Somewhere Along The Line

23. Piper

I can’t make my way home from the restaurant fast enough, grateful I took the entire day off and not just the morning.

My feelings bounce around my head, each one a pinball that ricochets off the obstacles I erected to prevent myself from being hurt again. They bump up against these bits of rationality, testing them to see if they’re firm.

Some aren’t as sturdy as I thought.

I walk through the door and drape myself over the couch, sliding down the back cushions toward the seat like molten lava. My phone rings, and I answer the call without looking at the screen, setting it on speaker as I stare at the ceiling.

“Piper! I didn’t expect you to answer; I figured you’d be at work this afternoon.” Mom’s cheerful voice echoes in the room and I can’t decide if I’m glad for this distraction or desperate to be alone with my thoughts.

“I’m actually at home; I took the day off after the hearing. Didn’t know how I’d feel—whether it would be draining to relive the incident in that way.” My eyes fixate on the spiky popcorn on the ceiling. I look for patterns, wondering if I can spot an animal or a flower amid the dots like a child looking for shapes in the clouds.

“And how was it? That’s why I’m calling—to make sure you’re okay.” Margaret Paulson is nothing if not concerned for the well-being of her children. It’s a blessing and a curse.

“I’m okay. It was… a lot. I’m still trying to process it, to be honest.”

She nods, which I can tell through the phone, a feat that should seem impossible but is not if you know Mom.

“What was it like seeing James?” she asks tenderly. She’s curious but won’t be pushy. While she’d love for me to bear my entire soul over 4G this morning—she hasn’t let up with her questions since I told her about him, the ruse, and the break-up—she knows my heart can’t take it today.

“That was the hard part,” I answer. “We went to lunch after his testimony, and I hadn’t expected or planned to have any real interaction with him at all, much less a meal. He… he apologized for the way he ended things, for hurting me the way he did. He also asked if we could start over… if he could take me out and we could see what it’s like to care about each other without having to pretend.”

“And how do you feel about that?”

“It changes by the second. I'm angry he couldn’t figure this out weeks ago. I’m scared I’ll get hurt, that he’ll run away when things get complicated, and I’ll be splayed out on the couch crying again.”

“And?” God, moms always know, don’t they?

“And I wanted to tell him right then that I’d like to start over too. That I’d start tomorrow if we could.”

“Then what’s stopping you, sweetheart?” She must be shuffling around the kitchen as I hear an occasional drawer closing and the clang of utensils shifting inside it.

“You’re scared, of course, but look at you,” she says. “You didn’t crumble. You worried that having him in your life would sink your job, but you got the promotion, Piper. He left, and you cried, but it didn’t bury you. If heartbreak happens again, with James or whoever might come next, you’ll deal with it. You’re strong enough. If something in your heart is telling you to try again, you should.”

The vision of someone after James prompts a wave of nausea that rolls from my head to my toes. I don’t want an after James . I want James. It’s as complicated and as simple as that.

It’s clarity I’m glad to have.

“You’re right, Mom. Happy? You’re always right.” I hope she can sense the smile in my voice, the way I say this with gratitude instead of the teenage angst that used to accompany these words. She loved me fiercely through that stage, without wavering, because she knew I’d come around.

She waited for me to come around.

Maybe that’s the lesson I need today—that love is about letting people come to their own conclusions in their own time. I exhale something between a laugh and a sigh as James’s words repeat in my mind: “I made the choice for both of us that this…thing…was too risky. Not only for me but for you. That wasn’t my call to make for you.”

James came around. Perhaps I can too?

“Let me know how it goes, honey. I love you!”

“I love you too, Mom.”

Friday comes with unexpected sunshine, and it melts away some of the anxiety that has a permanent home in my chest. Something about a sunny day, even when it’s near freezing, feels like hope—like the winter won’t last forever, and my ever-changing, stressful situation-of-the-moment won’t last either. I turn my face to the sun as I speed walk toward the train, dodging piles of melting, dirt-tinged snow as I focus on the station ahead.

It feels good to feel good for a moment, to shake off the stress I’ve been battling since seeing James a few days ago. He’s given me the space I asked for, and I’m grateful for that, but it’s also nerve-wracking.

What if he’s not willing to wait as long as I need? What if he regrets what he said in that stupid sandwich shop? What if seeing me reminded him of all the ways I’m a bad idea, the ways I’m never going to be the type of woman a guy like him should be with?

The “what ifs” are so frequent they’re starting to feel like friends.

I told myself (and Sami, who cannot get enough of this recent development) that I’d spend the weekend thinking and painting and figuring out what I want. What I don’t tell her, and barely admit to myself, is I’ve already decided.

I can’t venture back into the land of “What is this?” with James. We need to be together or not. No more in-between. If he wants to start again and can show me he’s serious about it, I’ll risk another try.

The steps to the platform are slick, and I’m careful not to touch the metal railing as I ascend—it will rip the skin off my hand with its frost. In the winter, I regret that the trains in this city are elevated and not shielded from the elements by operating underground. I swipe my new fare card quickly, the flimsy plastic moving from wallet to hand to the left side of the turnstile to wallet to bag without thinking.

The train pulls up as I approach and I wait for it to stop, shuffling my way to the third car where I will take my usual seat. I step over the gap, hauling my bag after me as the doors close. Glancing up to find my seat, I’m greeted by a mass of people who are all standing for some reason—a visual blockade of bodies. I try to inch my way past them, frustrated that today is the day everyone’s getting serious about sitting as the new silent killer.

Ducking and weaving, my heart makes a leap so wild it stops me in my tracks. There’s music playing, and it’s getting louder.

It’s a classic, the sort of song my parents would dance to in the kitchen, though I can’t make out the words yet.

I look around frantically, but no one else seems to recognize, much less care, that there is music wafting through the car. I expect some hothead to lash out any minute at the impertinence of it—the choice someone made to forget their headphones for a 7:26 a.m. train and play the music out loud.

There are unwritten rules on the train and whatever this is breaks several.

With enough force, I push past the last of the standers and he’s there, James, sitting in the seat next to mine. Well, he was sitting, but now he’s rising and with him the volume of the music playing from his phone, outstretched in his hand.

What is happening right now?

I follow the line of his arm to his shoulder, his neck, his face, his hair—hair that’s slicked back in a pompadour, teased up in the front. I drop my eyes to his chest, and it all becomes clear—the blockade, the music, the hair—James is dressed like Elvis. He’s singing and the people behind me have joined him in chorus.

And then the lyrics fall into place. It’s “Can’t Help Falling in Love . "

I'm dizzy as I take in the scene. He reaches for my hand and pulls me to my seat before my legs buckle; the lurching of the train does my wild heart no favors. My field of vision blurs except for James and his face, my ears trained on the words coming out of his mouth.

The magnitude of James’s gesture, how far outside of his comfort zone he’s gone, how little he wants to be the center of attention… it makes me want to cry and laugh and dissolve into him entirely. Then the questions begin.

Where did he get this costume?

Who are these people?

How long has James been planning this?

My mind goes still as the next question comes: Does he mean these words he’s singing?

The song ends and the train is quiet, a silence I’ve never considered possible in an environment like this. James looks so adorable, so ridiculous, so earnest I want to wrap him up with a bow and stick him in my pocket. Frankly, it should be a crime for him to look like this. I can’t stand it.

“James, what in the world…” I ask as I search his face for answers, reluctantly pulling my eyes away from the deep V of his white, bedazzled suit. As much as I like him in it, I think I’d like him better out of it.

He settles our joined hands on my leg before taking the fingers of his free hand and guiding my chin until our eyes lock. My flesh burns under his touch, sparks radiating between his skin and mine.

“Piper,” he starts quietly, with as much intention as I’ve ever seen. “I… haven’t been fully honest with you.” His eyes implore me to stay with him, to not let my worried mind wander and miss this next part. “I can’t ask you to start over with me, to build a foundation based on truth, unless I am willing to do the same.”

I nod, catching a few shaky breaths and pushing them into my lungs as he continues. He slides his hand from my jaw to my collarbone before settling it over my heart.

“That first day you sat down next to me on the train, on this train, in this seat, when I offered to add you to my commuter account? I didn’t have one.” He clears his throat and maintains his gaze, searching my eyes with his. They’re a deeper blue today, flecks of gray reflecting the metal surrounding us.

“The first time I saw you, about two weeks prior, my car was in the shop. I was pissed I had to take the train, that I had to take an important call on public transit. And then you stepped in with your wild hair and your vintage t-shirt, looking completely at home with yourself even while disheveled.”

We both chuckle. “The atmosphere changed when you stepped into the car that morning. The universe shifted in a way I couldn’t name. It made me feel like I could breathe again, or maybe for the first time ever.”

Tears cloud my eyes as James talks, as his thumb grazes over the top of my hand. His throat works down a swallow.

“I paid the fare in cash each day after just to watch you for the fourteen minutes between your two stops. So I could study your face from the back of the car and wonder what it was about you that made me feel at home too.

“The day you stepped on my shoe, and I barely said two words to you? I wasn’t angry, I was nervous. I was nervous to have you so close to me, to feel so acutely something like hope but that I couldn’t name, not yet.”

“This stupid family pass,” he brings a hand to his wallet and takes out the card, worn around the edges just like my heart, “is the only pass I’ve ever had. I never wanted to ride the train, Piper. I wanted to spend time with you. And of course, I didn’t know you then, the day we made our deal. I just knew, somewhere deep, that I needed to.”

I can’t force a single word out of my mouth which seems to shock us both, my usual nervous dialogue strangely silent.

“What I’m saying, P, is my soul knew from the first moment I saw you that you are it for me. I’m sorry it took so fucking long for my heart, my brain, and my courage to catch up. I'm still not sure how to do this—how to be in a relationship, and how to keep you safe from me at my worst when I’m selfish and an all-around asshole. I just know I can’t lose you again.”

“James,” his name comes out like a croak, pushed into my throat and around the lump sitting solidly in the middle, “I don’t need you to keep me safe, and I don’t need you to be selfless. You’re allowed to be an asshole sometimes.”

It makes me laugh to hear it coming out of my mouth and it lights a smile on James’s face as he listens intently. “I need to know you can handle my mess and that you trust me to handle yours. That’s what you said, right? The day the smoke bomb happened? You said, ‘I can handle you,’ and you meant it. I can handle you too, James, and I mean it.”

He tips his forehead to mine, the tuft at the front of his hair crunching slightly as it meets my skin, a testament to the amount of hairspray he must’ve used for this Elvis ‘do. I can’t stop my mouth from pulling up toward my cheeks, a cheesy smile spanning the width of my face.

“I’m all yours, P, my fear and my hope, my heart and my mess,” he whispers against my cheek, his breath tickling softly against the edge of my smile. “Whether you want it or not, I’m yours.”

I pull myself away just long enough to angle my lips to his, to slip into a kiss so tender it might melt me into a puddle on the floor of this train car. James’s hand slides up to cup the back of my head, his fingers weaving through my hair as his mouth moves with mine, his other hand reaching around to the small of my back and sliding me closer to him.

Our kiss is interrupted by a chorus of cheers and whistles, the earlier flash mob staring starry-eyed as they look at us. I forgot, until now, that there was anyone else on the train.

“So that’s a yes?” a man shouts, leaning his ear in our direction but with his face turned to the rest of the crowd, hyping them up with his arms.

“Let me ask the damn question first, Kyle!” James rolls his eyes and while I’m dying to know if this Kyle is work Kyle , I’m more eager to hear the question.

“Piper,” James says as he bows his head, looking both sheepish and gleeful as he sucks in a breath. “Will you start from the beginning with me?”

I give him a gentle thwack on the arm before turning to the crew and Kyle… and Sami (?!) who is leaning against Kyle with concerning closeness… and then back to James to give a confident “ YES. ”

The crowd goes wild as we return to our kiss, melting together with a heat that could power the sun. While he doesn’t say the words, his mouth communicates exactly what mine replies: I missed you. I need you. Thank God I'm yours.

The skittering of the train’s wheels shakes us out of our embrace as we pull into the station. James grips my hand and brushes his lips across my knuckles before leading me toward the doors, his other arm steady across my lower back. The touch is so natural and yet it makes my stomach tumble to my knees. I’m his.

We come up behind the crowd and I’m shocked to see a handful of my coworkers (those whom James met at the gala), plus several folks who appear to know James based on the approving nods and slaps on the back they give him as they exit. We step onto the platform and Sami tugs us away from the flow of commuters.

She grabs my free hand with a squeal and pulls me into a hug, rocking us both from side to side.

“What are you doing here, Sam?” I ask as Kyle lingers near James with a huge, beaming smile.

“Did you think I’d miss something like this? When James called me—”

I turn to find a sheepish grin on James’s face, equal parts apologetic and proud. I want to kiss his lips right off of his face.

“I had to be here. Of course, I would be here!” Sami is radiating joy and it’s her own— she’s not mirroring my joy for my sake. She’s really, truly, happy for me.

“And this guy,” she elbows Kyle, who gives a fake yelp in response, “is the most infuriating man I’ve ever met, and you should be aware I put up with him all morning because THAT is how much I love you. That’s how much I love you two together.”

Sami extends our hug to pull James in, leaving Kyle the obvious fourth wheel until he wraps his long arms around Sami and me to complete the circle.

“Damn it, Kyle, get your hands off me! And why the hell do you smell like that?!” Sami’s outburst sends us into a fit as we pull apart. I am dying to hear about their morning together and learn the shenanigans Kyle pulled to get so far under Sami’s skin.

These two might be exactly what the other needs… if we could convince them to tolerate each other first.

I catch my breath and take in the moment, all of us here on the platform, happy. It’s everything I couldn’t have imagined two years ago when my world went black. What a gift this new life is.

My stomach lurches as I tear myself away from my gratitude, knowing this is where we’ll all split—James and Kyle to their office to the right, me to building to the left, with Sami taking the train back home. A vice grips my heart at the impending distance from James, at the wait until we can see each other again after so many weeks of waiting already.

James senses it and pulls me in tight, wrapping an arm around my shoulder and the other around my waist, nudging a loose wave from in front of my ear with his nose.

“Don’t worry, Sweet P… can I call you Sweet P? I’m not going anywhere, and I coordinated with your boss for you to have the day off. Are you ready to go back to the beginning?”