4. Zane
4
Zane
Next Stop, Rome
“D oesn’t look like there are any seats available in this one either,” I say, staring into the second packed bar we try. The bar at the restaurant where we ate was standing room only as well. There is another option, but I’m not sure how she’ll react when I suggest it.
“We could try the bar in the hotel.”
“I didn’t even think about that. I guess I figured since it was inside the airport, it didn’t have anything other than hotel rooms.” She hesitates. “Maybe other people aren’t thinking about that option either.”
“That’s what I’m hoping.”
“But I’m not a guest at the hotel. Can you bring visitors into the bar?”
“It’s not a country club, Darby. You don’t have to be a hotel guest to use the bar or the restaurant.”
“Oh. Okay.”
She’s quiet as we walk to the hotel. I’m afraid she might think I was being rude instead of joking with the country club comment. Shit. Eventually, I’m going to stop fucking up with this woman.
“Hey, if I sounded like an asshole before, I didn’t mean it that way.”
“No. I was thinking about what you said, but not because I’m mad. It’s a me thing. No worries.”
“Okay. I’m sorry if I made something worse.”
“You didn’t. I’ve never been to a country club, though, let alone been a member of one, so my misunderstanding about being able to use the bar was not based on that.”
“I promise I don’t always come across as a privileged dick.”
“Well, I’ve been told I have a chip on my shoulder. So, like I said, it’s a me thing.”
“And I’ve been told I can be a little out of touch sometimes. Tone deaf in my sister’s words.”
“I don’t think tone deaf applies here. We just met. You had no way of knowing I’d never been in a country club, right?”
“So, I wasn’t tone deaf until I used the phrase tone deaf. I’m hopeless. You should take mercy on me and teach me some social skills.”
“If you’re not a politician, you should consider it. You are very good at spinning the topic. But I can’t imagine you actually being tone deaf, by the way. You’re annoyingly optimistic, but you’re kind. Almost suspiciously kind.”
“Between you and me, I suspect my sister might use tone deaf as a catch-all phrase for anyone who doesn’t agree with her.”
That comment earns me another round of her sexy laugh. It wasn’t entirely fair to my sister, but I needed to make Darby laugh, and somehow, I felt certain that would do it. I know I don’t really know her, but I understand her sense of humor.
She slows and narrows her eyes at me. “How old is your sister?”
I grin. She’s perceptive. “Fourteen.”
“And full of righteous indignation, I bet.”
“Oh, yeah.”
“She sounds great.”
“Because she sounds like you at fourteen?”
“If I’d known the phrase tone deaf at that age, I’d have worn it out. Sometimes, I might’ve even used it correctly.”
“It’s good to know she’ll outgrow it.”
“I did not hear those words come out of my mouth.”
I want to share more about my sister, want to spill all my worries about what it’ll do to her to lose her mom at such a young age. We don’t know for sure how long Mom has left, but she’s definitely getting worse. Doctors always make everything sound grim, though, I remind myself.
Izzie won’t be an orphan. She’ll still have Dad. He’s mellowed some with age, definitely doesn’t seem like the same man who raised me most of the time. But I can’t start talking about any of this with Darby. Instead, I just say, “Knowing Izzie, she’ll probably turn out just fine.”
“Most of us do.”
“Do you have siblings?”
“No. I had no one to torment but my parents.”
We’re both laughing as we walk into the bar at the hotel. It’s packed, too, but I approach the bartender, anyway. If nothing else, we can grab a drink and stand until a table opens up.
Darby doesn’t comment on the lack of seats as we place our order. When our drinks come, she simply lifts her glass for a toast. “To making someone uncomfortable enough that they give up their table.”
“Cheers!”
She spots an open bench in the lobby, saving us from having to loiter annoyingly next to anyone’s table. It’s not the most comfortable place to sit, but it beats standing, and it’s a little quieter out here, anyway.
Conversation comes easy, but when I ask if she wants a second drink, she says no.
“Two glasses of wine and a cocktail are already enough to have me thinking I could sleep on this bench.”
“We don’t have to call it a night yet, do we?”
“What else are we going to do?”
“You ever traveled by train?”
“No, but I’ve always wanted to. I know most passenger trains are pretty basic, but I always think of the ones from old movies with luxurious fabrics and polished dark wood everywhere.”
“Well, you’re not going to believe this, but they have a train here.”
“That is not at all what I envision when I think of traveling by train. Do you really just want to ride the train between gates?”
“I really just want to keep spending time with you. We can pretend we’re going anywhere you want.”
“You are determined to turn this into a date, aren’t you?”
“Oh, we’ve been on a date since I bought you coffee. And no pressure, but so far, it’s not been the best date of my life, so you might want to step up your game.”
“Listen, you better be taking me somewhere amazing on this train trip because this has not been the best date of my life either. Not by a long shot.”
I stand and take the handle of her carry-on. “Hurry. We don’t want to miss our train to . . .” I trail off to let her choose our pretend destination.
“Rome.” Her face looks softer than it has since we met. It could be the wine and the cocktail, but I prefer to think I’m turning this travel disaster into something memorable for far better reasons.
“We’ve got a long train ride ahead of us, but you’re going to love Rome.”
“Just so you know, I might ditch you there if I meet a hot Italian guy.”
“Not if I ditch you first.”
“Fair enough.” She sighs dramatically. “If you ditch me for a hot Italian guy, I’ll totally understand.”
“It’s good to be clear about the ground rules.”
“Exactly. You should know that I expect you to buy me jewelry on this trip. It’s what every high roller does to impress the young woman accompanying him to Rome. I like diamonds, emeralds, sapphires, and rubies. Pearls, authentic, not manmade. No lab-created stones either.”
“What? No furs?”
“Said the guy wearing the vegan shoes.”
“You’re just never going to let it go about the shoes, are you?”
We stand in front of the train doors, and it occurs to me that we are the only ones waiting on this pointless train between gates with no departures or arrivals. For a moment, I think it may not be running since all the planes are grounded, but then the train comes into view.
The doors open, and I step aside to let her enter first. There is no one else inside either. This seems dystopian at first glance, but then, like a gift when I realize I get to be completely alone with her for a little while with no background noise of an overcrowded airport, just the automated announcements at our unnecessary stops.
Who knows where all we might go before this night ends?