Page 102 of Leaving the Station
“So then,” she continues, “when we had that argument about you not understanding why I want to rejoin the church, all of those feelings of failure came back to me. I felt like you were just going to try to change me or talk me out of my decision. I felt like you’d never really understand.” I want to interject, but she continues. “I know that that was my own insecurity, but I didn’t know what to do about it. Maybe I still don’t.”
She takes a small step toward me, and I take that as a sign that I can speak again.
“Oakley.” I say her name like a prayer. “Iwantto understand you. I want that so, so badly.” I take a deep breath. “This trip... it’s felt so different from everything else in my life. It’s been every good thing about the world rolled up into one.You’reevery good thing. You’re a smart ass full of random facts and I could listento you talk for another hundred years. But I know we only have a few hours, and I should never have said what I did. Because it took time away from us, and that’s the only thing we don’t have.”
I’m crying now, and Oakley’s crying too, but I have to keep going, especially if this is my last chance. “I just like you, Oakley. I care about you more than I should, and I need you to know that. I know I might not see you again after this, that I probablycan’t,but I need you to know that I’m never going to forget you or this trip or any moment we’ve spent together.”
Oakley blinks, and for a second, I’m worried she’s going to turn around and walk back to the cab.
But then she knocks the breath out of me, wrapping her arms around my neck and crying into the exposed skin above my turtleneck.
“This is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me,” she says as she pulls away and rubs at her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Zoe,” she says. “I’m sorry for running away.”
“You didn’t run away,” I tell her. “You just went to the next car over.”
She laughs at that, and the sound vibrates into my chest.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
“Any time,” I say into her hair.
She hugs me so tightly that I almost fall back into a snow pile before righting myself.
“Can I tell you something?” she asks, but of course, she already knows the answer. “The first time I saw you in the dining car, I thought you were the hottest person alive, and I had just failed atacting on being queer in New York, and I wanted you to be my last hoorah before going home.” She sighs. “But that wasn’t fair to you. Because Idohave real feelings for you. And once I started to feel those feelings, I knew that would make it a thousand times harder to leave you at the end of this.”
I step so close to her that our noses are almost touching. What I want to say isThen don’t leave.Instead, I ask, “Can I kiss you?” Because I know the former is impossible.
Rather than answering, she tilts her head up and holds her hand against the back of my neck. We make out there, with the accordion playing, for a long, long time.
Nineteen
Thursday, 9 a.m., near Scenic, WA
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Virginia tells the paramedic that the conductor called as Oakley and I sneak back onto the train. “There’s no use shoving me into an ambulance.” She swats at him, and the man jumps back like she’s a rabid animal.
Oakley holds in a laugh as we walk past Virginia and Clint and into a seat in the observation car. The cab ride back to the train was uneventful, except that we were getting dirty looks the whole time from the driver, which may or may not have been because we were making out in the back of his car.
“I can’t believe that worked,” I whisper to Oakley, gesturing to Virginia and the conductor. Now Clint’s getting involved too, helping Virginia up and checking her for scratches as he scowls. Either he’s as good an actor as his wife, or Virginia didn’t tell him what was going on, but either way, they make an excellent pair.
“Ican believe it,” Oakley says. “Virginia was a professional actor for, like, twenty years.”
“What?” I ask, too loudly.
“You didn’t know? She had a major character arc onGrey’s Anatomyin one of the early seasons.”
My mouth is all the way open, and I stare at Virginia, wondering what else I don’t know about her.
But then I shake that thought away, because I don’t need to know everything about this woman. That’s not what’s important; at the very least, we got to spend time together. I got to speak to someone I never would’ve had the chance to talk to otherwise. I know about her life on the train, and she knows about mine.
And I’m feeling weirdly okay with that.
Oakley and I sit for a minute, side by side. She reaches out to grab my hand. It’s a small gesture, but it fills me with so much warmth. I take her hand, and she squeezes.
“Do you want to come back to my sleeper car?” she asks after a minute. The train is up and running again, and people are grumbling about how we’re set to arrive in Seattle a few hours late. No one seems genuinely upset, though.
After all, if they wanted to get home on time, they wouldn’t have taken the train.
“Definitely,” I say quickly, then follow her back to the sleeper car.
