Chapter 5
ASHA
“Calm down, it’s a small museum. Maybe we shouldn’t be too surprised we keep running into each other.”
I am most certainly not following him. Not that I wouldn’t put it past my subconscious. As long as Callum doesn’t open his mouth, or in the alternative, when he talks so fast and uses so much Irish slang I can’t understand him, I can’t complain about the Callum experience.
It’s because of that chest. I want to lie down on it for hours. I want to write soppy poetry to it, and I’m not a creative person. So I could maybe see my subconscious directing me to where he is.
How that bitch found out his location is a more impressive feat. And maybe more worrying, if my subconscious is a secret James Bond.
He rolls his eyes at me.
“I’m not going to leave this public museum, which is class.
” I wait for him to appreciate how well I’ve adapted to the slang in this region, maybe give me an award in thanks for how well, but he doesn’t.
Or even a thanks in thanks. I’d settle for a nod in thanks.
“Anyway, let’s make the best of it. We can enjoy a museum together. ”
“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather just pop down to the gift shop?”
“Yes, I will be doing that. And I won’t feel the shame about it that your tone suggests that I should, either. Because I am too old to feel shame for things I love. Especially when it harms no one and in fact helps because the museum makes money off my purchases.” I nod decisively.
“Let’s go, then. If you’re determined to come with me.”
“I want us to go together,” I say, more because it’s fun to annoy Callum than any real desire to be right.
“But I’m not working; I’m not gonna give you a tour.”
“I think, somehow, someway, I will survive.”
We walk next to each other, this time on purpose, and I have to work overtime to make sure there’s no accidental, lingering touches happening. Because my hand keeps drifting toward him when I don’t watch her like a hawk.
And because I’m not great with silences, I start talking. “It is a requirement to know European history in this job. In addition to that little degree business, I know all the lyrics to ABBA’s ‘Waterloo.’” I start singing it so he knows I’m not a liar.
“Stop. Please.” The please is an afterthought, like he’s not used to politeness but he’s willing to go to extremes if it gets me to stop singing.
“But how will I prove to you I know my history?” I ask innocently, knowing my singing is truly terrible.
“I believe you.”
“Hmm…sounds disbelieving for someone who says he believes me.”
“What?”
“Anyway, let’s look at some Jacobites.”
“Are you skipping in this museum?”
There may be a slight bounce to my step. It’s not my fault; I love museums. And having company in museums. But I don’t think it could be classified as a legitimate skip. Maybe a skip-lite. A pre-skip.
That’s never turning into a skip now that he mentioned it.
“No. But I am very excited to see James the fourth-slash-the-first. He gets all the man-lusting people aflutter with his pointy beard and his puffy shorts. Don’t get me started on his tights.”
Callum considers whether any of that is true, and decides that it’s not worth further debate, either way. I, however, am enjoying his discomfort toward my more random thoughts. So I’m going to keep verbalizing them to get these reactions.
We walk through the galleries on this level, making occasional conversation about the paintings on the wall.
He’s clearly impressed that I can have a basic conversation about art, and it would make me madder, but I kind of enjoy proving him wrong.
He gets so irritated every time I do something that contradicts his preconceptions of me. And that brings me joy.
His irritation isn’t verbal, but I can still see it in the tightening around his mouth, the way he’s grinding his teeth in frustration. The way he has to stop himself from telling me again he’s surprised that I know things about stuff and stuff about things.
For me, a tour is a marathon, not a sprint, and if I spent all my time getting annoyed at every little thing, I wouldn’t be able to make it through one tour without quitting in a rage. Or developing heart issues. Especially not the long one we’re on.
I don’t know how Callum does it. He must be bottling a lot up inside, and frankly, I’m afraid of what might happen when his bottle gets full. Maybe I should be a little more considerate. If he’s the pressure cooker and gets too pressurized, the explosion will become my problem.
Since the museum is small, we’re done while the group still has free time. Even after I drag him, grumbling and groaning, to the gift shop. Where I acquire some lovely postcards, a metal water bottle, and a pen that has a little James IV in a carriage, which moves up and down when you flip the pen.
Callum looks at it in disgust, but I ignore his entire mood because I am going to have so much fun using this pen. “This is crass commercialization of a noble and proud history.”
“It’s fun!” I demonstrate the pen’s charm by turning it upside down again, since he’s clearly missed the charms the first time.
“It’s tacky.”
“No. It’s whimsical and is a physical reminder of the time I came to the museum with a coworker and we had a good time.
Something that I can remember every time I use it.
And bonus, I can think of James IV, too.
Also, as I have pointed out, the profit is going back to the museum, so I am also a job creator. I am a patron of the arts, Callum.”
His eyes widen at my fervent defense. “You feel very strongly about souvenirs.”
“Yes, I really do. And you have no whimsy in your life.” It’s the meanest thing I could think to say to him, but he doesn’t get the memo that he should be offended. I probably shouldn’t tell him.
“I’m going to have their tea. Do you want to come with me?” I ask more out of politeness than a real belief that he’s going to accept. I’m already surprised he’s spent this much time with me outside the job requirements, and he’s even made a real effort to be nice at the museum.
Nice-ish.
Nice, for him. Comparatively nice. If I’m comparing him to Shrek at the beginning of the movie.
He’s silent for longer than is customary, so he must be trying to find a way to say no that doesn’t make him sound like a joyless grump. “Yes, I will. Thank you for the invitation.”
Well, that’s a surprise. “Great.” What’s happening here? Did I walk into an alternative universe where Callum is cordial to me?
Better not rock the boat by drawing attention to it. I walk to the café and we order.
“Oh, I should check my phone. Make sure no one is in jail yet.”
“These eejits would get arrested on the first day.” Ah. There’s my little anger porcupine. With the cute face, a presumably soft underside buried deep, and some wicked spikes on his back if you rub him the wrong way.
Not that he would let me rub him anyway. No. We’ve just established a sort of peace. Where he is slightly less grumpy and I pretend he’s excited to work with me. I don’t need to confuse that by imagining rubbing him when he can barely stand me.
“It would be a record if any did. But it would make our lives harder, so let’s hope not.” I take my phone out of my backpack and check the screen, sending up a little prayer to anyone who’s listening that no one needs me.
I know it’s technically my job. And I do enjoy it. But I would also like an afternoon off.
There are no notifications from any unknown numbers. “We’re good on the group front.”
“I’m weak with relief.”
Ouch, the sarcasm is so sharp I could use it to open the packages from all the online shopping I do. “It would have made your day harder. But now we can relax.”
“It would not have made my day harder. I would have pretended not to see it and would have eaten your food and drank your tea when you left. And then let the American consulate deal with it. I didn’t give them my number.”
“It’s part of being a good tour guide! It’s not even that stressful, because most of them have limited to no international data. So it makes us look good to offer. And if there is an actual emergency, they’ll call and it’s good to know if something serious is happening before it escalates.”
Callum gasps, sarcastically somehow. “Are you telling me that the queen of happiness, the human embodiment of a unicorn farting rainbows into a pot of gold, a ray of fecking sunshine, did something cynical, knowing her poor lambs wouldn’t call?”
“If you think any of that is an insult, you are sorely mistaken.” I shake my head at his poor effort.
“A normal person would be offended, Wee Sunshine.”
I pretend to think about it while the server brings the tea and assorted necessities, as well as the tiered tray with sandwiches, scones, and pastries.
“No. I don’t think they would. You would, sure.
But you’re not normal,” I say when the server leaves.
And I quite like the nickname, if that’s what he’s going to call me now.
“I should call you Storm Cloud. So ominous and threatening.” I make a stern face so he can see I mean business. “Or an anger porcupine.”
We both reach for the teapot and our hands meet on the handle.
I get flutters in my stomach when his warm hand brushes mine and I break first, snatching my hand back.
Callum lifts the pot and pours the tea for me.
I don’t know how I’m supposed to think of him as an asshole when he’s gently holding a porcelain, floral teapot and pouring me tea out of it.
My mom calls, and I excuse myself to take it, walking just outside the entrance of the café to talk to her. “Hey, Mom. I can’t talk too long. A tour started today.”
“Hi, beta.” I roll my eyes. I guess I’ll always be a child to her. “I won’t take up too much time, then. How is the tour going?”
“Good. We’re combining two tours because they weren’t fully booked so I’m working with a kind of annoying tour leader, but it should be fine.” I leave out the bit about one of us getting less tours, and therefore less pay, depending on how this goes. I don’t want to worry Mom. Or disappoint her.
“Have you spoken to Rob about the plans you had for new tours?”
Ah, yes. My plan to offer more specialized tours.
One of the reasons the company is struggling, and why we have to do this combined tour, is that the company doesn’t have anything to offer other than what’s already on the market.
There are plenty of cheap tours, expensive tours, averagely priced tours, tours for all ages.
While some companies are offering specialist tours, they don’t offer very many.
And Europe is getting only getting easier to travel without a tour at all.
“He doesn’t want to change anything. Says it’s not the right time.”
“But it’s such a good idea!”
“I think it is. But maybe it’s not. I don’t exactly have the business experience to make that determination. Rob could be right to ignore me.”
“No. Rob is just afraid. My daughter is great at everything she puts her mind to. With her intelligence, hard work, and great attitude, she can’t fail.”
“That’s such a mom answer.” But the words have the opposite effect on me than Mom anticipates. She’s so supportive, but it makes me more anxious that I won’t live up to that support. I don’t want to do something that would prove her wrong.
She and Dad have sacrificed so much to raise me and support me unconditionally.
She worked two jobs and went to college when she first moved to the States.
She had no life, and little sleep, for almost a decade solid.
She gave up her dreams of being a singer to do the practical job of being a lawyer, so that she could give me the opportunities she didn’t have and I can do a job I enjoy now.
I can’t let that be for nothing.
“Love you, Mom. But I really have to go.” I love her so much, but I always feel guilty that I’m not more successful when I talk to her. Which makes me talk to her less. Which makes me feel even more guilty.
“Okay, okay. Love you, too. Have a great tour and send photos. I love seeing you traveling. You’re so happy.”
I promise to send them and hang up, making my way back to Callum.
“Any of the tourists violate any international treaties yet?”
“What?” He looks at the phone in my hand. “Oh, no. That was my mom. She wanted to say hi.”
“Ah. Mams.”
“Yeah.” The gentle affection in his tone is unexpected. I mean, I would hope he loves his parents, but I wouldn’t expect him to admit it to me, even in tone. “We should get back to Greyfriars Bobby. The bus should be getting there soon.”
“Yeah. Let’s go see if this lot has decent time management skills.”
The way he says it makes his opinion on the subject very clear; he expects at least half of them to be still wandering the streets of Edinburgh, begging random Scots to take them to the hotel.
He’s got quite the low opinion of our tour babies.
I just hope they don’t prove him right.