Page 50 of Leaving the Station
At this, his cheeks redden, and Oakley and I exchange a look.
“Nothing much,” he says after too long of a pause.
The awkwardness lasts until the waiter comes by with the menu, and though the options are only slightly different from the first leg, theyfeelfancier.
“For all those in sleeper cars, we’re offering our three-course menu tonight,” he says. “This includes your choice of appetizer, entrée, and dessert.”
I order a salad for my appetizer, pasta for my entrée, and a lemon cake for dessert.
“I’ll have the same,” Oakley says. “But I’ll do the chocolate mousse.” She turns to me. “That way we can try a little of both—if that’s okay with you.”
“Of course,” I tell her, taken aback.
“If I get a bottle of wine, would you all split with me?” Mike asks.
“Absolutely,” Nanami says immediately.
“We’re too young,” I tell Mike, my dormant “good kid” behavior returning with a vengeance. “But thank you.”
“I always forget about the drinking age in the US.” He clucks his tongue. “You’re a bunch of prudes.”
“I agree,” Oakley says, and though I shouldn’t be, I’m surprised by her saying this.
“Well, more for us,” Nanami tells Mike, who laughs so loudly that everyone else in the dining car stares at us, including Clint and Virginia, who wave.
“I’d like to propose a toast,” Nanami says when the wine arrives and Oakley and I have our water in front of us. “To men who aren’t shitty.” She raises her glass to Mike, and we all toast with plastic cups.
“Do you have a lot of bad men in your life?” Oakley asks Nanami, who is sipping her wine. .
I nudge Oakley under the table. It’s an invasive question, but when Nanami nods, I have to remind myself once again that the rules of etiquette are different on the train.
“Well, only one,” Nanami says. “Aya’s father.” None of us say anything as she sucks air in through her teeth and dabs her cloth napkin at the corners of her eyes. “We’re getting a divorce.”
Oakley reaches her hand out and Nanami grabs it. “Are you okay?”
Aya’s mom shakes her head, and my heart hurts: a little for her and a little for Oakley’s kindness. They both sit there for a while, looking at each other. I feel like a third wheel, or a fourth, defective one, along with Mike.
Nanami can’t bring herself to speak, and the silence feels endless.
“I know what it’s like to leave something behind,” Oakley says finally, and I freeze. “Something that’s felt like the only truth for your entire life.”
I want Oakley to say more—Ialwayswant her to say more—but she takes her time. When she speaks again, she doesn’t seem to be directing her thoughts at Nanami or really at anyone in particular.
“Maybe it’s not this way for everyone,” Oakley continues, “but it’s like you start to understand how your lifecould’vebeen if you hadn’t believed all the lies you’d been fed. But there was no waynotto believe them, so you were trapped in this world of fear and conformity, and you’d heard every Sunday for your entire life that it was the end of times and Jesus’s return was imminent, so it was your job to value the truth in everything you did to hasten His return but only if it wastheirtruth. And now you know all of that was just meant to scare you into paying your tithing and meeting all the standards of the Church, but youstillcan’t let go of the beliefs because if you don’t have those then everything else in your life will come crumbling down.”
Nanami releases Oakley’s hand, and I want to do more than what I’m doing now, which is staring at her.
Even in the silence, I’m drawn to Oakley. I want to be by her side while she recounts this story to anyone who will listen.
It’s a familiar feeling: the desire for more than I can have.
Finally, Nanami says, “Now I feel silly for crying about a man.”
“Don’t,” Oakley says fiercely.
“I shouldn’t even have brought it up,” Nanami says. “All Iwanted was an hour away from all that. I feel bad enough about Aya spending so much time with you two.”
“No,” I insist, happy to contributesomething, “Aya’s amazing.”
