Chapter 12
CALLUM
I don’t know what makes me cross the bus aisle.
I don’t even like Asha. I shouldn’t like Asha. Her entire personality is custom-made to irritate me. Every pet peeve I have combined in one tiny, irritatingly bubbly, sexy package.
And now that the passengers are otherwise occupied—even though the reason they’re occupied will probably become a problem at some point—I could be momentarily free. I could open a history book and enjoy the alone time.
Instead, here I am, my feet moving before my brain consciously gives the command. And then my midsection gets in on the action, folding into the seat next to her.
She removes her earbuds and looks at me in question. “Oh god, what did they do?” She perks her head up like a meerkat over the bus seat to see for herself what they’ve done.
“So you admit they’re a bunch of hooligans, and you’re really waiting for your precious group to mess up?”
She sits back down. “I have complete faith in the best group ever. I just couldn’t think of another reason that would have you willingly talking to me. One of my angels going rogue made more sense that the alternative, which is you wanting to speak to me.”
“Is it so wrong for me to want to be professional? And keeping our professional boundaries as coworkers?”
“Hmm. A big part of American corporate culture is chatting by the coffee machine and getting together in the break room to share some cake on a birthday. So it is professional to chat with coworkers. Even in Ireland, I’m sure. But you don’t usually do it.”
“Well, I wouldn’t know about office life, thank Christ.”
“Yeah. This suits me a lot better than the years I was a worker’s compensation insurance adjuster.”
“Insurance adjuster?”
“Yup. I liked being nosy into people’s lives and trying to help them.
But then it was just depressing to tell people their claim was denied.
After getting yelled at the fifth time for arguing to accept a claim the company felt should be denied, I quit.
But that time gave me some insight into professional office culture. ”
“Probably a good call. I can’t imagine you giving out bad news.”
She grimaces. “It was horrible. I felt horrible.” She shakes herself like an enthusiastic puppy shaking water from its coat. And with the move, she shakes off the depressing memories and she smiles at me. “But what are you here for?”
That was an abrupt emotional change. Is that all it takes to change her mood?
Fickle Wee Sunshine woman.
“Do you want to compare notes for the London walking tours? It’s a big city,” I say.
“Yes, it is! So big we need two tours.”
“Right. So we could start in front of Buckingham Palace—” I say.
“We should start in front of St. James’s Palace,” she says.
We can’t even establish where to start the tour. This is going to be lovely.
“Our tour leader manual tells us to start the tour at Buckingham. Lead with one of the most recognizable sites to make tourists happy right away,” I say.
“You’re right, it does say that. But hear me out. Buckingham is so busy for the changing of the guard, if we start at St. James’s, we can see the guard get ready to change and start their walk with less people. And then we go to Buckingham so they get their pictures there, too.”
“Oh. That’s actually a good idea. They’ll like that.”
“And it’s easier for Laura to drop us off closer to the less popular, less crowded palace.”
“I suppose I can rearrange some of my notes around,” I mumble.
“Excellent. Then I have Buckingham, Pall Mall, Churchill War Rooms, Trafalgar, Westminster Abbey, and end at Big Ben, to name the big stops.”
“That sounds fine.” I check my notecards to make sure I have the same stops.
“And then the City the next day? St. Paul’s, Tower of London, the Knights Templar, all that business stuff, the Criminal Courts, that small shop that was in Bridget Jones’s Diary.” She reads the names off her iPad.
“Excuse me? I won’t be talking about Bridget Jones’s Diary on my tour.” Absolute anarchy.
“Then it’s a good thing you have me here, partner.”
“That is not an important historical fact for the group to learn.”
“It’s an important cultural fact, and I think we all agree that culture is an important part of history. Some would say today’s culture is tomorrow’s history. And I know a few elder millennials on this trip who are going to appreciate the shout out. Like all the attorneys.”
“Can you keep it to below thirty seconds?”
“I will take fifty-five, because I want them to understand the importance. However, they are going to want to take a small break to buy something and pretend to run into Colin Firth being a hot barrister fighting for human rights.”
“I don’t think I understand that sentence. The words, sure. But they have no meaning to me strung together like that.”
“Here’s the thing. It’ll take so long to explain the entire plot to that movie, you should just budget five minutes for the stop, call it a break, and move on. Blissfully ignorant.”
“I think I will take you up on that.”
“Smart man,” she says.
We finish the itinerary by the next comfort break with a lot of concessions on my end, and almost none on hers. So after we’ve counted that we have everyone back from the bathroom before we leave (a mistake I’ll only make once), I have no legitimate excuse to sit next to Asha again.
I should return to my cold seat to read or stare out the window. I should stop thinking about how nice it felt when she brushed her arm against mine in the tiny bench seat, reviewing our notes together. And how she smelled a bit like chocolate when she leaned into me.
I have no reason at all to choose her bench seat over mine.
Which doesn’t stop me from sitting next to her again.
“Oh.” She’s surprised. “Did you want to go over anything else? We should probably do one city’s walking tours at a time so we don’t burn out on all the discussion.”
She means with all the contention involved with those discussions.
“No. That’s fine.” I regret my body making this decision for me. The same body isn’t moving from the seat.
Not that it would help at this point. It’s already awkward.
“I wanted to talk to you about…” My mind is a blank. I spend so much time avoiding conversation, and this is the first time I might have to confront that I do it because I might have nothing to say, not because no one is worth conversing with.
It’s sobering.
“Excuse me.”
Thank Christ. Asha turns her look of confusion from me and changes it into a look of polite helpfulness at Henry. “What can we help with?”
I’ll never think harsh thoughts about a tourist who interrupts me to ask an inane question ever again. I don’t care if they ask what country Paris is in or what language they speak in Italy. Even if they ask where the closest mall is, I’ll be eagerly helpful from now on.
All right, maybe I’ll still judge the shit out of questions I don’t approve of, but I’ll answer them with a smile.
Fine, for the sake of full disclosure, maybe it would be more practical to promise not to snarl at them. I think that’s more than fair; an answer with complete neutrality.
“It’s going to be Doris and mine’s fiftieth anniversary when we’re in Paris. I was hoping that you could give me some suggestions for how to make it special.”
Asha gasps like she just got proposed to, and I look around to make sure she’s not reacting to something else, because I’m not sure if that’s a happy gasp or a scared one. Maybe a live grouse stowed away on the bus and is attacking the group.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, just to be sure. Only because if anything were to happen to my co-leader, I’m sure Rob would say I failed whatever education he wanted me to get from this joint operation.
And that is the only reason.
“No, nothing.” She waves me away and turns to Henry.
“That is so sweet! Leave it all to me.” She looks at me cautiously.
“To us. If you could write down any allergies or food you two don’t like, and some of her favorite foods and flowers.
And the exact date of the anniversary. Oh, how does she feel about boats?
Add that. Then leave the rest to us! We’ll coordinate reservations and transportation. ”
No. She had it right the first time; leave this to her. This is the kind of request I would handle a lot differently than Asha. I would send Henry off with the top hit on Google for “fancy French restaurants.” Maybe, if there’s a place I know and like, I would give the name.
And then that’d be the end of my involvement.
But of course the woman who is overly obsessed with the group’s happiness would want to be more involved in the request.
“Thank you so much,” Henry says, smiling at Asha like they’ve become fast friends. She has that effect on people.
“No. Thank you. I haven’t met my own Henry yet, but watching you and Doris confirms my belief that he’s out there and worth the wait for his misplaced self.” She squeezes his arm and he walks back to his seat.
“Fifty years, Callum!” She does that thing where she’s whispering but it’s much louder than a whisper should be. Almost so loud she may as well just talk in a normal voice, for Christ’s sake. “That’s amazing. We have to make this so special.”
“This is not our job.”
“It most definitely is. As humans, to celebrate love.” She’s so excited about this that I can almost see cartoon hearts in her eyes.
“Human is not a position that pays anything and therefore it comes with very few obligations.”
“It does pay, in karma, and yours isn’t going to be very good if you don’t help celebrate the happiness around you.”
“I’m going to leave the celebration plans to you.”
“I would be upset that you left me with all the work, but it will be easier to plan this magical night without you, honestly. So much easier.”
“Hey, I think that’s an insult. I thought your whole ‘happy, always-looking-on-the-bright-side’ attitude would preclude you from throwing out insults.”
“No. It means I’ll do it with a smile.” She smiles in case I wasn’t in the mood to believe her words.
“You are a wee bit terrifying.”
“Nah. I’m harmless. Remember, I’m the one who’s about to do your job.”
“You’re about to do duties that you made up for the job.”
She doesn’t respond with words, not willing to be sucked into this conversation again. She has more self-control than me.
“If you’re not going to help, you can go back to your side of the bus. So I can make my calls to plan this night without your Debbie Downer attitude putting a damper on all the love and good thoughts.”
I get up in relief. I want to keep sitting next to her, but this is better than her asking all sorts of irrelevant questions, like why I’m sitting next to her.
I take the seat across the bus and get my book out. I’m sure it’s a coincidence that I’m leaning in her direction and catching glimpses of her every time my eyes drift to the top of the right pages of my book.
Pure coincidence.
Alibi of reading firmly in hand, quite literally, I look to my heart’s content. Asha is animated, talking to someone on her phone. She radiates happiness, laughing with whoever as she speaks what must pass for conversational French in the American school system.
But what she lacks in accent, she makes up for in enthusiasm. And I do mean she lacks in accent. She just asked if they served poison instead of fish. Granted, it’s an easy mistake since those words are so close, a real joke on whoever is trying to learn French and order fish.
I slide back over and take the phone gently from her hand. Not gently enough, because she looks at me like I stole one of her absurd backpacks.
I cover the receiver. “Tell me what you want to say and I’ll ask.” To the person on the line, I say I’ll be taking over translating, in French. He breathes a sigh of relief, while also sounding disappointed not to be speaking to the Wee Sunshine again.
I know the feeling, mate. I hate it, but I can’t deny knowing it.