Page 22 of Somewhere Along The Line
“Ijusttold you I hate nicknames. What, in that very clear sentence, made you think doubling down on ‘Pipes’ was the right call?”
“Piper, we’re supposed to be married. What is marriage if not an excuse to do the things that annoy another person without consequence?” I hate to admit he’s got me there. “Be thankful I didn’t choose Pipsqueak.”
I grab the pillow from behind my lower back and toss it at him roughly, the move admittedly losing effect when he catches it with one hand.
“Okay then, Banker Man, enough about me. What should I know about you?” I’m as eager to peel back his layers (figuratively… mostly figuratively) as I am to remove myself from the hot seat.
“I’m not complicated,” he replies, his arms stretched comfortably across the back of the chair, legs splayed wide. “I work a lot. Occasionally sleep. I like whiskey. No siblings; I’m an only child. I’m close to my dad. I enter into morally-gray arrangements with strangers on the train. Nothing crazy.”
There’s a difference between sharing facts and letting someone in, and James is sticking with the former. I appreciate the wisdom and vow to do the same. While we’ve made things official tonight, in one sense of the word. This is a relationship based on a lie, and it’s a relationship that will end when the need to lie does.
I can’t forget that.
Our drinks arrive and we shoot the shit for a while, talking about the weather and the “joy” of public transit, our theories about what the thief did with the stuff he stole this morning and whether he’ll end up in jail.
James swirls his Old Fashioned as he talks, alternately attentive to me and to the glass in his hand which he acknowledges is pretty good “for a spot like this.” I don’t press him on what he means and choose not to be defensive.
Watching him as he talks, I try to piece together all the versions of James I’ve met into a cohesive whole. Aloof James, Protective James, Tender James, Funny James, Keeps-Me-At-Arm’s-Length James… I hate that there are more to uncover, and I hate that I want to be the one who finds them.
“It’s getting late," I say when I finish my drink and the awareness sinks in that I’ve enjoyed the evening too much. “Where do we go from here?”
“How about this.” James sets his empty glass on the table beside him and motions to the waiter for the check. “I’ll text you tomorrow and we can set a time to get into the nitty gritty before our visit to the station. We should do it in the next day or two since we don’t know when they’ll call us down.”
I nod, interested to know what he means by “nitty gritty” but willing to let the question keep me company in the meantime.
“That would be great,” I reply. “Can I Venmo you for my wine?” I slide my eyes to his and he raises his eyebrows in return, reminding me silently that he's aware I’m broke. My poor financial state is why we’re in this mess, after all.
“Let me get it, Pipes.” The name makes me cringe, but I like the look of it leaving his lips. “And let me walk you home. You don’t need to beginandend your day as the victim of a crime.”
“No need, I’m perfectly fine.” What I am is both giddy and offended by the suggestion. “I walk from the train to my house every night, and it’s further than the walk from here.”
James rises from his seat and walks toward my chair, spinning it toward the entrance as he hands two twenties to our server.
“I’m not saying you need me to walk you home, Piper.” He waits for me to stand and then leads me toward the door, his hand resting on the small of my back. It prompts a line of goosebumps to erupt along my spine.
“I’m saying that I want to.”
“I promise, Dad, I’mworking on it.”
I drag my ass to my desk chair, dropping my shoulder bag at my feet and the morning’s sausage balls on my desk. They were a pleasant surprise from Piper who tossed them my way as we split directions on the platform.
“God, that’s good,” I mutter to myself as the warm, buttery ball of biscuit starts to dissolve on my tongue.
“What are you saying?” My dad’s voice enters my ear and reminds me he’s still on the line.
WhatwasI saying before I spaced out, high on whatever drug Piper puts in these things?
“Sorry, I, uh… I said I’m working on the house stuff. I know you want to be closer to town and you need my help getting the house ready to list. I found an organization that could use a lot of the furniture; once we have things pared down, we’ll reach out to an agent. It’s going to take time.”
The phone is tucked between my ear and shoulder since my fingers are dusted with crumbs and slick with grease. Dad rattles on about the landscaping and having one opportunity to make a strong first impression.
My phone buzzes with a text, and the vibration causes it to slip down my arm before landing with a thud on the floor.
“Damn it,” I whisper, picking up the phone to more of my dad’s questions while noting a new message from Piper.
“You there, Jamie?”
“I’m here, Dad,” I reply, though I’m not really. I’m tied up reading Piper’s message and noting the nervous anticipation that grips me against my will.
