6. Malcolm
Malcolm
I can’t believe my luck meeting two beautiful, non-local women today. At least I didny make this one cry. She’s sitting there, wearing the most beautiful smile, twisting some of her long dark hair around her finger. It’s really too bad that she doesn’t live here.
“How was it growing up with three sisters? Are they older? Younger? Both?”
“All older. Though, one only by six minutes.” And Fiona never lets me forget it.
“You have a twin! That’s so cool.”
“It is. But with all of them, it was like growing up with three bonus mothers. Even my twin, Fiona, tried to mother me as soon as she could.”
“Oh my. Sounds like a good time. At least for them.” She gives a wee laugh that lights up her eyes.
I can’t tell whether they’re blue or green in the dim lighting, but I add it to the list of things I’d be excited to find out if I were to see her again.
As it is, her eyes will always be a mystery to me.
I chuckle. “It wasn’t so bad. How about you? Any siblings?”
“Nope. It’s just me and my mom. Always has been.”
That makes me strangely sad for her. Of course, not everyone would want a big family like mine. “You must be close.”
“We definitely are. When you came over, I was laughing at a GIF she sent in response to the photo I sent her of my food.”
I smile because I love an older GIF-sending adult. “What did ya have to eat?”
“Bangers and mash. Had to give it a try.” She smiles that lovely smile again that has me really regretting her non-local status.
“Great choice, though, if you happen to come back here you should try the Scotch pie. They’re famous for it.”
“I assume it’s made with a regular pie crust, so I can’t have it.” She looks disappointed but resigned.
“Problems with gluten?”
She nods. “I have celiac disease.”
“Ah that stinks. I’m sorry. I hear there’s some pretty good replacement stuff these days, so that’s good. Though not cheap or easy.”
“That’s all true. But I’m used to it at this point. It is what it is.”
I glance down at my watch. “My break’s up, but it was great meeting you. Oh. I didny get your name.”
“I’m Makenna. A pleasure to meet you.” She sticks out her hand as if we hadn’t been chatting for the past ten minutes. She’s so bonnie.
I take her hand. “Makenna. A beautiful name. It suits you.” I give her hand a little squeeze and release it. “The pleasure was all mine.”
I head back to the wee platform and pick up my guitar.
I begin with a jaunty version of Wild Mountain Thyme.
There’s a group of older women who are almost always here when I perform, and, without fail, they join me in singing harmonies during the chorus of this song.
The age difference doesn’t stop them from batting their eyelashes at me or inviting me to join them on my breaks.
It’s one reason, albeit the much smaller one, that I joined Makenna.
Typically, they don’t bother me much, but they’ve noticed my attention on the woman sitting two meters behind them, and I’m afraid they’re going to make a scene.
As much as they like flirting with me, I know they don’t mean it.
They’ve often given me a hard time about not having a woman of my own.
I don’t want to give them the opportunity to make something out of what is definitely nothing, and, judging by the empty glasses on their table, they most definitely would.
Aileen, the one who always wears some sort of wild hat, wags her eyebrows at me. I shake my head at her as subtly as I can. She shrugs but looks disappointed. Apparently, I got my meaning across.
A few songs later, I notice Makenna stand. She’s tall for a woman. She’s still likely four or five inches shorter than me, but I wouldn’t have to break my neck to kiss her. Unfortunately—or fortunately—that isn’t gonna happen, because instead of heading toward the loo, she walks out the door.