Page 4 of The Second Chance Bus Stop
It’s calm in the shop at midday, so I pop over to the next-door café, which happens to make the best coffee in the world. It also has a food hygiene rating of five, as can be seen on a sticker on the front door. I ask for a hot chocolate, like always. And a pasta salad.
‘This may be an unpopular opinion, but there’s no nice pasta salad.’ Lina prepares it in a deep bowl, tossing it with dressing.
Lina is clearly a sunflower, ahelianthus.She never shrinks back and always smiles at strangers even if they don’t smile in return. She is the closest thing I have to a colleague, seeing as she works in the building right next to mine. This is also as close to friendship as I get. It’s not that I don’t want friends but more that, once I have them, I don’t know what to do with them. I don’t necessarily enjoy going to loud places, and I have no energy left in me once I close the shop and leave for the day. I’ve collected quite a few friends over the years but find the relationships wilt if they don’t get watered, much like flowers.
‘Didn’t you make this? And aren’t you selling it?’ I protest.
‘I cater to demand. Which includes catering to the demand of a specific returning customer.’
Yes, I have demand for a pasta salad. Its humid temperature, familiarity and non-overbearing flavour makes it the perfect food.
‘At least it’s not breakfast food. It contains some veggies,’ she says.
‘I only eat breakfast foods when I’m overwhelmed!’ Which, to be fair, I am a lot of the time. Cereal and porridge always taste the same, can be prepared in minutes and eaten with a spoon. It’s my favourite thing about adulthood, being able toeat cereal for dinner. That and living a thousand kilometres away from my family.
I like my daily chat with Lina and am grateful when it revolves around pasta salad, rather than, you know, why I’m lonely and why I don’t have evening plans and when was the last time I bought new clothes? None of which I have satisfying answers to.
‘You added olives,’ I say, nodding appreciatively to the pasta salad.
‘Yes. Speaking of, where have you added yourself lately?’
It looks like we are swiftly moving on from the safe domain of pasta salads.
‘In fact, I’ve just deleted myself from the Ed dates.’ Lina knows that I don’t like kissing—we agreed to disagree on that subject—but she never tries to persuade me or, like that one guy, force me to watch videos of people’s wedding kisses, to change me. Like some form of conversion therapy.
‘Human bacteriaistransferable. Because we’re the same species. Even a dog wouldn’t be as bad,’ I share.
‘You’re saying you’d rather kiss a dog than a man?’
‘Their bacteria isn’t compatible, and so no bacterial community can build up. It’s definitely preferable in terms of hygiene.’ Info-dumping is my love language.
‘Don’t say that out loud when anyone other than me is around, okay?’ She laughs and puts my salad on the table closest to the counter, pulling out one of the chairs and sitting down opposite me.
‘Got it.’
‘You can’t stop dating because of bad dates. Same as you can’t stop eating brownies after one bad batch.’
‘It’s not just one bad date,’ I object. ‘It’s the exhausting, bewildering and alien process of making myself appealing to men. I read the Latin floral encyclopaedia for fun, drink milkto unwind and consider my favourite outfit to be my Christmas elf onesie from 2019.’
Lina whimpers out ano.
‘Yes,’ I reply empathetically. ‘On top of that I can’t even make up for it with a hot make-out session because, as discussed, I don’t like kissing.’
‘Okay. Houston, we may have a problem.’
‘Finally.’ I get up and grab a warm cookie from the tray behind the counter, writing the price of it down on my standing tab that I pay monthly. Lina would give me anything I want for free, but entrepreneurial women deserve to get paid for their work even if they’re your best friend.
‘But I do think you’re wrong to believe a boyfriend will magically transform your life. It hasn’t happened to me yet. I think it’s a myth sold to us when our sole purpose was to marry and take care of a home so that we’d be more willing to do it. But if you insist on dating, you’re gonna have to warn them in advance. Not just in a sexy sentence at the end of a text but properly. It’s just like any other ‘thing.’Will only date vegetarians, will only date man above six foot, will only date men who don’t kiss. Got it?’
Okay. Be open with who I am. Easy, right?Easy, right?!
‘So maybe I don’t really need a man?’ I ask, giving it one more shot before accepting defeat.
‘Need? No, and again, no one else is going to suddenly give your life meaning. But want? That’s a different question altogether.’
‘That’s my point. What exactly would I want one for? I have my own business, a place to live, a pasta salad hookup—and I can, you know, take care of myself just fine,’ I try to add subtly.
‘I know you’re a big fan of adult toys, but let me tell you, a vibrator is not the same thing as being with someone.’
