Page 31 of Somewhere Along The Line
Whether I think Piper will like the outfit has informed all my choices this morning, and it’s messing with me. I shouldn’t care what she thinks about my clothes. My logical brain knows I need to be careful with her, for both of our sakes, but my lizard brain doesn’t want to be.
My unrestrained self craves more of what we had on Monday—more time, more touching, more teasing.
I shake the thought from my head.Focus on keeping things friendly, James.Piper and I have fallen back into a pattern of daily waves and quips on the train since our date to the station, and it’s good. That’s what this whole charade was supposed to be.
Nothing more.
My car pulls up to Piper’s house two minutes before nine and she’s sitting on the stoop just like she was on Monday. She’s wearing jeans instead of a skirt along with a crew neck sweatshirt printed with Binghampton Class of ‘84 and (presumably) the college seal. It might be original based on how comfortably worn and well-loved it looks. Her hair is strung up loosely in a ponytail, a few waves hanging down near her ears.
Piper looks relaxed, an easy smile and soft eyes gracing her pretty face. I’m glad to see it.
She jumps as I lean on my horn, easily startled by the sound. The finger she raises playfully before grabbing the passenger side door is unexpected; the uncharacteristic boldness of it has my heart flying against my ribs. A loud gasp leaves her mouth before her legs hit the seat.
“Excuse me, who are you and what have you done with Banker Man?” Her eyes are wide as she takes me in, stopping at every difference from my usual appearance. She clocks my hair, my glasses, my sweater, and my pants, her gaze drifting from top to bottom and back again with a small exhale.
“Ahh yes, well, I’m not Banker Man today. I’m Errand Boy, and that requires a different uniform.” My chuckle makes her laugh as we pull out onto the street. The feeling in my chest is a lot like pride when I hear her giggle like this, stretching and warming me from the inside out.
I want more of it… if only to distract me from the fact that we are alone together in my car.
For all the vulnerable moments I’ve had with Piper, this may be the most dangerous. She angles her body toward me and I’m captive. It will be like this all morning—there is nowhere to escape whatever thought or emotion might materialize for either of us. It’s terrifying and thrilling.
Taking a Ziploc out of her tote like she does every morning, Piper tosses a bag of sausage balls my way. I catch it without looking, my eyes focused on the road and place it in the center console.
“Alright, I have to ask, though I may not like the answer…” She tucks one knee to her chest, a cautious curiosity rising in her face. A flash of nerves shoots through me.
“What’s your deal with the sausage balls?” she says. “I’ve never seen you eat one and yet every morning you’re eager to take them. You act like they’re God’s gift to breakfast, but you never indulge.”
I let out a laugh, turning toward her to take in an expression that’s intrigued, not annoyed. While I hadn’t planned to start the morning this way, I might as well be honest. I pull in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Pipes, I am excited to take them, and I promise I eat them.”
That I need to keep my eyes on the road as we’re talking is a small mercy. I clear my throat.
“My mom used to make them when I was a kid. I hadn’t thought about them in years until I saw you eating one on the train.”
She leans in earnestly, her hand propping up her head as she rests her arm on her raised knee.
“She, uh, she died last year—my mom—and in a way, seeing you eating those sausage balls felt like a nudge from her. A sort of encouragement that maybe I should pay attention, that this mystery woman on the train shouldn’t be a stranger.
“I don’t know, it sounds weird and I’m not explaining it well, but every morning when you toss these to me,” I fumble with the bag in the console, “it’s like getting a piece of home I thought I’d never have again.”
I glance her way, nervous I’ve said too much with the whole day still ahead of us. She’s looking at me intently, her eyes misty, and it’s not pity or sympathy on her face but compassion. I didn’t know how much I needed it.
“Sorry to make things heavy by dumping that on you, but I wanted you to have context and to say thank you. For the breakfast and for everything else.” I leave the rest purposefully vague, keeping my eyes straight ahead. “And, for what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re not a stranger. Turns out my mom is still right even when she’s not physically here to hound me anymore.”
I let out a soft laugh, almost silent.
Piper reaches over and wraps her hand behind my neck, drawing circles with her thumb and pressing her fingers into muscle that’s been tense for a decade. It’s a reversal of our typical pattern, this moment in the car, with me baring my feelings and her comforting me with touch.
The house of straw I built around my heart starts blowing down without my consent, every pass of her thumb a puff of air that shakes the foundation.
“Your mom sounds lovely,” she says softly, turning further toward me as I move my right hand to the gear shift. “I’m sorry she’s not here. You must miss her a lot.”
There is no bigger understatement. The ache of losing Mom has claimed permanent residency in my chest for the last year and a half. At this point, the pain is almost welcome—it’s the thing still tying me to her. I sniffle up the moisture that accompanies the thought.
“I do miss her,” I say quietly. “Though the hardest thing has been watching my dad try to move forward. They got married when they were twenty; he’s never been an adult without her. I visit him when I can, keep him company, help him get organized—he wants to sell the house—but it’s difficult with work and everything.”
“I’m sure.” She nods, moving her hand from my neck and placing it on top of mine, gripping my fingers. “Thanks for telling me.”
She doesn’t try to make things better, doesn’t give suggestions about how to help my dad, doesn’t spout platitudes about grief. I’ve had enough of that shit for a lifetime. Piper just sits here with me in the heaviness, letting it hang in the air like she knows it’s the only way hard feelings can pass.
