Page 76 of Leaving the Station
“Grand gestures don’t have to be romantic.” She pulls a leg up to her chest. “I think it’s even more special that we’re doing it for some random kid we just met.”
I kick my foot out so that my socked toe nudges her leg. “You’re some random kid I just met.”
We decide that we’re going to get off at the next smoke stop and run to the nearest convenience store. There, we’ll buy balloons and streamers or, more realistically, whatever shitty party decorations we can find.
The conductor announces that we’ll have twenty minutes at the first stop in Montana, and that’ll have to be enough.
Oakley gets one bar of service as we approach the station, and she uses it to map our route to a place called “Chuck’s Party Store and Smoke Shop.”
We sprint off the train the moment the doors open and run over to Chuck’s. A man—potentially Chuck—greets us, and we wave as we run past him to the “Kids’ Party” section. He doesn’t seem to find this bizarre. Maybe we aren’t the first people to plan a train party in Montana.
“Should we do the dog theme?” Oakley asks. She grabbed a basket by the door and is indiscriminately shoving things in there.
“I’ll do you one better,” I say as I hold up paper plates with pugs on them. “We’ll do thepugtheme.”
“Big haul,” Chuck notes as we drop our basket off at the cash register.
“Yup,” Oakley says, tapping her foot.
He rings the items through with care and precision, taking his sweet, sweet time. He comments on each product as he bags it, which is how I learn everything from the fact that some people like the taste of party streamers to how he’s picking his daughter up from ballet after his shift.
I pass my debit card over, using what must be some of the last money I’d saved working in the greenhouse. At least it’ll be put to good use now that it’s not going toward tuition.
“Thanks!” Oakley grabs the bag the second he finishes putting in the last item, and we run out of the store.
“We’re gonna be late!” I scream at Oakley. “WHY ARE WE ALWAYS CUTTING IT SO CLOSE?”
“I DON’T KNOW!” she shouts, sounding panicked as well.
The train’s going to leave without us and we’ll be stranded herein Montana with only Chuck and some party streamers to keep us company.
When we get back to the station, though, the train’s still there.
I glance at my phone. “But it’s been more than twenty minutes.”
Oakley shrugs like,Don’tquestion it,and we head to the nearest entrance.
One of the conductors is standing there, hand on her hip, shaking her head at us.
“I thought you didn’t wait for anyone,” Oakley says to her as we hop on.
The conductor motions to our bags. “Edward told me you were getting supplies for Aya’s birthday party.”
Oakley and I both nod as the doors close behind us and the train picks up speed. Leave it to Edward to be, like, twelve steps ahead of the game.
“Well, I think that’s very nice,” the conductor says, pulling out her walkie-talkie. She looks down at her practical, Amtrak-approved shoes. “I like talking to Aya about trains. She’s a good kid.”
I exchange a look with Oakley. “She is,” I say to the conductor. “She really is.”
Wednesday, 2 p.m., near Malta, MT
We’re back in Oakley’s sleeper car, taking inventory of all the supplies for Aya’s party. It feels even more important to get it right now that we know that everyone on the train is into the idea.
And we’re the only ones who know the full truth: this willbe her last birthday party before she learns that she’s never again going to live in the place she’s called home for the entirety of her short life.
I pull a stack of paper napkins out of the bag and add them to the “table decor” pile.
“You know how you were talking about how neither of us is the best spokesperson for our religion?” I ask Oakley, and she nods as she rips a roll of streamers open with her teeth.
