was a copy of the initial loan application she'd filled out back in January, when the store's funds were almost depleted and she'd lost track of how many bills she was behind on paying. Despite her efforts, COVID restrictions prevented the required amount of foot traffic from coming. She needed money to stay open until things could get better. She couldn't even consider what she'd do otherwise, let alone where she'd live.

Monique read the application, recalling how she'd filled in every response. She was taking out a $400,000 loan to keep paying her bills, cover Frank's and Lizzie's salaries, and order inventory as needed. She was set up to repay the loan over the next thirty years with an interest rate of 1.3%. That was almost unheard of for a loan of this size in the private sector, but Monique's desperation overshadowed such favorable terms.

Flipping to the final page of the application packet, she saw where she needed to sign her name, affirming everything she'd submitted so long ago was correct. Setting this aside, she moved to the next item, a form for putting an SBA lean on her store/home as required by law.