Page 44 of A Very Friendly Valentine's Day
“Cheers,” Eddie says with a flourish.
And then he walks out.
And he’s flirting with his butt as he goes.
I don’t know how he does it, but I swear, he’s doing it.
And I can’t look away.
And I wipe away one stupid hot tear from the corner of my eye.
I hope he isn’t sad.
I hope he doesn’t do anything stupid.
I hope I don’t do anything stupid.
I hope I don’t think about him the entire time I’m talking to Rupert, but so far, no luck.
“Where would you like me to begin?” I ask Rupert.
He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Why don’t you tell me about your university degrees, actually. Start from there.”
I start to tell him about what I studied at UCLA, but all I’m thinking about is the way Eddie looked at me that first time he walked into American Lit class and sat down next to me. I’ve spent the past six years trying to forget about it, but now, all of a sudden, I can’t remember why.
* * *
The really great thing about trains versus planes? The observation car—and all of the different cars that you can walk through and to, if you’re a little bit tipsy and a little bit antsy. If you don’t want to go back to your room to be alone with Eddie. If you don’t want to go back to Rupert’s room to continue talking with him. You can go to the observation car to enjoy the view and make so many new friends…with a bunch of little kids who aren’t going to flirt with you or hit on you.
And I’m definitely not thinking about how good of a dad Eddie would probably be or how cute our babies would be. I’m not thinking about Eddie at all right now. I’m thinking about what Simon would say.
“Simon says touch your nose!” I declare to the group of five kids who’ve gathered around me. “Simon says stick out your tongue!”
It started with two little kids, when their harried mom asked if I’d watch after them while she went back to her room to look for her phone. And then a couple more parents asked me to look after their kids, and now I’m drunk Mary Poppins in the rear corner of the lounge car.
“Rub your head and bark like a dog!”
The four-year-old boy rubs his head and barks. The other kids don’t and then laugh at him because: “She didn’t say ‘Simon says!’”
“You’re out!” his older sister says. “You lose! Yoooouuuu looooose!”
The little boy pouts.
I can’t deal with another pouty sad little boy today.
“Okay, okay, nobody wins or loses at this game. Sometimes we just get confused, and that’s okay! Why don’t we just start another game—would you like that? What other kind of games can we play?” I ask the pouty little boy becausedon’t be sad, little boy.
He smiles at me and says, “Can we sing songs? I think you have a nice voice.”
“Oh, well, I don’t know about that—but okay! What should we sing?”
“Oh oh oh oh oh!” His sister’s hand shoots up. “‘Baby Got Back’!”
“Ohhhhh I know I know I know!” another little girl shouts. “The new Rihanna song!” She’s five.
“I don’t know that one.”
“Seriously? It’s like, really popular.” She raises her eyebrows at me and gives me sass face.
